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               "Listen Henry," Judith said, planting a kiss on his forehead. "Are you sure you won't be scared, being home all alone?"
               "It's okay mom." Henry patted a gray terrier puppy on the head. "Charlie makes me feel better whenever I get scared. You and daddy can go, I have Charlie to take care of me."
               The woman smiled fondly down at the dog. "All right. Good night, Henry. Good night, Charlie."

               The thunder screamed and the dead tree groaned in agony beyond the window glass. Henry cowered under his covers as clawed silhouettes danced primordially across his wall, threatening him with every turn and jump. He felt childhood fear grip his stomach, the species of irrational fear that immobilizes you in terror. He imagined living skeletons climbing through the window, crawling out from under his bed, rattling out of his closet. Their fetid flesh falling of their bleached bones with every step, staring at him with the peeled eyes of the devil through a curtain of decaying hair.
               Henry tried hard not to cry. He poked an arm out from under the covers, expecting the cold poke of a dog nose that always accompanied his nightmares. "Charlie?"
               But Charlie never came to comfort him.
               The thunder had drifted away. Henry poked his head out from under the covers, but the terrier was nowhere in the room. Maybe he's downstairs, he thought, though the dog had never failed to sleep by him. Henry tiptoed out of his room to search for his dog.
               As he passed the bathroom, Henry heard the dripping of the shower head – someone hadn't turned the faucet all the way. At school they taught him to always turn off the faucet, so Henry thought it best to remedy the situation before searching for Charlie.
               The lunar tiles reflected the pale light of the night onto the stained mirror. The shower curtain covered the entrance to the shower, and the dripping proceeded. Henry's slippers made no sound as he padded across the bathroom.
               Henry drew the curtain back carefully.
               A terrier's empty, hueless eyes stared back at him as it swung from the shower head. Blood from its raggedly torn neck seeped into its fur and dripped heavily onto the shower floor.