Sara made doubly sure that she was properly tucked in, and that the only part of her protruding from the duvet was her head (and even that half-covered, from her chin down). If anything, that was much, much worse than hearing it slither across the carpet, because now the slithering thing might be listening to Sara’s quickening breath, it might be looking up, down there in the dark, planning and scheming…or maybe even now climbing up one of the bedposts and slipping under her cover. ! The slithering thing slithered under her bed and went still. And you didn’t break the Rules, no sir, no way. ![]() ! Besides, it was against the Rules to tell. If she did, the slithering thing might notice her, and then Sara was dead meat for sure, deader than a dead dodo. But her parents might as well have been on the moon, because Sara was too afraid to say a word. ![]() Sara knew her dad would be dozing off in front of the television, and her mom was probably reading a magazine or a book in the den, one of those books with a sexy cover, feet curled up under her and hair tied back in a bun. Out in grown-up land, muddled TV voices mixed with the quiet murmur of the dishwasher and the hum of the heater. Something slithered, the way slithering things do, from the open crack in the wardrobe door towards the bed.
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