Howling

There is a mysterious howling emanating
from the closet under my stairs.
I am afraid to look, so peculiar
and anguished is the sound;
but curiosity impels me to investigate.
I gingerly open the door a crack, and pause.
The howling continues unabated,
louder now, no longer muffled.
I breathe in deeply, steeling myself,
ready for action.
Using my foot, I push the door wide.
Inside the dusty gloom of the cupboard,
squeezed between vacuum cleaner
and clotheshorse, sits a child, his hair unkempt,
his eyes red and wild with an unknown torment.
His appearance is so savage, his face so disturbed,
that for a moment I don’t even recognise him
as myself.

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