The Closet

Seven ghosts, says the rhyme, are in the closet. Sinister and with sharp teeth; staring at my bed... Well, of course, repeating this poem endlessly helps you fall asleep when you're already afraid of the dark. What great ideas Mathilda's mother sometimes has. Yet Mathilda's nocturnal panic is quite justified. Because when the light goes out, sinister shadows flit through the children's room, things move. And isn't there a figure? One's company, two's a crowd...