The Ofi Press Magazine

A Stranger in the House

The worm of fear. At eight years old

the urge to run away

to an older self, no longer afraid

of a key in the lock, him walking in.

Seconds of silence that could tip

either way. Would he ignore you

or twist your hair in spindly fingers,

fairground voice shrinking the hallway

to send children, and mice, scuttling

into corners. Thin as a hat-stand

he rattled through the house, folded

himself into an easy-chair and slept,

mouth stuck in a silent roar. You tip-toed

in rings around his chair and joked

how you could dismantle him

with a set of Allen keys, put him away

in a wardrobe to be discovered

by some future owner who, in a fit

of flatpack fervour, would re-assemble

the parts, this time without the fangs.