Flash Fiction Day 11: immineō

 Prompt: The language of flowers, pyjamas, a secret passageway.

Animals can often tell when something is wrong. Usually, they are able to detect changes in air pressure or other weather fluctuations, and they might try to get to safety when sensing a threat. Plants are not so lucky; try as they might, they are rooted in place and cannot get very far, despite their similar ability to perceive oncoming danger. Some think that children also have this gift—though a gift is likely not what they would call it.

As the twins lie in bed after lights out, they hide under their blankets from the monster at the window. The shallow feeling of security provided by the duvet and the house walls is not very helpful. Their parents always reassure them while tucking them in that there are no monsters under the bed, but they never say anything about the ones outside, other than that there is no way anything from outside could get in without the adults knowing. The twins look for secret passageways during their playtime but can never find any, so this provides them with some relief. They squeeze their eyes shut to fall asleep as quickly as possible, desperately wishing for the morning to come.

Now that everyone is in bed, the house sits still in the darkness, quiet, save for an imperceptible ripple in the water in one of the flower vases. Adults never worry about monsters; they probably feel safe inside their houses. They really should learn to listen to children.