spooked by a Hoot

As a child at night, tucked up into bed counting sheep would never work for me counting only up to three then drifting from my head An imagination Big enough self-sabotaging dread a shadowed figurine with glowing eyes instead whistling gusts of wind the creepy creaking shed What if something hungry lurked outside looking to be fed its favourite snack was little girls, with ringlet curls who wore Pjs colour red scared but curious, I tiptoed across and carefully I tread perching by my window oddly sitting on the ledge was a creature looking back tilting slow its head A frightening hoot so loud was why I spun around, and to my parent's room whizzingly I fled