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There's a Lion in my Closet

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“There’s a lion in my closet,” Marty told Annie. “You’re lying,” she said. “There’s is. I’ll grow a wart on my tongue and scales on my back if I’m fibbing.” “You’re lying.” she insisted. “I’m telling mommy.” Before Annie ran out of his bedroom, he grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her around. He clamped a hand to her mouth before she could scream. “Annie don’t.” He gestured with his eyes toward his closet. The door was cracked and at the moment (to Annie, at least) it felt like it would suddenly swing open and ferocious lion would leap out. She looked to her right and then back at him again. Marty wasn’t lying. He didn’t look like he was. “Don’t,” he continued, “it’ll hear you.” She nodded furiously and he removed his had from her mouth. “Is it there now?” “Yes.” Annie looked up at her older brother, tears stinging here eyes and asked, “What does it want?” “Don’t know. But I know it doesn’t like noise.” He paused. “Let’s go outside.” Marty returned to his bedroom a half hour later, unable to contain his laughter, and threw himself onto the bed. He stopped laughing when he heard a loud grumbling, coming from the closet. He bolted upright, heart put on pause. “Hello?” He waited for an answer, thinking maybe he just heard something that wasn’t there; what grownups called ‘a trick of the mine’ My mind’s playing tricks on me, he thought. Doesn’t that happen when you’re all by herself? No answer came, so he sighed in relief. He even chuckled, but it came

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