He always told us he was a werewolf.
One night he fell from a ladder on the side of our house, scrambled into the hedge and leapt up wearing the most realistic mask any seven-year-old had ever seen peeping through her pudgy fingers. The fright-tactics never stopped.
He didn't know much about love, but he knew fear, so that's what he used instead.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
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