Richard Stevenson
Hailing from South Africa,
the Tokoloshe may be only
a foot tall, but he’s a nasty, evil
critter just the same, and loves
to catch you after you’ve
finished a full-sheep countdown,
are snoring away in the land of Nod.
That’s why it’s important to
elevate your bed by a few feet.
Park it on a stack of bricks
or put the four legs on inverted
four-gallon buckets and don’t
give him any loose blankets to grab.
He’ll climb up and bite your throat.
No preliminaries for this ‘lil beast.
He’ll start chewin’ on your dainty
bits
as soon as yer dispatched and he’s
quaffed his fill of your flowing blood.
You might think you’re in a dream,
give a little yelp, maybe turn yer head,
reach up and find yer fingers wet.
Too late then. You’ll slip from unconsciousness
right into death. Be a husk of yourself
before morning – and he don’t suck
you dry like some well-dressed vampire.
Give you a second chance as a new recruit.
No, he’ll get at your giblets too, leave
you
lookin’ like a dog’s breakfast of
scraps.
The critter’s got razor sharp teeth –
a full grill full. Will make such
short work of you, your mattress
will look like a big red cushion
or swollen elephant-size teabag
after its removed from some steeping pot.
Your belly like an empty spilled bowl.
You can climb this little ladder
to get into bed. I’ll tuck you in
and take the ladder away. Keep
This machete under your pillow just in case.
They’re about as bright as a five-watt bulb
when it comes to problem-solving: will
give up quickly if it can’t climb aboard.
I like to use a slippery bed cover
or keep a foot-sensitive alarm on my chest.
The slightest weight of a foot and it will
scream blue murder at the transfixed beast,
give you time to swing that machete
at the Tokoloshe’s scrawny neck if
per chance he manages to climb aboard.
I’ve sharpened the blade, so his head
should tumble off your bed to the floor.
You can just toss it in the extra bucket
I’ve left beside your bed for this purpose.
His teeth might chatter a bit before
you fall back asleep. Don’t worry
though.
He’s
dead; that’s his nerves firing involuntarily.
Richard
Stevenson is a retired college English and Creative Writing instructor. Taught
for thirty years at Lethbridge College in southern Alberta and recently moved
to Nanaimo, B.C. Has the usual pedigree: MFA in Creative Writing, thirty-five
published books and a CD to his credit, including four forthcoming volumes in
his Cryptid critter, ET, and Fortean lore series.
He says: That's the boring academic stuff. More interested to me is my good
fortune in being able to transition from adult free verse of the lit quarterly
variety to sci fi, fantasy, and horror! The new titles might give a sense of
the fun I've been having, even in these Covid-19 times: _Cryptid Shindig_ (a
trilogy including the volumes _If a Dolphin Had Digits_, _Nightcrawlers_, and
_Radioactive Frogs_) and a stand-alone collection, _An Abominable Swamp Slob
Named Bob_. :-)
