IN SHEEP’S CLOTHING
Who’s afraid of the big bad wolf?
There’s a monster in the dark, darling. Hiding under your bed, lurking in your closet.
Are you scared yet, little girl? You should be.
Monsters aren’t all tentacles and teeth. Sometimes, they’re far less obvious — wrapped up in charm and charisma, cloaked behind secrets and seduction. They don’t blunder through blackness, or slither soundlessly through shadows. They are the dark — it’s what they’re made of, it’s in their very essence.
Still not frightened, little one?
Open your eyes, then. See the monster you’ve invited into your bed. You can hide under your covers all you like — I’ll hide under there with you. I’m your childhood nightmare, come out to play.
I won’t leave footprints to follow or fingerprints to trace. I’m no Sasquatch you can track through the wilderness, no monster you can spy swimming at the bottom of a deep loch. My calling cards are far more subtle.
A crooked smile. A smoldering look. A broken heart.
I don’t play fair — I don’t believe in it. Life isn’t fair. Why should I be?
What big eyes you have, the little girl says to the wolf.
All the better to see you — your every soft spot, your every weakness. I’m going to exploit them all.
What big ears you have.
All the better to hear you — your closest-guarded secrets, your innermost thoughts.
What big teeth you have.
Yes, baby. And I’m about to eat your heart out.