The child, Devon, lay shivering in his bed on Christmas Eve—not because it was cold, but because something lurked in his room that shouldn’t have been there.

He could feel it trying to creep into his heart, though he couldn’t see it. In fact, the only reason he knew it was there at all was because of the soft scratching sound it made within the walls, like something trapped trying to get out.

And it wasn’t the first he’d heard it. Just last week as Devon sat on his bedroom rug transforming his extensive Lego collection into an armada of alien ships, he’d heard a sudden scratching near his bed.

It had stirred something in his mind—an old memory, perhaps?—but whatever it was remained hidden.

“Oh, Devon, it’s nothing,” his mother had said when she came to investigate the sound, though of course by that time everything had fallen silent. “Probably just a neighbor playing around.”

Devon supposed she might be right. He and his mother lived in a townhouse sandwiched smack-dab between two others, and sometimes the neighbors on either side got too loud and his mother would curse and bang on the wall to shut them up.

They’d never scratched around, though. Why would they, anyway?

Tonight, his mother had to pull an all-night shift at the hospital, so Devon’s teenage cousin Georgia had been called in to babysit.

As the scratching continued frantically inside the wall by his head, Devon worked up the courage to call out. “Georgia?”

No answer.

“Georgia, come here!”

The scratching intensified. Devon could picture sharp claws grinding away at the inside of the wall, ready to poke through any moment. Unable to stand it any longer, he pulled himself from bed, wrapped his blanket around himself for extra protection, and raced out of his room and down the stairs.

Georgia, who’d dyed her hair black and always wore black clothes bedecked with silver studs and chains, was sitting on the living room floor by the Christmas tree sticking tape on a package she’d apparently just wrapped. She pulled a set of earbuds out of her ears and said, “Ho ho ho.”

Devon just stared at her.

She set the tape and package aside and brushed her hands together. “Don’t look so surprised.”

“Georgia, there’s…there’s something in my wall.”

A short bark of laughter escaped his cousin’s lips. “Probably wires and insulation. Spoooooky.”

Tears brimmed in Devon’s eyes, and Georgia’s expression softened. “You really think something’s in there?”

Devon nodded and pulled the blanket tighter around him.

With a sigh, Georgia stood. Tonight she wore a short black skirt and black and white striped leggings that reminded Devon of witches—maybe she could cast a spell and make the scratching go away. “Fine, I’ll check it out. If something tries to eat me, I’ll kick its ass.”

They started up the stairs together. Devon reached for Georgia’s hand, and to his surprise, she took it and gave it a squeeze. “You okay?”

“No.”

“Don’t worry, bud. Hopefully it’s just reindeer and elves.”

They arrived in Devon’s bedroom, and Georgia flicked on the light. She tilted her head and listened. “I don’t hear anything.”

As terrified as Devon had been, he prayed for the sound to come back so Georgia wouldn’t think he’d been lying.

Georgia spoke again. “Are you sure you—”

Something started scratching the floor underneath the nightstand, and Georgia jumped. Staring transfixed at the source of the noise, she got down on her hands and knees and peered underneath it.

“That’s weird,” she said. “It must be under the floor now. Maybe we can—”

Whatever else she’d been about to say, Devon would never know, for Georgia had totally and completely disappeared.

“IT BUGS me that that girl just left you all alone last night,” Devon’s mother said the next morning as he tore into his presents. “Anything could have happened to you.” She looked at the clock hanging over the mantel, her eyes bleary from the late shift. “I’ll call her after breakfast and give her a piece of my mind.”

Devon made no reply. He knew what he’d seen, and his mother would never believe him if he told her the truth.

He peeled the paper off a box that turned out to contain a remote-control Corvette. As he made what he felt was a convincing display of thanks and gratitude, the same scratching sound from before issued from somewhere up above.

Most likely his bedroom.

Devon’s mother lifted her gaze toward the ceiling. “What in the world is that?”

“Mom, I—I told you something was up there. Remember the other day?”

Her tired eyes somehow looked even more exhausted than before. “It’s just going to be a mouse, but if you want, we can go up together and check it out.”

At once the image of Georgia disappearing arose in his mind, exposing another, deeper memory—the one he’d failed to remember before.

IT HAD been Christmastime then, too, though Devon had only the tiniest understanding of what that meant. Christmas was red and green and about baby Jesus and paper snowflakes and an old man who would bring you things, but only if you brushed your teeth and didn’t talk back.

Devon had been poring through picture books in his room, and his father had been down in the kitchen whistling “Jingle Bells” and making cookies when something began to scratch around in the corner beneath his bed.

A picture book slid from his lap, forgotten, as the scratching quickened.

“Daddy?”

Below him, the whistling stopped. “What is it, Dev?”

Devon leaned over and peered into the shadows under the bed, seeing nothing move. “Something’s under my bed.”

“Hang on, I’ll be up in a minute. No monster is going to stand a chance against me!”

Devon giggled, but his heart thumped harder. The longer he stared at the shadows, the more they seemed to take form, but what would they become?

He clamped his eyes shut before he could find out.

Then Daddy arrived in the bedroom doorway wearing a silly reindeer antler hat with jingle bells sewed onto it. “Now, let’s see what’s under there,” he said with a smile.

Devon had always loved being around Daddy, who was tall and strong and made him feel safe. If there was one person in the world who could chase all the monsters away, it was Daddy.

Daddy paused and listened. “Hmm. Sounds like we’ve got a big, nasty mouse on our hands.” He got down on all fours beside the bed and moved a box or two out of the way, and then Daddy, the man who made Devon and Mommy safe, disappeared.

DEVON REALIZED that his mother was staring at him. “Well?” she asked. “Do you want me to go up there or not?”

“No,” he said. “You’re right. It’s probably just a mouse.”