Did you believe, like me, that there were monsters under the bed? I would leap from the middle of the room, my feet thudding on the mattress, determined that no hands would grab at me from that dark , malevolent recess between bedframe and floor.

The woodgrain on the antique wardrobe would melt into the face of a hooded figure. The deep, soulless gaze visible only to my terrified young eyes. Yet the most frightening part of the night was the key in the door and the gruffness of the slurring voice.

No, my monsters didn't live under the bed. They surrounded me everyday.