
The Rustle
Leila's torch lay half under her pillow. The room smelled like clean sheets and leftover toast crumbs. Soft rustling came from under her bed — RUSTLE — then a tiny sigh. Leila sat up as her tomato-red bobble hat flopped over one ear. "Who's there?" she asked, but nobody answered. She swung her feet to the floor, and the rustle stopped cold. Something under the bed wanted her to notice.




