Dear Scratch Man,

While I am well aware that the passage of years may have caused you to forget the time you spent in the darkness of my room, I am hopeful those days, or should I say those nights, might now be brought to your remembrance. If you do recall me, I am certain you will immediately dismiss the possibility that this correspondence is anything other than the attempt of one old friend to reconnect with another.

I still guffaw at your undertaking to frighten me that first night. Though your scratches at the base of the wall by my headboard were intended to engender curiosity and dread that something alive was in my room with me, my thoughts, even at that early age, only conjured the image of a mouse scratching at the drywall. I ignored the noise, received a good night's sleep, and requested my mother to set a mousetrap beneath the corner of my bed.

I will never forget the funny yelping sound you made when the bar of the mousetrap fell on your long, bony, finger the following night. I would wager you threw me three feet in the air when you jumped at the sudden smart of pain. Neither will I fail to giggle when I think of that pitiful sounding voice of yours asking a single worded question, “Why?”

Looking back, I am thankful the events of those first two nights unfolded in the way they did. Our relationship could have easily gone in a different direction, that is to say, the way you originally intended. While I am sure there are countless children you have frightened to the point of crying, screaming, wetting their beds, running from their rooms, and causing countless more sleepless nights full of dread and foreboding, I am equally sure I may be the only child you have ever encountered with the personality and temperament to react to you in the way I did.

We had so many good times I could scarcely begin to enumerate them here. It would suffice enough for me to say each night felt like a sleepover. I still sometimes miss the talks and laughs we had.

I have a son of my own now, which is actually the reason I write. From the time he was old enough for me to tell such stories, I have shared many of the nightly adventures we had with him. In fact, I have told him so much about you he now feels as if he knows you himself and, so, I come to my point.

I do not know what station you now hold or what current obligation you have with any child, but it is my hope that you have the freedom to take up residence in my house, in the darkness under my son’s bed. I know you will get along with him just as you did me. Who knows, if it is not against some regulation you are bound to, perhaps I could even join in one night, if only to reminisce about old times.

At any rate, my invitation stands; if not now, then perhaps at your first convenience. Until such time, I bid you well and look forward to the possibility of our reunion.

Sincerely,

Your Old Pal