Faun Over The Baby

We wait until Sarah sets baby Jonah down and leaves the room before quietly clip-clopping from the closet and approaching the crib, carefully avoiding the rudely-placed monitor on the bookshelf.

Looking at the wriggling child, we coo and bat our woolly eyes at him. Jonah is soon asleep, so we alight on the backboard and pipe a soft tune on our flute.  It’s important he sleeps well, for he is tiny and weak and we want him to grow big. Plump.

We shiver in our fur at the thought, causing us to bonk a sour note. Jonah stirs and mews. Diligent Sarah pads back down the hall.  We clamber to the floor and duck behind the curtain as the door knob rattles.

She finds little amiss, save a long grey hair we’ve carelessly left.

“It’s just a lash on his cheek.” She sighs and blows it away, “Its good luck.”