The moment I open the wardrobe door, the girl starts screaming. Her voice pierces the silence like a lightning strike tearing through a faultless sky. She stops long enough to pull her blanket up around her neck before starting again.
They always respond like this, as though my glowing red eyes indicate some kind of foul objective. Maybe it’s my bulbous head… perhaps it’s my tail.
I try to give a reassuring smile, which only makes her scream louder.
“It’s ok,” I say quietly, “I’m just here for your odd socks,” and pad over to her laundry basket.