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.

I sigh.

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.