There was an evil rooster that lived under my bed when we lived at the sandstone apartment. I sensed it there, during the dark of the night. I could hear its claws scratching the floor boards as it waited for me to expose myself. It was one of the excuses I used for being a bed wetter. If I were to step off my bed during the night or even lean a leg over the side, I would surely be dragged under the bed by the chicken monster and pecked into pulp. I was cured from this horror by my father looking under the bed and assuring me the rooster was gone and the bed wetting (mostly) cured by my mother telling me that nobody that goes to school pees the bed, so if I wanted to keep going to kindergarten it was time for me to stop. And it worked (mostly).
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