SwordStitcher-Ah, the wheelchair. I remember an Arkham guard who was thoroughly traumatized by a wheelchair. Very funny. And my schedule is, regrettably full. A little birdy said something about 'creepy Crane'...care to elaborate?
Just-Me-and-My-Brain-It was indeed. You know, I found that wheelchair at the foot of the stairs the morning after. I always suspected Granny...the world may never know. Perhaps a gust of wind blew it out of the room, down the hall, and down the stairs.
Granny sighed, straightened up, and went to go upstairs to bed. It was already ten. She must be getting old, she mused, if ten was late. Or maybe it was chasing after a toddler. She was too old to be raising a toddler.
She was just about to get the light when she spotted said toddler curled up behind the couch. She'd put him in bed hours ago, what…oh.
Jonathan was afraid of the dark. He wasn't afraid of much else, but somehow or another he'd convinced himself that there was a boogeyman in the closet. Oh, the minds of children.
She should have woken him up and made him put himself to bed-it was high time he grew out of this-but she didn't. She just picked him up, carried him upstairs, and tucked him in with the old rabbit she'd given him when he was a baby.
She didn't shut the door all the way, and despite the knowledge that the electric bill didn't need any help, she left the hall light on.
THE END