In Shadow March, a poem by Robert Louis Stevenson, bedtime turns into a parade of fear. A child carries a candle up the stairs while the jet black night stares through the window and crooked shadows creep from the corners. Every flicker of flame sets them moving. The child's heart drums, and the bogie's breath stirs the hair. The shadows of the baluster, the light and the child himself fall into step, tramp, tramp, tramp, behind him.

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