Every night around 8:00 P.M. a loud cluttering noise comes from the large brick house on the end of 45th street. All the neighbors are struck in wonder of what happens at that hour each night. The old man Mr. Ferguson who lives there has a little visitor every night that makes a ruckus under his antique rug from the 1700’s. Mr. Ferguson has tried to capture the creature, but it always seems to disappear once he has it in his grasp. Mr. Ferguson has made multiple plans in order to capture the small beastly creature, but his plan always backfires. He has never seen the creature or heard the noises it makes. All he sees is its small body rummaging around under his carpet causing chaos to break loose throughout the whole living room. Not this time though. Mr. Ferguson has got a plan that can’t backfire. This plan will be the game winning catch.

Mr. Ferguson sits in his large brown recliner that looks like it’s older than dirt and listens to his ancient clock. Tick, tick, tick. The clock’s hands seem to be moving slower than ever before. 7:55…7:56…7:57. The plan is about to be put in motion. Mr. Ferguson’s stomach feels like a bouncy house at a children’s party. His nerves start to kick in. Tonight will be the night he unmasks this creature.  Finally after years of torture and pain, it will all end.

Tonight. 7:59, its almost time just a minute away from victory. Thump! A loud thumping sound vibrated Mr. Ferguson’s feet. It was here. The clock struck eight. The creature is right on time. In the corner of his eye he sees a small lump laying underneath the middle of the vintage carpet. He is ready to pounce.

In only a matter of time old Mr. Ferguson was laying on the rug wrestling the small creature with all his might. The creature broke out into a screech, and then started to bite through the carpet. Mr. Ferguson heard a tear come from the arm of his light blue flannel, and all the sudden dark red blood started oozing from his pale skin. Mr. Ferguson broke out into hysteria, and then decided enough was enough. No more plan. He ripped the disoriented rug. As he lifts the carpet, boom. Nothing’s there. It was like the carpet disintegrated right in his hands. The house was completely silent.

Nothing was in sight. The living room looked as if a hurricane had paid a visit. The small creature was nowhere in sight, and neither was the rug. But then all the sudden a loud creek echos through the house. Chills go down Mr. Ferguson’s spine to the  point where his baby hair on the back of his neck are sticking up poker straight. He turns every which way checking for the creature in all places. Then all the sudden a wet goo trickles onto his head.  He looks up but nothing is there. He hears a loud breathing sound from behind him, and when he turns around to check the rug was already covering his waist sucking him into the abyss. The rug swallowed Mr. Ferguson up in one swoop. The rug soon fell to the ground as if nothing happened.

The house went back to its neat and organized self. The rug lies ready for its next victim.