It was worse than creepy, creaky noises
It came across the room. There was no sound, but Russy knew it was coming well enough. He knew when it got up close to the side of the bed. Then it stopped and began to speak. It wasn’t “out loud” and it wasn’t a whisper, but Russy heard it.
“Move over; I’m coming into bed with you,” the Lie said. “I hope you don’t think I’m going to sit up all night. Besides, I’m always scared in the dark,—it runs in my family. The Lies are always afraid. They’re not good sleepers, either, so let’s talk. You begin—or shall I?”
“You,” moaned Russy.
“Well, I say, this is great, isn’t it! I like this house. I stayed at Barney Toole’s last night and it doesn’t begin with this. Barney’s folks are poor, and there aren’t any curtains or carpets or anything,—nor pillows on the bed. I never slept a wink at Barney’s. I’m hoping I shall drop off here, after a while. It’s a new place, and I’m more likely to in new places. You never slept with one o’ my family before, did you?”
“No,” Russy groaned. “Oh no, I never before!”
“That’s what I thought. I should have been likely to hear of it if you had. I was a little surprised,—I say, what made you have anything to do with me. I was never more surprised in my life! They’d always said: ‘Well, you’ll never get acquainted with that Russy Rand. He’s another kind.’ Then you went and shook hands with me!”
“I had to.” Russy sat up in bed and stiffened himself for self-defence. “I had to! When Jeffy Vandervoort said that about Her,—well, I guess you’d have had to if they said things about your mother—”
“I never had one. The Lies have a Father, that’s all. Go ahead.”