Midnight with Little Stitch

*Stitch* Her name is Stitch. She sits on the old trunk like she owns the afterlife green eyes glowing, braids brown and toxic green, black bows glittering like bats. Mr. Skully to her left snores. He's been stitched back together seven times. "You did a nice job," he always says. On the little table: her spell books she can't read yet, her potion bottles she isn't allowed to open, and the tiny Reaper she knitted a cloak for because he looked cold. She swings her chunky boots striped socks, skeleton hands and waits. Every night at midnight, someone knocks on her wall of green ooze and whispers, "Are you awake?" And Stitch smiles with her stitched red lips and says, "Always."