When you turn off the light

That moment when you reach to turn out your light at night and for a flash of a second,
You are unprotected.
Your blankets can not wrap themselves around you to keep your safe,
And you have no earthly way of knowing,
What's about to kill you. 
It could be an angry spirit,
The kind your cat sees when she suddenly lifts her head up at night to look at some unknown spot on the wall.
Or a horrible, decaying monster with eyeless white eyes that bore into your soul right before it rips into your flesh.
A cold, bony, clawed hand that grabs at you, 
Pulling you toward it. 
A corpse could fall on you from a nonexistent trap door in the ceiling,
It's rotting flesh crumbling over you and getting under your blankets.
But usually,
There's just a bug that might fly onto your head,
Which is still creepy, just not as much.
And then you can get back under the covers and cuddle with your cat and dream of all the wonderfully horrifying things.