I have too many skeletons and not enough

I have too many skeletons and not enough space to keep them.

Why did I have to fill my closet with stuffed teddy bears?

I had to always have a surplus of teddy bears stuffed in my closet because they protected me, that's why. I may be 27 years old, but that doesn't mean I don't need protecting.

The teddy bears all had a name. They protected me against the bogeyman in the closet. No one could understand why I still believed this as an adult, not even my parents. They tried

early onset dementia. My father babbles about "teddy bear mayhem" this and "teddy bear mayhem" that. Even the weather has got something to do with teddy bear mayhem. He's on meds.

"Obviously on meds that make him think he survived some teddy bear mayhem", observed my invisible sister that I had not known was reading over my shoulder. I smell tacos. "You do?"

asked my invisible sister. I wondered whether invisible people could smell tacos or anything else, but the matter of my teddy bear's mental health precluded that question. There

was only one last thing I could think of to try. I strapped my teddy bear into the passenger seat and drove to the hospital. "Help, teddy's suicidal," I told the triage nurse.

But it was too late, whilst I was telling the nurse of this news Teddy had made a run for the main road and...well...stuffing was strewn across the street. If only I'd known sooner