It lived under the mattress. Pushed way, way to the middle of the bed, up under the pillows where it couldn’t be noticed if, say, the weight of two people, bouncing wildly, was to land awkwardly on a corner.
It only came out after all the precautions had been taken: bolts slid home, door chain secured, TV or radio turned off so he couldn’t miss the first tell-tale sounds of company arriving.
It was more precious than any family bible; it was his deepest, darkest secret.
Spike settled on the bed and reverently opened his notebook.
An Ode, to Xander…