I wrote this story why didn't It get published-I awoke to a slight pressure on my right leg. It was strange how calmly I reacted, considering I had no idea what was going on, and had snapped awake as if I had not even been sleeping in the first place. There was a moving weight on my right leg, something crawling onto me, with blind hands groping my body as it made it’s way up towards my face. I heard the voice of my 4 year old son, Will, as my senses focused on what was going on. “Daddy, daddy, daddy, wake up daddy.” “What is it buddy?” “I scared daddy dere’s a ghost daddy.” Over the last week, every night that I laid Will down for bed, he would repeat the same three things as I was leaving the room. A plea for me to leave the light on, followed by a plea to leave the door open. As well as a following explanation that differed between being scared of “booby traps”, “ghosts” or...oddly enough, an “artic fox”. I assured him each night that there was nothing to be afraid of, instructing him to say “Go away ghost/fox/booby trap, or I’ll BEAT YOU UP!” I figured the best way to tackle the idea of irrational fears in a 4 year old was to instill the belief in him that whatever boogeyman he might be facing, it is beatable. My hope was that if he had the mentality that his fears were capable of being beaten up, they would cease to be fears. It had been a full 5 days of this now, though, and I was getting frustrated. “There’s no ghost, buddy, I already beat all the ghosts up.” “Dis ghost say ‘You daddy wrong’ and den ghost flies up over dere” Will pointed up at the corner of my room. “I scared daddy, can I sleep wif you?” “Yeah buddy, just be still and don’t squirm too much, alright?” I turned my phone over and opened the lock screen to check the time, the brief glare of the screen slightly blinded me as “2:04am” stared back at me. Will slid under the blankets next to me and cuddled close. He squirmed for a solid 30 minutes before finally falling asleep. I eventually fell back asleep shortly after that, leaving thoughts of ghosts for tomorrow morning. I didn’t consider Will’s irrational bedtime fears as being anything of note, considering how common it supposedly is with kids his age. The past week really wasn’t even bad, with last night being the first time he had woken up scared in a long time. Come to think of it, this might be the first time ever. Sure, like every child everywhere, he had woken up when he was really sick, or really hungry, or for whatever reason infants wake up every couple of hours a night until their sleep conditioning kicks in. I don’t remember him ever waking up scared before. I got on with my day as normally as possible, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I kept asking myself questions I didn’t have any answers to. That night, I laid Will down to sleep and read him a book called “Where the Snowbunnies Play” which featured an an arctic fox as the main antagonist, chasing the innocent Snowshoe Hares away from their home. The Hares get back at the fox by making a “booby trap” that catches the fox and saves the bunnies’ hides. The book put me to ease now that I knew what was upsetting Will. After the book, I kissed him on the forehead and told him goodnight, but as I was leaving, the same whining demands came forth from my little boy. “Daddy, don’t turn out the light! Dere’s a ghost right ovah dere, it come from da closet and fly ovah dere! Don’t close the door, daddy.” “Will,” I walked back over to his bed and sat down at the end of it, placing a hand on his little arm as I said “there are no ghosts here to bother you, there are no arctic foxes, and definitely no booby traps. If you get scared in the night, you can always come get me, ok buddy?” Will still looked scared, but he nodded silently. I kissed him once more on the forehead and left his room, carefully closing the door but leaving it open just a crack to let a little light from the hallway in. My eyes seemed to have closed just an instant before they snapped open again. I felt no slight pressure on my leg this time, but an overwhelming sense of wrong, the tight balled up feeling in the chest that seems to strike when something inexplicable causes a fearful anxiety that paralyzes all rational thought. I felt so unsettled, I didn’t move for what seemed like an eternity. The bedroom was silent. More than silent...I couldn’t hear ANYTHING. Not the A/C or the slight hum of the ceiling fan, not the normal muffled sound of occasional traffic outside, nothing. I realized that I could not even hear my own shallow breaths into my pillow, and that finally convinced me to move.
