"Don't you think you're a little too old to sleep with the light on, sweetie?" Your mom brushes drifting locks of hair away from your eyes as she sits down on the edge of your bed. This isn't the first time she'd asked this, although it had been a while since you had insisted on leaving the overhead light on while sleeping. "There's a night light in the hallway if you need to get up to go to the bathroom, but I think you'll sleep better if it isn't so bright in here." She is always gentle about it, but the message comes in clear. She's trying her best to be understanding, but it's time to put your old habits to rest.
You shake your head fiercely, sitting up a little, "No, mom! I'll sleep better with the lights on."
"Now, why is that?" She eases you back onto your pillow, keeping her voice soothing.
You look over at the closet, but stay silent. You're embarrassed, but still too afraid to conjure up any pretense at courage. She catches on quickly to what your glance means. She probably knew the answer before she had bothered to ask the question.
She walks over to the closet, and opens it wide. She mimics the posturing of an old fashioned detective, making a show of looking into every corner.
"Ah-ha!" she shouts, causing the pit of your stomach to ache as your pulse sweeps each drop of blood into the frenzied stream. It does not return to normal as quickly as you would have liked when she merely holds up some tangled hangers for inspection. "I imagine these scraping against the wall would cause a racket." She untangles them before hanging them back up and closing the door back. "There is something scary in there after all, a big ol' mess. It's too bad you don't have a little pet monster to help you clean that up in the morning."
Had you been older, you might be offended by her making a play thing of your concerns, but she only means to lighten the mood. You're more annoyed that your request for help has landed you with an extra chore tomorrow.
"But-"
"Everyone's a little afraid of the dark, sweetheart," she cuts you off, "The only way to get over that fear is to get used to it. You'll find that it's not so bad after all." She plugs a night light in next to your bed and turns off the overhead light. "But how about we start here for now, hm?" She kisses your forehead and leaves before you can argue your case any further. All you manage out are a few pathetic pleadings without any rational substance. It's more wisps of wishes than words which come out of your mouth.
Left alone, you consider turning the light back on once she goes to her own bedroom. Your parents keep their door closed at night, so she wouldn't notice. Or maybe you could try just going to sleep. The dinosaur shaped light could help, maybe. And it would feel good to sleep on your own like a big kid.
You settle into your bed, trying to think of happy things that keep your mind away from dark corners. You try to remember the what happened in the movie your parents had taken you to the previous weekend. That would be a light-hearted subject. Yes. You'll think about that.
But then you hear it.
There's a soft scraping at the closet door. You remember what your mom said, and burrow deeper into your blankets, closing your eyes with such force that your eyelids smart under the pressure. It's just a hanger, you tell yourself. Mother showed me.
The scraping stops suddenly.
There. Nothing to be afraid of. All is quiet for a moment, and you relax. Almost ready to drift off, you hear the next sound as it lands against the door with a bang.