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NIGHT TERRORS

Nancy's Notes 🖊️🎶

My son cried out for me again. It had become a nightly ritual.

At first I was amused by his attempts to stall going to sleep. Sometimes he’d ask for a glass of water or another bedtime story. His latest ruse was “monsters”. I’d made a big deal of looking under the bed, inside the closet, behind the rocking horse in the corner. Satisfied nothing was hiding in his room, he would drift off to sleep.

Now the routine had turned into a habit and I found myself becoming exasperated. The last couple of nights, my son was clearly upset by something he claimed to have seen. He cried real tears, asking me to keep the lights on. We compromised and began using a nightlight.

Still, something was scaring my boy and my frustration turned into concern. He was now saying a wicked witch came to him every night. There was no denying my little guy was truly scared.

I thought about every tv show or movie that could have set this off, any posters or books in his room. Nothing came to mind and I rubbed my temples as another headache began to worm its way in.

My son screamed for me and I ran to his room. The witch was back and he cried for me to stay with him. I crawled onto his bed and laid down, my arms around him and my head on his pillow. I closed my eyes as he described the bony and twisted fingers of a witch’s hand reaching through his bedroom window. With ragged breaths my boy clung to me, begging me to keep the witch away.

I held him tightly and kissed his head, assuring him that witches weren’t real and he was safe. Slowly his breathing calmed and I opened my eyes to see if he was asleep. With my head still on his pillow, I had the same view of my son’s room as he did. For the first time I saw his world through his 4-year-old eyes.

And there in the darkness tap-tap-tapping on his window was a sight that made me gasp … the gnarled and skinny branches of the scraggly juniper bush outside my son’s room looked very much like an evil witch’s hand grasping at little boys! How could I have missed it and the fearsome shadows it cast across the walls and onto the ceiling? I felt an enormous amount of guilt for not seeing what he saw, for thinking it was his only imagination, for losing my patience with a frightened little boy.

We sat up on his bed and I explained to my son that what he saw was not a witch but only branches and I could understand why it scared him. I asked my boy if he remembered seeing the juniper bush during the day while outside playing. He quickly nodded “Yes”. I asked him if the bush scared him when he saw it during the day; he giggled and said “No!”

I turned on all the lights in his room and asked if it would be ok if I opened the window. My son didn’t answer right away; he stared at his hands in his lap and nervously fussed with his pajamas, then looked up at me with tears in his eyes. I wanted to run to him and scoop him up in my arms but I forced myself not to move. I’m sure it took every ounce of courage for him to quietly answer “Ok, Mommy”.

I held out my hand and he slowly walked to me, that look of ‘dead man walking’ on his face. But he was a brave boy that night and together we opened the window. I reached out and touched the branches of the juniper. I shook the branches; there wasn’t a witch anywhere. My son asked if he could shake the branches, too, and I told him he could. When I asked if we should have Daddy cut down the bush in the morning, my son was very thoughtful for a minute. Then he shook his head saying “No, the bush didn’t mean to be scary”. He threw his arms around my neck and he climbed back into bed.

That night the fears were conquered, the night terrors vanquished. My little son is now a grown man with little sons of his own and it’s his turn to dispel their fears. Sometimes I wonder if he has any memory of those frightening nights from forty years ago.

Something tells me he doesn’t remember a thing.

NAR © 2023

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40 thoughts on “NIGHT TERRORS”

  1. Pingback: The Limelighters – Deserving Prompt Wrap-up – Moonwashed Musings

    2. This just in! I spoke to my son about this and he remembers me telling the story to my grandson (his son) when he was having some fears of his own but my son does not remember the actual event from 40 years ago. I’m very glad to know those memories did not linger or haunt him. The mind is an incredible thing!

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  6. I am sure that he also learned that whomever others call strega is not to be afraid😉

    Ah, the things that remain etched in our souls are not only the ones we deemed worthy of…

    Bellissimo inchiostro, cara🌹

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  7. I’ll bet he remembers. When something as powerful as that, and as that process of greeting, welcoming, and comforting the witch, it stays with ’em, weaved into the fabric of Self, even as th er individual thread sinks under conscious memory.

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    3. This just in! I spoke to my son about this and he remembers me telling the story to my grandson (his son) when he was having some fears of his own but my son does not remember the actual event from 40 years ago. I’m very glad to know those memories did not linger or haunt him. The mind is an incredible thing!

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      1. That ‘s amazing, and quite wonderful to see that it passed down to another generation. And what was transmitted was love and feeling protected: the power of Story. ❤🦄❤

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  15. Those green witches are horrible creatures … I’ve had to deal with them harshly before!
    “Ripe Tomatoes and A Garden Spade”

    Only another week to go
    I’ll be on the cruise
    I’m not feeling nervous
    More than I’m fearful
    Scared my plan might go amiss
    Before the high seas deliver bliss
     
    Taking two suitcases is normal
    Other passengers may have three
    I won’t look suspicious
    I’ve bagged her precisely
    Chopped her into small pieces
    Stored separately in the freezer
     
    The old witch, I caught her trespassing
    In my private courtyard
    Stealing my precious cherry tomatoes
    I whacked her with my garden spade
    Across the top of her green head
    I didn’t hit her too hard
    She lay there bleeding, not dead
    How dare she come into my yard
    She’s pleading with me, no mercy I said
    And I dragged her into the shed.  

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