Night Light

The screams started promptly at eight forty-five, as usual.

Stan dropped his hands to his lap in exasperation, crumpling his paper in the process. “This is getting really old really fast.”

His wife didn't even look up from her favorite show. “Well, it's only been a week since you took his night light away; you've got to give him time to adjust.”

“It's past time for him to adjust...he's twelve, for crying out loud!”

“You know he's always had a thing about the dark, dear.”

“Yes,” he replied, dropping the paper and standing up, “and it's high time he got over it.” He headed for the stairs up to the bedrooms.

“Don't be too hard on him, dear,” she called after him, never taking her eyes off the television.

Stan opened the door to Tim's room and turned on the light, more so that he wouldn't trip than to comfort his son. As usual, the floor wasn't even visible beneath the scattering of toys, books and clothes that lay there.

“Tim? What's the commotion about?”

“Dad,” Tim said from underneath the covers, “I keep telling you...the monster comes out when it gets dark!”

“Son, I've had just about enough of this foolishness. You are twelve years old, and it's well past time for you to get over this!”

“But Dad...you don't understand...”

“I understand just fine, thank you. Now go to sleep, and no more screaming.” Stan turned off the light and shut the door.

Tim hunkered down in his bed, tears streaming down his face. “No, you don't understand, Dad,” he said as his fingers grew claws in the darkness and his teeth became fangs, “but I'm afraid tonight might be the night you do.”

by DaveHughes