Alice wasn’t sure when she had begun to fear the dark. Truthfully, she felt as though the fear had always been there, as much a part of her being as her blonde hair or the freckles upon her face. After all, didn’t all children share this same trait, even if short-lived? Throughout her childhood, so many films and children’s tales normalised the terror. Children are taught to beware of the bogeymen that lurk in the night, lest these hidden nightmares creep from under the bed or out of their wardrobe to steal them away forever.
Alice’s parents had accepted her young terror as natural and, being the kind and sensible parents that they were, followed the sage advice of their elders. ‘Don’t close the bedroom door at night’, Grandpa had advised. ‘Give her something special, that she can sleep with, to keep the monsters at bay’, recommended Grandma. ‘She’ll grow out of it eventually’, assured her aunts and uncles. It’s just a phase.
It had been shortly before Alice’s 6th birthday when she received ‘Blankie’. Toys could not defend her from the evils that lurked, untamed. The light of the hallway could not banish the dark that sat menacingly in the corners of her bedroom. She was assured though, that Blankie was special. Blankie had once belonged to Great Aunt Shirley. Blankie had experience in protecting little girls from monsters.
She had been sceptical, of course. Her small hands had unfurled the neatly folded pleats of material with equal parts curiosity and lingering doubt. The blanket itself was soft with a repeated crochet pattern. Muted tones of dusky pink and sage green repeated in intricate designs on the surface. Rabbits and flowers alternated within squares, giving the illusion of bunnies frolicking and leaping through a summer meadow. The blanket was backed with a light woollen felt. It was gentle on her delicate skin, but reassuringly heavy.
With some difficulty she had hauled the blanket over her head, disappearing as though swallowed by a colourful shroud. The engulfing weight had felt like armour on her small frame, and she lifted her arms experimentally.
“Do you like it?” her mother asked tentatively.
“I love it!” Alice replied with glee.
The evening had later, gradually descended upon them and Alice’s nightly ritual had been completed. Hair had been combed, teeth had been brushed, lullabies had been sung and Alice was now comfortably on her bed. The blanket had been gently tucked around her, leaving only her face exposed as she waited expectantly for the final recital of the evening.
“Night, night,” her mother said softly as she gently stroked her cheek, “sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite…”
She then leaned in conspiratorially and Alice’s grin grew wide as she itched with anticipation for her mother’s final line, “…but if they do?”
Alice’s answer was jubilant: “Bite them back!”
She burst into giggles at this, and her mother smiled warmly in response, smoothing down the bed covers once more. “Love you, Pumpkin,” whispered her mother as she leaned in to kiss her on the forehead.
“Love you more,” replied Alice as she watched her mother walk away towards her bedroom door. With one final glance and soft smile, her mother flicked the light switch before walking through the open door. It felt to Alice as though all the warmth in the room left with her. Even with the door left ajar, shadows churned unseen. Jagged edges and claws, bathed in darkness, rippled out from behind toys and furniture.
She pulled the blanket over her head and curled into a ball on her side. Her small form was tensed. Her breath came in fast plumes of heat, rapidly warming her small pocket of air. The increasing humidity and cloying scent of fruity toothpaste enveloped her senses.
Unexpectedly for Alice, after a few minutes, the fear abated somewhat. Whatever atrocity lurked outside her woollen castle seemed unable to penetrate the soft folds. The usual creaks and strange tapping noises that echoed eerily through the house at night were dampened by the blanket’s thickness. She relaxed a little, though remained suspicious. Her small ears strained to hear the warning of a monster’s advance, but none seemed forthcoming. The small hairs on her neck, usually standing to attention, remained flattened. She was shielded. She was safe. The dark couldn’t reach her underneath the blanket. It remained outside the walls of her shelter like a rabid dog locked outside the castle gates, ineffectually sniffing for an entrance point or weakness but finding none.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Content, she finally drifted peacefully into sleep.
This simple, but effective, aid would continue for several years. The need for a child’s comfort remains an unquestioned rule. The adults in Alice’s life understood this implicitly, and so, as though she were the tiniest monarch of the land, her evening needs were catered to without the need to demand such. The rabbits on the blanket served as silent vassals, ensuring the lands of her dreams were no longer invaded by outside evils.
This acceptance of roles may have continued indefinitely, but Alice’s perception of events was skewed by a simple act of fate. It was one of many Friday film nights. Alice sat curled between her parents. Takeaway boxes littered the coffee table and lingering scents of sweet and sour pork and savoury fried rice hung thick in the air. The screen before them flickered and Alice was entranced, the handful of popcorn in her hand forgotten. Instead, she greedily absorbed the tale as it unfolded before her. A boy who died and became a friendly ghost. He was not much older than herself. Her young heart clenched in sympathy. Her hands clenched in fear.
“If it’s too scary, we can watch a happier film?” her father had gently prompted.
Though truthfully, the film had scared her more than she dared admit, she had admonished him.
“I want to see!”
The saccharine ending to the film did nothing to quell the concerns rising within her.
When at last, she lay beneath the comforting embrace of her blanket, these worries returned with greater force. Loneliness. That had been her biggest take from the film. Loneliness for such an inconceivably long time. Her thoughts wandered and she considered the darkness that lay beyond her cocoon of safety. What if the rabid wolves that lay outside her castle, were not rabid after all? Her thoughts strayed to Miss Jones’ dog. She recalled vividly the moment that they had met.
She had watched Miss Jones move in through her bedroom window, nose pressed against the glass in wonder. So many boxes had been unloaded that she had lost count. The new lady on the street had been smiley and animated, reminding her of the nice lady at the hairdressers who gave her a lollipop each time they visited.
When at last, the movers and vans had vanished from outside the house, a new car pulled up outside. Alice’s eyes had widened in delight, and she had run headlong downstairs to share the news.
“Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! The lady has a doggy! There’s a doggy!”
They had gone to introduce themselves shortly afterwards. Alice had pulled at her father’s hand as they walked, tugging with urgency when she laid eyes upon the dog romping in the fenced gardens.
Words were exchanged between the adults; casual greetings were offered, and friendly introductions were made. Alice remained enraptured by the joyful creature throughout.
“What’s his name?” she blurted excitedly.
“Mika, Mika’s a she.”
The dog had approached the fence, eager to see what new friends lay beyond. She was a large mixed breed hound, with the colouring and hefty structure of a rottweiler but sporting large ears that didn’t seem to know whether to lay flat or stand up. She wedged her wide nose through the gaps and snuffled audibly before displaying a smiling face with a lolling tongue.
Alice’s hands shot to her face, hiding her mouth as though her delighted giggle might frighten the animal.
“Can I stroke her?” she asked.
“Of course! Mika loves new friends,” had been the welcome reply.
Alice had approached the dog with caution, desperate to make contact but overwhelmed by nerves that warned of the unknown. She held out a hesitant hand before pulling it away at the last moment.
BOFF!
The dog’s loud bark seemed to reverberate through her, immobilising every fibre of her body, like a shockwave. The unexpected jolt of sound froze her only momentarily before shock gave way to tears. She had surrendered, bawling, into the welcome embrace of her father. Apologies and placations sounding from both adults above her.
Alice knew now that Mika had meant no harm on that day. She had, in time, grown to love the animal’s giddy exuberance and often pocketed small offerings during mealtime that she could stealthily offer the dog through the fence whenever they walked past. On rare occasions that tokens of friendship could not be offered, Alice would wave cheerily at her through the window as the animal’s muted ‘BOFF! BOFF! BOFF!” could be heard through the glass. A rallying cry of friendship, demanding attention from all who might choose to pass without offering their affections. Not like the snarling yaps of Mr Peterson’s dog that offered only warnings and threats.
Alice’s brow creased as she contemplated this. What type of dog paced the darkness outside her castle walls? You’re a Stupidhead, she thought to herself. But the need to know remained, like a glinting treasure demanding to be found.
She pouted, hands clenched, as she steeled herself. She could hear her parents’ chatter downstairs, snippets of conversation drifting to her ears. There was no way that anyone else would hear her. If she was being silly, there would be no one to remind her of her folly.
“Hello?” she whispered hesitantly, before licking her dry lips. She could feel embarrassment heating her cheeks but backing out prematurely was out of the question.
“I’m sorry for hiding… Do you… Would you like to be my friend?”
Even at that moment, she had not expected the darkness to respond.