Maybe we’re not all made of magic. Not really. We just fade from one world to the next. Always on the fence. That’s what sleep is, death,without commitment.
I watch and wait, and when a child has fits of night terrors. I am there. To explain what and why, sometimes if they are young, I simply remove them. Like popping bubbles. Or turning off apps left running.
Most of the time I am mistaken for a dream, staying in the dark, my scarves and dark clothes…a drink or a book in hand. This is very very solitary work.
Most of the time I never even have to return either.
With the exception of one.
I helped one child. A boy. Stayed with him for weeks. His case was hard to crack. Nothing added up. The child would wake up in fits of terror. Hearing chains and smelling fire.
Finally. Believing the boy was well. I moved on.
Fast forward 6 winters.
On this night. Under a full moon. Away in a college dorm. I drop my cigarette. Walking from the corner of the room. Recognise the face.
“I know you. I’ve visited you before.”
I walk towards him.
I know this one.
I know this one