When the Light Came

The waning sun peeks through the window blinds, dabbling the floor with yellow stripes. The heat of the day begins to retreat and the coming night cools the air. It is almost time. He yawns and stretches out flat, wiggling his toes and fingers, straining his neck and rolling his shoulders. It is finally fall where the days are shorter and his sleep is less. He loves this time. His duty is longer but the dark envelopes him like an old, comfortable sweater. In the distance he can hear the clanking of the dinner dishes being cleared. The television playing her favorite show blares. He hears her high pitched giggle and the disembodied laughs of the old ones.

He waits for the shadows and emerges from his bed. Inspecting the room, pink explodes and flourishes everywhere, bursting out of the walls and bedspread. The canopy is gold and white with cotton candy drapes that help protect her while she sleeps. Stuffed animals in a variety of fuchsia litter the floor. A faint floral smell permeates the air.

The room is distinctly hers. No trace of him can be found but he is an integral part of this room. He protects it, keeps it and her, safe from the others. The others are always lurking, trying to lure him away from his vigil. He is the barrier that keeps them at bay. He can feel them now, gathering in the corner shadows, long teeth glistening in the emerging moonlight. He feels their hunger, their malice in every breath. A shudder and sigh shivers through his body. It is going to be a long night.

Footsteps are heard on the stairs and he flees to the closet, behind the yellow rain jacket and pink and yellow rubber boots to his usual lair. The old ones enter the room, turning on the light and sending blinding rays through the closet door slats. He retreats further back into the dark.

“Here you go, Pumpkin.” The man booms. “Up into bed.” He lifts the giggling girl and bounces her on the mattress.

The woman carefully pulls back the pink bedspread and the child scrambles beneath the cover. Tucking it up under her chin, the man kisses her forehead.

“Sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

“Story!” She shouts as the women and man begin to retreat.

The woman glances slyly at the man, “You go ahead. I think it is my turn.” He winks and nods, leaving the room quieter. Turning to the child she says, “Which book tonight?”

“Wild Thing! Wild Thing!” the child chants, clapping her hands. The woman already has the book, knowing the outcome of the question before it is asked.

Perching on the side of the bed, the woman opens the dog-eared book lovingly. It is cherished by the child and read many times over. The cover with its monster reflects back to him through the slats. He puffs up his chest and proudly listens as the story unfolds. The words are familiar and give him a sense of belonging to her here, in the perfect chaos of the princesses room. He listens to her deepening breath as she slips into an innocent sleep. The woman’s voice halts and a quiet shrouds the room. An uneasy peace steals through him. He knows the quiet is deceptive, for once the lights are off, the struggle begins.

Tip-toeing from the room, the woman switches off the light. Darkness descends and he creeps from the closet with claws extended. He knows the others are not far behind. The Other-King will appear and direct his troops to take the little girl and render him a failure. He must be prepared. He needs all the viciousness of an Other along with the steel will to take them out forever. The instinct for the darkness will serve him well. He can not allow the light into his heart.

The darkest part of the night comes and he waits on edge, knowing any minute now the room will erupt into battle. He gnashes his teeth in anticipation. There, in the farthest corner of the room, HE appears, the Other-King, hoards amassing behind him he hisses, “NOW!”

They come at him two and three at a time. He spins and slashes with claws and teeth, ripping and tearing into them. Darkness oozes from their wounds, splashing and eviscerating the light, almost blinding him. He is like a whirl-wind, everywhere all at once. He can not let up. He can not tire. He is the last defense of innocence and, yes, the light. The army is endless and he struggles to keep on his feet, fatigue begins to set in. Then he hears her soft cry in the night and redoubles his efforts to defeat the onslaught of the Others.

In his haste he lifts an Other above his head, with claws embedded in its soft underbelly. He flings it away with a fury. The other crashes into the pink carousel lamp crashing it to the floor. The child wakes, screaming in the night. He can hear the old ones fleeing up the stairs. The door bangs open, the light flips on, chaos and death escape to the gloom. He retreats under the bed, waiting, watching.

The old ones hug and coo to the child as she thrashes about in terror. Under the bed he trembles in empathy for her. She yells in her tiny voice, “The Others here! Bad, Scary Others.”

The man whispers, “Where are they, Pumpkin?”

“Dark, Daddy,” She replies.

“In the closet?” He asks.

At the child's nod he flings open the doors and shines a light from his cell phone into the dark recesses.

“Away with you, BAD OTHERS!” He shouts. “Light vanquishes Darkness!” The girl looks on solemnly.

“Are they behind the curtain?”

A tentative “Yes” escapes the child’s lips.

Again he shines the light behind the curtain and exclaims, “Foul Others, Be GONE!”

A small smile begins to creep upon the little girl's face. Tears dissipate and she yawns.

“Under the bed?” Daddy asks.

“No, No, Daddy. Wild Thing!” She jumps up too late as he shines his light under the bed.

Under the bed, Wild Thing tries to wriggle out but there is no shadow to be found. He cries out as he begins to fade into the light. The child sobs again inconsolably, asking for him to return.

With a whisper, she says, "Wild Thing."

He tries with all his might to withstand the light but it overcomes him in waves.

The old ones tuck her into bed with nothing to defend her but her cotton candy curtains and a pale pink night light. Her defender has withered away into the light.

The last thing he hears before succumbing is the Other-King whisper, “She is ours now.”