nathan-wright-igpwuxZofgo-unsplash.jpg The room was pitch—black. Towering shadows danced frantically on the cracked bathroom door. The low ceiling was covered with their skeletal fingers that awaited to grasp Kayla and tear her apart. They threatened her. They frightened her and tormented her pitiful soul. Turning five was not something to be proud of, after all. It meant you were too big to sleep beside Mommy and that you were responsible for deterring spirits who lurk and linger around you at midnight. Since last week’s memorable birthday party, Kayla never felt safe when the clock struck nine at night. “On the bed, Kay!” the frightful command goes, followed by echoes of ghastly phantoms who seek to torture the shivering timid child. Kayla hid under her quilt and pretended to feel Mommy’s comforting warmth. She imagined Mommy’s tender touch and longed for an escape from the ruthless situation. Despite her attempt to battle her fears, they pierced their blade-like fingers through her
