Night Terrors Begin

The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of bruised purple and fiery orange, but for Emma, the beauty of twilight was now tinged with a creeping dread. The day had been a whirlwind of forced smiles and nervous laughter, a desperate attempt by Salsa to chase away the shadows that had begun to lengthen around her daughter. Emma had clutched her mother’s hand a little tighter than usual, her eyes darting to empty corners as if expecting a familiar, yet unwelcome, presence.

As bedtime approached, a familiar resistance began to bubble up in Emma. Not the usual “I’m not tired” kind of protest, but a quiet, trembling refusal. Salsa, her heart a tight knot in her chest, tried to coax her into her pajamas, her voice a little too bright, a little too determined. “Come on, sweetie. Time for sleepy time. Maybe Melissa will bring you a new storybook tonight!”

Emma flinched at the name. Her lower lip quivered. “No, Mama. Not tonight.”