The darkness crooned a lullaby to me, in a voice
so low I could never quite make out the words but
I knew to be scared, I knew that much.

It leaned in close to tuck me in. It kissed my
eyelids already shut so tight; it told me not to let
the bed bugs bite and it told me I had nothing
to fear, but oh. I never believed.

I had it figured out:
The darkness lies.

I lay on my back, silent, still. I listened to the sounds
of my mind, the humming, the white noise of terror.
A million ways to die, I heard, but they all take you to
the very same place – deep, hollow, and no return.

The darkness stayed beside me til morning, when I woke
to shafts of dingy, slanted light, nightmares tangled up
in the bedsheets and my heart scrunched tight. Heavy,
and pounding. Mother asked why I was screaming.

The next night, the monster under my bed was waiting for
me. I couldn't look but I saw its fangs in the moonlight
glinting. White. Like pearls. Ready to eat me. Drawing
near, closing in. Coming for me. The darkness said,

You're dreaming. But I knew the truth: No.
The darkness lies, it always lies. The monster is
real. I am the darkness. This isn't a nightmare.

I never woke up.