Go To Bed
Kesh i a A n i n di ta
Edgar Allan Poe
1.
Remy My fear of sleeping began when I was 8 years old. Our family moved to a smaller house because of my grandmother’s illness. My mom has to take care of my grandma at my grandparents’ house. So I only live with my dad for time being. My new bedroom is a small and narrow room with a small window to the garden. It was the first time I had ever slept on my own, and from the very first night I remember experiencing a strange feeling of unease. For a tired child, bedtime is always a happy and relaxing event when they relax and drift off into a restful slumber. Some children complain when their parents force them to go sleep before they feel sleepy, some awaits bedtime story from them. For me, bedtime was always fearful and terrifying event that I dreaded every night.
As I lay trying to fall asleep, I thought I heard a noise. I wasn’t sure, but it seemed to be coming from the floor. The room was almost pitch black and the curtains on the window let in just enough light to make out vague shapes in the dark. Sometimes the simplest of sounds can be most unnerving. I listened closely and realized that it was the unmistakable sound someone ticking on the wood of my bed frame near my feet. Like sounds of finger nails hitting a surface. I was totally scared and tried to force myself to sleep, but I failed. The sound of ticking gradually rose become knocking. I couldn’t stand it anymore, I cried out for my dad. My Dad came rushing to the room but the sound had stopped. He then comforted my until I was asleep.
The next day, as I was playing in the garden, I kept glancing up at my bedroom window. Each time, a chill ran down my spine and my hair stood on the end. I felt like something was lurking in that room, watching me play and waiting for night to fall, so it could be alone with me again. It’s just a feeling. But I couldn’t help but to think about it.
I tried to tell my Dad about it, but he wouldn’t listen to me. “Go to bed,” said my father, “Man up.” I didn’t protest further because it was no use. Adults don’t believe in such thing that mostly children can see.
Lying there in the darkness, alone and frightened, I began to hear sounds again. I knew it’s starting again. This time was quiet, rustling sound of the bed sheet near my feet, as if someone’s is sitting or lying there. Lying there paralyzed with fear, I can only pray that it didn’t do anything. I kept my eyes closed, pretending to sleep so the “thing” would stop. Suddenly the rustling sound became a crying sound that came out of nowhere. It sounds like a little boy, or girl’s cry. It was sobbing and weeping. I was horrified with the idea that it was near me; I began to tremble and panicking.
The crying goes on, it felt like forever. Then either I gathered my courage, or my guts was not there anymore, I screamed. I just screamed.
2.
Dad
Last week, my son, Remy had just started to sleep in his own room. However, things didn’t go too well as expected. The first night he slept alone, he was scared and called out to me to accompany him. He said something is bothering him at night, like knocking sounds on his bed frame. He’s probably too scared that he imagined those things. I don’t believe there’s other thing in his room. I never believed such things existed. Moreover he’s not a courageous child since he was little.
Some days had passed with Remy being scared and calling me at night. I was getting quite irritated by this. Why he’s not be-
ing sensible yet. He should stop watching those scary TV shows that makes no sense at all. I scolded him. Remy didn’t say anything, he looked quite upset, sad, and hopeless. He stayed silent for a while, and then he went to his bedroom with his head down. I might have gone too far scolding him. Maybe I was too rude. So I try escorting him to his room. I just realized that the room was so dark, only a small amount of light coming through the window. I looked around; everything was good, nothing strange.
I began tucking him into bed and he tells me, “Daddy, please check for something under my bed.” I look underneath for his amusement and see him, another him, under the bed, staring back at me quivering and whispering,
“Daddy there’s somebody on my bed.”
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