Jaxon RadioHead

The Name in the Dark

Content Warning: This book contains mature content including violence, sexual abuse and assault, addiction, war, imperialism, mental health topics such as panic attacks, PTSD, racism, and religious trauma.

THE NAME IN THE DARK

Seven-year-old Jaxon clutched his teddy bear, its worn fur offering little comfort against the creeping dread that filled his room as the last sliver of sunlight vanished. The shadows stretched into monstrous shapes, the familiar contours of his room morphing into a landscape of unseen terrors.

A floorboard creaked in the hallway, and Jaxon squeezed his eyes shut. A moment later, the soft glow of his mother's nightlight chased away the encroaching darkness. Her warm embrace soothed his racing heart.

"Mom, can you stay?" Jaxon pleaded, his voice thick with fear.

His mother knelt beside his bed, her smile gentle but firm. "You're getting too big for that, little man. But remember, I'm right next door. If you get scared, just call out."

A lump formed in Jaxon's throat. He hated being alone in the dark. It was then he saw it - a sliver of movement against the closed closet door. Panic seized him.

"Mom, no!" he screamed, pointing at the closet.

His mother rushed to his side, flipping on the overhead light. The closet door hung open, revealing nothing but the hanging clothes inside. Relief washed over Jaxon, but a flicker of doubt remained.

"There's nothing here, Jaxon. Sometimes shadows play tricks on us," she explained, her voice laced with a hint of exasperation. "The next time you see this monster, why don't you asks it's name? Maybe it's not so scary after all."

Jaxon's brow furrowed. "The monster and I can be friends?"

"Sure," his mother chuckled, tucking him back into bed. "Now get some sleep."

The darkness returned, thicker and more oppressive than before. Jaxon squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to sleep. But the memory of the moving shadows lingered.

Then, a sound. A soft scraping against the closet door. Jaxon's heart hammered against his ribs. He peeked through one eye. The closet door was ajar, tendrils of inky darkness spilling out. A cold dread wrapped around him, but a strange curiosity flickered within him.

"H-hello?" Jaxon stammered, his voice barely a whisper.

A long, skeletal hand reached out from the darkness, followed by another. A massive, shadowy figure emerged from the closet, its form obscured by the swirling darkness. Jaxon swallowed, his voice barely a squeak.

"M-my name is Jaxon," he said. "What's yours?"