The Nightly Visitor

Chapter 5: Tommy's World

Tommy lay in his hospital bed, staring up at the ceiling. The room was quiet, except for the soft hum of the machines monitoring his condition. The walls were covered in brightly colored posters—dinosaurs, outer space, superheroes—all things that a typical ten-year-old would love. But Tommy wasn't a typical ten-year-old, and his room, despite the cheerful decorations, felt more like a prison than a place of healing.

He had been here for months now, the diagnosis hanging over him like a dark cloud. The doctors had done their best to explain it to him, but Tommy understood more than they thought. He knew his body was failing, that the treatments weren't working, and that the adults around him were running out of hope.

He didn't like seeing his mother cry, or the way his father tried to be strong, even though Tommy could see the fear in his eyes. They all treated him like he was fragile, like he might break at any moment. But Tommy didn't feel fragile. He felt tired. Tired of the endless tests, the poking and prodding, the whispered conversations when they thought he couldn't hear. He was tired of pretending to be brave when all he wanted was to be a normal kid, playing outside with his friends, not stuck in this sterile room.

But there was one thing Tommy wasn't tired of—his conversations with the dark figure who visited him at night. At first, he had been scared, but that fear had quickly faded. The figure, dressed in black and surrounded by an aura of calm, was unlike anyone else in the hospital. He never spoke down to Tommy, never treated him like a child who couldn't understand. Instead, he answered Tommy's questions with honesty and respect, something the adults rarely did.

Tommy called him Mr. D, short for Death. He wasn't sure if the figure found it funny or annoying, but he always responded when Tommy called him by that name.

Mr. D appeared again tonight, as he always did when the hospital was quiet and everyone else had gone to sleep. He didn't walk through the door—he never did. He just appeared, standing at the foot of Tommy's bed, a shadow against the dim light of the room.

"Hi, Mr. D," Tommy said, his voice a whisper in the stillness.

"Hello, Tommy," Death replied, his voice low and soothing, like the rustle of leaves in the wind. "How are you feeling tonight?"

Tommy shrugged, a small movement of his thin shoulders. "The same, I guess. I'm tired, but I'm always tired."

Death nodded, as if he understood completely. "You've been very strong, Tommy. Stronger than most people ever have to be."

Tommy looked at Death, his wide, curious eyes searching the figure's face—or what little he could see of it. "Mr. D... what's it like? You know, dying."

Death was silent for a moment, as if considering how to answer. "It's different for everyone. But for you, Tommy, it will be peaceful. Like falling asleep after a long day, knowing that you'll wake up somewhere new."

Tommy absorbed this, his young mind processing the idea. "Will it hurt?"

"No," Death said softly. "Not for you. You've been through enough pain. What comes next will be gentle."

Tommy nodded, taking comfort in the words. He had always suspected that his time was running out, even if no one said it out loud. The adults avoided the topic, speaking in vague terms or not at all, but Tommy had a way of knowing things. He could feel it in his bones, the way a storm feels before it arrives.

"Will I see my mom and dad again?" Tommy asked, his voice tinged with both hope and fear.

Death's dark figure seemed to soften at the question. "In time, yes. But they will stay here for now. They have more to do in this world before they can join you. But you'll never really be apart from them, Tommy. The love you share will keep you connected, no matter where you are."

Tommy thought about this, trying to imagine what it would be like to be somewhere else, without his parents. It was a strange thought, but not as scary as it had been before. "What's it like... where I'm going?"

Death hesitated, as if choosing his words carefully. "It's a place where you'll find peace. You'll see things in a new way, understand things that were confusing before. It's a place where you can rest, Tommy. And there will be others there, like you, who will understand what you've been through."

Tommy nodded again, comforted by the thought. "Will I be alone?"

"No," Death said, his voice firm but gentle. "You won't be alone. I'll be with you, and so will others who have passed on before you. You'll find friends there, Tommy. And in time, you'll find the peace you've been looking for."

Tommy felt a strange sense of calm settle over him, as if a weight had been lifted from his small shoulders. He didn't have all the answers, but he trusted Mr. D. The figure had been honest with him, had treated him like the brave boy he was, not like a fragile thing that needed to be coddled.

"Mr. D," Tommy said after a long pause, "will you stay with me? When it's time?"

Death nodded, stepping closer to the bed. "I'll be right here with you, Tommy. You won't have to go alone."

A small smile touched Tommy's lips. For the first time in a long while, he felt truly safe. "Thank you," he whispered.

Death stayed with Tommy until the boy drifted off to sleep, his breathing steady and calm. The night was deep and quiet, the hospital resting in the lull between the bustling day and the quiet hours before dawn.

As he watched over Tommy, Death felt a pang of something he hadn't allowed himself to feel in eons—a tenderness, a sorrow for the life that would soon be cut short. Tommy's journey wasn't over yet, but it was close. And when the time came, Death would be there to guide him, just as he had promised.

For now, though, he would let the boy sleep, peaceful and unaware of the dawn that would soon come. The underworld could wait a little longer. Tommy deserved this rest, this final moment of peace before the end.

Death lingered in the room for a while longer, standing vigil over the sleeping child. Then, as the first light of dawn began to creep into the room, he vanished, leaving behind nothing but a gentle breeze that stirred the curtains and the faintest whisper of a promise.