Sinister Sensations

Cover Up

“There's a bit of magic in everything, and some loss to even things out.” 

-Lou Reed, "Magic and Loss"

Samantha O’reilly, an average 10 year old girl with an extraordinary problem, you see, it is not the fact that her parents work long days and strenuous hours, or the fact that her teacher is none too nice, or even that little Billy Benson that sits behind her in class pulls her hair each day. No, the problem of which she has is even worse.

Each night Samantha goes to sleep, she encounters a strange phenomenon where her bed will shake, loud ear-splitting wails will toll and whistle, and the common sounds of their scratch scratch scratching continue to keep her up at night. Samantha, unfortunately, has a monster problem.

It all started about a month ago, and of course, Sam had called out to her parents in the middle of the night to assist her, crying things like “they’re going to get me, Mommy, HELP,” and when she spoke such things it would be then that her father would quickly stroll into the room, lay by her side and ask her what was wrong. He’d hold her tightly, pushing away the locks and tangles of messy brown hair that were strewn over her tear-soaked face, and console her as best as he could, but she would not stop crying completely until he stood up and turned on the light. And as soon as light filled the room, there would be no traces of the monsters; never. Sam would plead with her father until he lifted the bed covers and searched every corner, but there was never a hint or trace to be found, they would all magically vanish, which only upset Samantha further.

“There! Under the bed, Daddy! There,” she would yell, and then her father would proceed to turn the room to shambles looking for the source of her distress. And they’d both scratch their heads, her father more out of confusion and exhaustion, while Samantha out of frustration and determination. She’d seen the marks they’d left, she’d heard the sounds, and she wasn’t making up stories.

Finally her father would look under the bed, only to find an old sweater and a few dust bunnies, and to Samantha’s dismay, he would be right when she checked for the scratches and cuts in her flooring and bed frame, and THAT had her scared.

“It was only a nightmare, go back to sleep, honey, and dream of better things,” he would say, smiling at her, with that soft, father twinkle in his eye before gently turning off the light and shutting the door, leaving her there in darkness, where she’d hiccup and distress over whether the sounds would come back or not. Most days they would not return, but on their most special occasions it would happen for an hour or more so after, until little Samantha O’reilly was in hysterics, curled so tightly in her covers that only her father could pry her out of them again the next morning.

But one cold, November night the routine changed, and with the blinds folded shut and the windows locked tight, the shadows that cascaded down the walls and floors, tormented Samantha, and as usual, she would fidget with the covers in wait. Anxiously, she would await the sounds and horrors to begin so they would not catch her in her sleep.

‘That is always the worst,’ she had thought, ‘when they catch you in your sleep and scare the jeepers out of you!’ And so they would start, muffled moans and growls escaping her bedside until she could take it no longer and called for her father.

There was a loud cackle from under her bed as panic began to rise in Sam’s throat.

‘He’s taking longer than usual today. Where is he?! He should be here by now,' she thought desperately, but after another minute or two, the sounds receded and her father came in just as they disappeared completely. This time she did not wait, and instead leapt out of her covers, tossing them aside and ran to her father, hugging him as if her life depended on it, shivering and sobbing against his leg. Picking her up, he apologized and brought her back to her bed. Tucking her in, he pushed something she hadn’t noticed before into her hands and smiled down at her. She looked up at him quizzically before returning her curious gaze to the object. Slipping the loop around her wrist, her father pressed a button that illuminated the room with a soft beam which managed to make the room seem less frightening, and it was then that she noticed what the object was. A little metallic red flashlight that now hung loosely from her wrist. Pressing the button on the side again, all the light from the walls that lit up her room vanished, leaving nothing in its memory except the little flashlight that was now held firmly in her hand. “Tonight is the night you face your fears,” he announced. Samantha sat completely still, her eyes widening with horror-struck clarity. Jonathan, her father, sat up, and Samantha gripped his arm as tightly as she could possibly manage.