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Nightmares, bloody, grotesque nightmares. Every night the boy had them. Sitting by his bed, Angelina shook her head as she watched his pale figure struggle and fight against the specters of the night. Breathing heavily, the child strained to speak in his sleep, only able to gurgle out some broken guttural syllables. What sort of monster would do this to a child? What had happened to him? Every night since Peter had come into her protection she would watch over him until he fell into the depths of dark delta sleep, his mind shutting down almost completely. Tonight was a particularly bad one, usually he settled down by this time. She was conflicted about whether to wake him, which she ultimately decided against. Although coming back to the physical world again would dispel the demons that Peter wrestled with in his dreams, it would also start the process over again and mean that he would be plagued with more hours of relentless nocturnal torture.
Peter rolled over on his side, scratching the sheets with strained fingers, “maa-maa…” Angelina sparked to life, had he just spoken? “Maa-maa!” He was starting to thrash about, and his face was strained with distress. “Ahhhhhhhh! Maa-maaaaaa!” His screams echoed in the silent house, and Angelina finally grabbed him by his shoulders, trying to ease his convulsions, and bring him back to consciousness as peaceably as she could.
“Peter? Peter? It’s okay, Peter, you’re safe! Wake up, honey, it’s me Angelina. You’re safe here with me.”
Peter’s eyes flew open as he screamed, and for a split second she could see into the depths of his suffering. A flame ignited behind his pupils that seemed borne on the very crests of the seas of fire. With every fiber of her being Angelina struggled back, but the flame flickered on, casting its wicked shadows on the walls of her soul, scorching the very interior of her being.
As soon as it had begun, it ended.
Peter cried and sobbed into his pillow.
Angelina was silent.
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