C P Davies

There's Something Dark in my Bedroom C P Davies

Sam frantically ran out of his bedroom door with his head down and eyes averted in his desperation to avoid seeing what he firmly believed to be lying in wait in the shadows. His 'dream' had now become an almost nightly occurrence and he instinctively knew it was of the utmost importance to escape from whatever dark, wicked and malevolent presence was in that far, gloomy corner of his room. He passed the ever-present indistinct, spectral, but curiously non-threatening, images of what looked like Roman soldiers standing, on guard, on the landing and into the illusory safety the bedroom next door occupied by his parents. He had spent what seemed like weeks sleeping, he hoped securely, at the foot of their bed out of harms way. For nine year old Sam, who for the most part had his feet relatively firmly planted on solid emotional ground, this was so far outside his experience that nothing could over come the horror of what his imagination compellingly told him was lurking just out of sight. What Sam didn't know, and it wouldn't have helped him if he did, was that previous generations of his family were blessed - if that is the appropriate word- with the same sensitivity as he. They too had suffered from comparable nightmares, or worse, sometimes for years; and occasionally with disastrous, even fatal, outcomes. The following story explains why.