Don't Open Your Eyes

‘Time for bed.’

It was the same routine every evening. Get home from school, play football with his brother, watch television, do his homework, tea at half five (bangers and mash usually), play video games, read a comic book and then go to bed. All in all it was quite a hectic day in the life of a six year old.

Tommy Doherty wasn’t able to tell the time properly but he knew the moment the little hand reached the figure eight his mum would look up from her book, reading glasses pushed halfway down the bridge of her nose, and say those fatal three words like she was handing out a prison sentence.

Of course Tommy always protested.

‘Ach, Mum. Do I have to?’

‘This is a school night, Tommy, now do as you’re told.’

‘Let me stay up a little while longer, please.’

‘Go upstairs, brush your teeth and put your pyjamas on. I’ll be up in a few minutes to tuck you in and help say your prayers.’

Mum always had the final say.

Tommy slowly picked himself up off the floor and traipsed out of the room with his head hanging. Sean grinned; he was allowed to stay up a while longer because he’s two years older. Tommy always wished he were older.

The first hurdle in this mammoth task was getting up the stairs and past the statue of baby Jesus. His mum called it the ‘Child of Prague.’ Sean told him that the statue attacked him one night and that Dad had to pull it off him. It terrified Tommy no end. The statue’s eyes would stare down at him as he slowly climbed each stair. They looked so alive, watching his every move. It was almost as if they were saying to him ‘you’re next, Tommy boy, you’re next.’ With each step he climbed his heart would beat a little faster. Tommy was unable to wrest his eyes away from the statue no matter how hard he tried. And when he reached the top stair he felt sure it would come alive and grab him. He edged himself along the wall out of harm’s reach and towards the bathroom at the end of the hall.

With the statue behind him the next task was getting past the upstairs window. It looked out onto the neighbour’s back garden and a great oak tree - gnarled and twisted with thick, sinewy arms for branches and twigs like fingers. Sometimes when the wind blew it would make a tapping sound against the window as if it was trying to undo the latch and get inside the house. One night Tommy glanced outside and saw a ghost dancing in Mr. Whelan’s back lawn. He let out a scream and his dad came pounding up the stairs to see what had happened. When Tommy told him about the ghost his dad looked outside and started laughing. It was just a shadow from the tree’s branches dancing in the wind. Nevertheless, Tommy was frightened of looking out that window and each time he passed it he had to cup his hand over his eyes, stare down at the carpet and run.

The bathroom was the easiest part. Tommy was able to reach the cord and flood the place with brilliant, friendly light. The noise of the fan was an extra comfort. He brushed his teeth, getting most of the toothpaste on his shirt because he wasn’t paying attention to the task in hand. Instead he kept a constant vigil in the mirror in case something jumped from behind.

Nothing did – this time.

He never used the toilet unless he really had to. Not since Sean told him about the rat that lived in the drainpipe. After that he was too afraid to lift the lid open.

Then came the most difficult part of all. The bedroom.

During the day it was the best place on earth. It had more toys in it than a toyshop even. But at night it was a dark and shadowy place with gremlins lurking in every corner. Watching him. Waiting for him. Ready to pounce.

He couldn’t reach the light switch but the light from the upstairs landing was enough to see his way to the bed at the far side of the room without standing on an action man or tripping over a fire engine. But what worried him most was the darkness on either side. Sometimes he would run across the room and leap onto the bed and turn on the bedside lamp as quickly as possible. Other times there were obstacles in his path that he had to carefully negotiate. Tonight it looked almost like an assault course.

Treading carefully, he kept his eyes fixed firmly on the wooden floor. Every other step he would stop and look around the room, his eyes becoming accustomed to the gloomy interior. He stepped over a miniature-sized garage with little matchbox cars parked around it and stood on a felt tip pen. It cracked under his foot and a little involuntary gasp escaped Tommy’s throat. Sometimes it was hard to see the floor in front of him because of his own shadow. Seconds later he threw himself on the bed and fumbled madly in the dark for the button on the bedside lamp. In the midst of his fear all caution was thrown to the wind.

Suddenly he froze. His eyes narrowed to pierce the shadows. In the very darkest corner, far off on the right, was a man or a man like creature. The man wasn’t his dad or his brother (it was way too big to be his brother). The man was a stranger. ‘Never talk to strangers,’ Mum always told him. The stranger had a long white face, narrow cheekbones, a high forehead, and was wearing a cloth cap.

No, that’s his hair, he heard a voice in his head telling him. Whaddaya gonna do now, Tommy?
He felt panic but had to force it back and find that lamp switch. Only light could save him now. He fumbled once more in the dark and this time he found the button. It needed two hands, one to hold the lamp steady and the other to push the button through. That meant having to adjust his whole body. He wasn’t sure if he could. The stranger grinned at him. It was almost as if he could sense his fear. Who are you, he wanted to ask, but not surprisingly he couldn’t find his voice.

It’s the Bogeyman, Tommy, the Bogeyman, the voice in his head returned. At which point the sheer terror that cramped his whole body seemed to diminish slightly and he was able to lean over and reach out with his other hand. He pressed in the button and the light came on bringing new shadows to the room. Normal shadows. Shadows that were meant to be there. The darkness withdrew and the only thing in the corner was an empty space. The bogeyman was gone.

Tommy realised his teeth were chattering. Gooseflesh knotted his skin. From one quiet, desperate moment, during which he felt helpless, to the next he carried on like all kids do.
Tommy climbed off the bed and went over to the chest of drawers and opened the top one. In it were his favourite Spiderman pyjamas his Aunt Mary had given him for his birthday. He quickly undressed, leaving his clothes in a heap where he stood, and pulled them on. Seconds later and he was lying under his Red Devil’s duvet waiting for his mum.

Several, anxious minutes later and as always his mum looked in on him. She read him a story about Thomas the Tank Engine, and after he had said his prayers and been through the rigmarole of blessing his mum, dad, brother, all his aunties and uncles, his best friend at school, his schoolteacher and his cat and dog, she kissed him good night. Before she could turn off the light however he told her he was scared.

‘Of what, Dear?’ she asked.

‘The Bogeyman.’

She gave him a loving smile and brushed the hair back on his forehead. ‘There’s no such thing.’

‘There is, Mum, I’ve saw him.’

‘Seen him,’ she corrected automatically. ‘If you’re talking about the Dancing Ghost your father and I have already explained that.’

‘No, Mum, in here,’ Tommy explained.

‘When?’

‘Before.’

She looked round at the cluttered room for a moment and winced. ‘Oh, Tommy, just look at the state of this room.’ She crossed over to the chest of drawers and began folding his clothes away. ‘You really must learn to tidy up after yourself.’

Tommy didn’t care about the state of the room.
His mum gathered up some of his toys and set them in a box in the corner.

‘And look at this, Tommy,’ she said holding up his good school shirt. ‘How many times have I told you to hang your clothes up in the wardrobe?’
She turned to open the wardrobe door and little Tommy bellowed at her; ‘no, Mummy, don’t look in there.’

‘Tommy?’

‘There’s a monster hiding in there.’

‘Don’t be a Silly Billy,’ she told him and proceeded to open the pine wooden door.

Tommy ducked his head beneath the duvet.

‘You see, there’s no monster and there’s no bogeyman either.’

Yeah right, the next thing I know she’ll be saying there’s no such thing as Santa Claus.
He slowly resurfaced and looked up as she held the door open for him. There was no monster. She was right.

‘But… but… you can only see him in the dark.’
He was distressed now. He wanted his mum to believe him.

His mum closed the door again, walked over to the bed and sat next to him.

‘Now sleep tight and don’t let the bed bugs bite.’

She bent over and kissed his tiny forehead.

‘Mum, will you stay with me for a while.’

She smiled. ‘Of course I will.’

He lay back feeling much better now and closed his eyes. His mum stroked his hair over and over and over. A couple of minutes passed and already he was resting on the periphery of sleep. He was only vaguely conscious of the light going out but it didn’t matter; he was safe as long as his mum was with him. The stranger in the corner wouldn’t bother him again tonight. Not while she’s around. The gremlins will probably go to sleep too. Sometimes he heard the pitter-patter of their tiny little feet running across the floor beneath his bed; but not tonight, not while his mum was with him. He was getting dreamier by the second, slipping further and further into unconsciousness. He barely felt his mother’s moist lips on his cheek. He never even noticed when she stopped stroking his hair. He was too far gone to hear her gentle footsteps tread lightly across the floor like a ballerina. As for the bedroom door softly closing - as far as little Tommy Doherty was concerned it never happened.

The wardrobe door slowly creaked open, Tommy was aware of that right away. Somehow he didn’t flinch or open his eyes. His only reaction was a sharp intake of breath. Something dark emerged from it. Something sinister. It was the monster that lived in his wardrobe. He didn’t see it but he sensed it.

Don’t open your eyes, he told himself. He knew his mortal enemy well.

The dark creature knew Tommy was in the room, why else would it come out from its hiding place? But it could never find him. There was no mystery to this of course. The creature was blind. It could only see the whites of eyes and Tommy knew this. So don’t open your eyes. He probably couldn’t, even if he wanted to. He also knew if he did open them they would light up like a cat’s eyes and he’d never be able to close them again once he saw the creature.

The room had become much darker. It was an unnatural kind of darkness, a sort of night upon night. It was this that alerted Tommy to its presence in the first place, that plus the sound of the wardrobe door opening. The creature was on the move. Again Tommy could only sense this. It was drifting through the room like a shadow through all the other shadows. Tommy could feel his whole body trembling. The creature was standing next to the chest of drawers, its fervent, black eyes wandering aimlessly across the darkened room, sightless. The creature stood there for a very long time. The seconds seemed like minutes and the minutes seemed like hours.

It’s moving again. This time across the ceiling and down the wall at the far side like a blot on the night, camouflaged by an unending tide of shadows that seemed to flow with it. It made no sound. No one outside of this room would be alerted to its presence. Tommy was alone.

Don’t open your eyes, he reminded himself as the terror inside him ebbed and flowed.

The creature had become very still in the far corner where the stranger was standing earlier. The stranger made up of gloominess and a suggestion of moonlight that somehow penetrated the curtains. An illusion, whose dim figure the light destroyed. Couldn’t this be the same thing? Surely not, but what if it is? Then all I have to do is reach out and turn the light on.

Tommy was almost starting to relax again when the voice in his head returned. But what if you’re wrong, Tommy, and all you do is let the creature know where you are? Then what?

The voice was right. Better to keep his eyes closed. Eventually it will go away.

He was seized once again by terror as the mass of darkness crawled along the ceiling and dropped to the floor next to his bed. Tommy was convinced now of its existence. He could sense the darkness climbing up on top of the bed and closing in around him.

Don’t open your eyes! Don’t open your eyes!

The creature’s face, if it had a face, drew near to his. He could feel its warm, fetid breath against his soft, pale skin. It pulled down the bed slightly pressing against the duvet, listening for some form of life beneath it. Tommy was afraid his heart beating against his chest might give him away. But no… the creature seemed to slide off the end of the bed and crawl underneath it. Then Tommy remembered the only thing that could give him away were his eyes.

The voice in his head returned. Remember Miss Quinn’s nature class?

Yes.

Remember the ostrich that buries its head in the sand?

But that’s just a story.

No, Tommy, it’s more than just a story, remember… if you can’t see it then it doesn’t exist… The voice echoed deep into his dreams. It doesn’t exist… doesn’t exist… doesn’t exist…

It was dark at the bottom of the lake. Tommy was swimming up towards a float equipped with a diving board. Above it he could see that the sky was bright blue and it was sunny. I can’t swim, he thought. He could hear his mum calling his name, as he got closer to the glittering surface.

Rising out of a deep, haunting sleep was always like this.

He opened his eyes and they were filled with light. It was morning. His mum was sitting next to him on the bed.

‘Wakey, wakey. Time for school,’ she told him.

He sat up and looked around him. The curtains had been pulled back and the room was filled with beautiful, crisp, early morning sunshine. It was all just a dream, a really bad dream.

He yawned and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. His mum told him to get dressed; ‘breakfast will be ready in five minutes.’

He jumped out of bed and walked over to the wardrobe to get out his school uniform. Tommy hesitated. What if the monster’s still in there? Don’t be silly; it was only a dream, and now it’s over. He opened the door and lifted out his uniform. He closed the door and stopped. What was that?

A noise.

He listened intently.

Silence.

He thought he heard a noise behind him. He turned around real slow, walked over to the bed and laid down his uniform. Then he remembered. He was about to bend down and look when all of a sudden a hand came out from under the bed and grabbed his ankle.

‘Gotcha!’ shouted his brother.

Tommy screamed and jumped onto the bed. Sean came out from under it and ran out of the room laughing.

Little Tommy hopped off the bed, tears in his eyes, and ran after him.

‘I’m tellin Mum,’ he wailed.

Afterwards, when little Tommy Doherty’s bedroom was quiet, and still...

…the wardrobe door slowly creaked open.