Never Ending Nights

A rare case, I’m sure, but fairytales and bedtime stories were never a regularity in my family home. My parents were bone tired after a work day, and we were lucky to have food on the table.

However, a tale that I’ve told many a time is of a week long trauma many years ago. A trauma that kept me awake. A trauma that, if sleep did find me, was abruptly interrupted by nightmares about this trauma. A trauma that has amused many over the years.

“Oh, goodness… what happened to you?”

The shock would fill my friends as I told them, for the first time, about my nine year old self tracing the tears down my cheeks to my chin because something was in my room. It was going to kill me because… well… it’s in its nature to do so.

“It’s not real, darling. You’re okay. It’s not real.”

I’d tell them of how I awoke with fright to the sight of my exasperated mother who kept a firm hand across my chest while the other stroked my matted, damp hair, as she tried to calm me. With her many offers to sleep in next to me, I’d constantly decline because then it’d get her too. She was exhausted, and worried. And helpless. I’d tell them how, if I leaned closer to the wall that my bed was against, the monster on the other side would burst through and get me.

One night is a nuisance. But, a whole week? That’s torture.

My father, a brave soul who worked as a paramedic, was on late finishes. Midnight finishes, to be exact. He knew of my issues; my parents tell each other everything. On this night - my last night - he was late home from work. At 2am, he groggily climbed the stairs, his bed beckoning him frantically, but the sounds of crying from his daughter’s bedroom stopped him in his tracks. There was no way he could leave her like this. It had to stop, once and for all.

My door creaked open, slowly and tentatitively, to reveal my dad’s weary and sympathetic expression. Without a word from either of us, he invited himself in and sat on the edge of my bed. As soon as he held my hand, I sobbed even harder. I couldn’t help myself.

“Is it still here?”

I nodded, in fear for my life.

“Let’s make it go away. Come with me.”

He whipped the covers from around me and pulled me from my bed. With his big, protective hands on my shoulders, he towered behind me as he walked me into the bathroom. In silence, he grabbed my tooth brush and tooth paste, slathering some on to the bristles, and said the usual line: “teeth together”. He scrubbed them for a couple of minutes. Confusion filled me rapidly, as I’m sure it does you. He filled the basin with hot, soapy water, grabbed the cloth, and began gently washing my face and neck, making sure to get behind my ears and around behind my hair. While the sink, drained, he towelled everywhere wet to dry, and reached for my deodarant stick, thrusting my hands up into the air and lathering it on to my underarms.

He knew I was still wildly perplexed, but he refused to speak as he walked me back to my room and held up the covers for me to climb under them.

“Here’s the thing you don’t know about these creatures,” he began, “they may be enormous, they may have huge teeth, and yes, they may have eaten people in the past. But, if you think about where they live… it’s always dirty. They relish in that. They don’t like cleanliness - they’re basically allergic to it. So, if you keep yourself fresh and stay on top of your hygiene, especially at night, they’ll never get you, sweet-heart. I promise.”

I was nine. He’s my dad. Of course, I believed him. I hung on to every word; I remember it like it was yesterday. I remember the tension easing like a balloon losing air. He gave me a wink and a loving smile, before switching off my lamp and leaving my bedroom. Darkness swallowed the room, as well as my consciousness, for the first time in six long nights.

Twenty years later, we both still re-live that night fondly throught the medium of story-telling. Regaling our friends and family of my traumatic state, and my father’s triumph.

Our undying moral to this story? Never watch a film that you’re not old enough for. Even though I’m definitely old enough now, at age twenty-nine… I’ve never watched ‘Jaws’ since.