Chris Sullivan

2022 | 154pp pb | ISBN: 978-1-914002-25-0

The girl awoke, the room was dark. She looked into the blackness, first to the left and then to the right. She knew it was empty but the dream – no, nightmare – had frightened her. It wasn’t the content of the nightmare that had scared her, although it should have done. It was much more profound than that and yet she couldn’t explain it. A tear rolled down her cheek; the tear turned into a sob and the sob into a wail.

Mr and Mrs Wight sat watching the TV when they heard their daughter crying. Mr Wight turned the sound down and looked at his wife. “I’ll go,” she said, jumping out of the seat. She opened her daughter’s bedroom door, “Avilon, what’s wrong,” she said as she moved to the child’s side. She sat on the bed and put her arm around the girl, comforting her. “It’s only a silly old dream, nothing to worry about.”

Avilon looked up at her mother, “It’s not the dream,” she said, her face wet with tears, “It’s something else, I-I-I don’t know, Its, it … ”