The Goodnight Game The Goodnight Game Copyright 2013 Yvette Russell + + + Jacob was screaming for me again. I lunged forward in bed, torn from my dreams. My pulse was pounding—the scream of my child always did that to me, even though I knew it was just because of a nightmare. Even so, I would still get up and check on him. Everyone told me that I was teaching him bad habits, that I should just let him be. They told me that he needed to learn to comfort himself. But I couldn't; hearing his terrified cries broke my heart. If my son called for me, I had to go to him. I shuddered as I threw the covers off. The room was surprisingly cold. "I'm coming, Jacob!" I called weakly as I slid on my slippers. Jacob called out for me again, but it as more of a whimper this time. Harold stirred; he turned over and looked like he was about to awake. But his lids barely opened for a second before they fluttered shut and he sank back into the pillow. As he slid back into sleep, he muttered something I couldn't make out. I didn't understand how my husband could sleep through Jacob's night terrors. Maybe it was because he remained confident in his theory that this was just a phase. Jacob used to sleep so soundly before we moved, just like his father. Harold assured me that once Jacob got familiar with his new room, the nightmares would stop. I hoped so. But I couldn't just let him suffer through it alone. If this was just a phase that would pass soon, then there was no harm in going to him until it did. I dragged one of the blankets off the bed to wrap around me and shield me from the cold. Harold wouldn't miss the one; we always kept many on the bed to keep out the new house's pervading chill. I ventured from our bedroom and into the hall, heading for Jacob's room, the one next to ours. The room was illuminated gently by the night light we had purchased for him; it was shaped like a little astronaut, and the he figure was puffing his chest out, looking brave. When we bought it, Jacob was convinced that it inspire him to be brave too. It hadn't worked. Jacob was hidden under his covers, a small mound beneath several quilts. I tapped on the door to let him know I was here, that it was safe to come out. "Mom?" he still asked warily, his voice high and frightened. "Of course," I said, trying to make my voice soothing instead of weary. "Did you have another nightmare?" Jacob poked his little head out. His hair was comically messy, sticking out in all different directions. But I couldn't find it funny; my son's face was fraught with fear. "There was a girl in the shadow!" he wailed. "In the closet!" Yes, it had been another nightmare; the "girl in the shadow" was the most common one for him. I suspected he had somehow gotten a glimpse of a horror movie on TV—perhaps at a friend's—and pulled the image into his nightmares. "It was a dream, Jacob. Just a dream." He didn't seem to find comfort in those words, though he never did, no matter how many times I told him. He reached for me, and I went to him, sitting on the edge of his bed. I noticed that there was a sheen of sweat across his brow, and I touched his face to feel for fever. His temprature was normal. In fact, he felt cold. "Don't go," he pleaded. There were tears in his eyes. I knew that fighting it was futile, but I tried anyway. "Jacob, you can sleep on your own. It was just a dream, you know that. You can be brave." "No!" he cried. A few tears slid over his cheeks. "Please stay!" I couldn't say no to him, not when he looked so desperate, so scared. "Ok," I conceded, nodding. "I will stay." Jacob's face lit up, and he shimmied over to the far edge of his twin bed, making room for me. I slid in next to him, beneath the covers, and added my blanket on top. He curled into me immediately, his head nestling beneath my jaw. "Goodnight!" he chirped. "Goodnight," I responded. "Goodnight!" he said again. I repressed a sigh. He wanted to be play the Goodnight Game. I've played this game with my son for years... since he was first able to say the words. It's simple—the goal is to be the last person to say goodnight before you fall asleep. As you can imagine, I usually win. Usually. "Goodnight." I repeated. This was what made me doubt his claims of terror: his mood would change as soon as I agreed to stay. But I played along anyway, because it helped calm him down. "Goodnight," he said, but this time I heard the sleep begin to sneak into his voice. "Goodnight," "Goodnight..." his voice began to trail away. I was sure that I would 'win' this game, like I usually did. "Goodnight, Jacob," I sighed, trying to settle into the small twin bed. Jacob tried to respond one last time, but only managed an incomprehensible mumble, already too far gone into dreamland. I smiled as I let myself begin to drift away too. As I slipped into sleep, I barely registered a voice. I assumed Jacob must've somehow dragged himself out of sleep to finally beat me at The Goodnight Game. But the last sparks of my brain mulled over the fact that his voice was different... it wasn't close by, and he didn't sound like himself. Perhaps it was the beginning of a dream, as the voice sounded like a girl's. "Goodnight." A cold rush of draft caressed my neck.