Гуру ПесенNika Harper - Frights & Night Lights | Текст песни
It was part of the ritual, the one her mother would play out every night, comforting her with words before bed. The tone of her voice was like warm cocoa, like being dunked in a thick cloud of love and no matter how many times Steph whined about the dark, her mom would always be at the door to reassure her.
“No, there’s nothing there. You woke up this morning, see?”
“Yes, I’ll leave the light in the hallway on for you.”
“There isn’t any room in the closet or under the bed! Where would anything hide?”
“The dark is scary because your imagination fills in what you can’t see.”
The shadows unfurled in the corner of her vision, but as she was told… It was alright. Even waking up in the night to a chill and dancing shapes on the wall, she was safe because of the night light and because her mom told her so. She watched the shadows gamboling and reassured herself that it was imaginary. At least in the light she could see where the shadows were. In the dark… they could be anywhere. Eventually, the night light was retired and she was old enough to claim there was no fear.
But as her hand went to the switch of her light at night, she couldn’t suppress a shudder. Things that shouldn’t be there made themselves known.
Then just darkness and apprehension.
It was okay though, really. She had gotten used to her fear of the unknown, for the most part. Occasionally there would be a mad dash for the switch in a dark room, or a late-night brightening as she flooded her room with lamplight… It was only her own imagination she was afraid of. She repeated this to self time and time again.
The shadows on the walls were just her own anxiety. The strange moving figures were her own creation as she drifted off to sleep, memories of staring at the night light for signs of disturbance.
Her throat would close and she would gasp for air, her toes got cold like she was being carried away to somewhere else, and she could wake herself and remember, it was just dreams. The shadows would get her in her dreams, but dreams were something she could control.
It was all foolishness. She was nearly thirty now, and no longer needed a night light in her room…. or at least would not allow herself the comfort. A grown woman would not need such things, she told herself, yet on nights when she was the most tired or sometimes a bit drunk, she would call her mother just to hear her say “I love you, goodnight.”
Then the light would turn off, and she was okay again. Those magical words, “Good Night.”
She said it to a dimly-lit room by herself as a ward for any imaginary happenings. It worked, unless it occasionally didn’t. Those weren’t common. Twice a month at most.
Tonight, she was worn out, her day had been full and satisfying, she could think of nothing more pleasant than resting her head on her pillow as her hand extended towards the lamp. The shadow dashed across the wall, claw-like and quick, and she snapped her hand back by instinct. Lamps did that, their localized brightness did more to create shade than it did to repel. It was prime time for her mind to start playing tricks and for little fears to creep in the cracks.
The room was messier than she liked, a swamp of dirty laundry led to the bathroom. For a week she had been too busy to do anything but collapse into her bed every night, and it was becoming a cause of stress. The dishes were unwashed, her desk was disorganized and the floor of her bedroom was becoming a graveyard of discarded objects from the day. Clothing, receipts, packets of documents that had been useful for only a matter of hours, they littered the carpet with abandon. They also cast shadows.
There was more than she expected, little flickering nothings that danced in the folds of her wardrobe, that seemed to peek out from the upended trash bin spilling its papery contents to the floor. The light was steady but her eyesight made the room move.
Foolish.
Reaching out her han
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