Graham took a focused breath to steady his nerves. Recently, he saw an active shooter situation at his school, yet the challenge before him felt worse.

“Come on, James. You have to take a bath,” he pleaded with his two-year-old, who ran from him again. His son was a photocopy of himself, attitude and all.

Graham and James both dreaded this time of day. James hated the transition from play to sleep, and Graham hated the fight he put up to avoid it. They both came prepared for war whenever the bedtime transition came around.

Two weeks ago, James didn’t protest his bath. Sure, he cried when water got in his eyes, but a quick wipe of a towel and he would get it together. Now, he kicked, screamed, cried, yelled, or ran away. It felt like the child would do anything to get out of winding down. Yet, all his friends with kids said all kids go through this.

“No!” James screamed and ran down the hallway away from the stairs and back to the living room.

“Come on, little man,” Graham pleaded. He sighed and walked after his son. He questioned if he had the energy to go a few rounds with the kid. Kids seem to have an unlimited supply of energy, while parents coast on fumes.

He trodded down the hallway to the open living room. A sectional took up the middle of the room, with a leather rocking chair on the far side. All the furniture pointed to the currently dark TV on the wall. From this room, you could see all the bedrooms of the house. His room was to the right of the TV, while James’s and two guest rooms were upstairs.

Graham could make out the blond hair sticking out on the other side of the couch. “Now, where did James go?” he asked while he walked around the back of the sofa. He hoped James would laugh, but the kid remained frozen.

Graham put his hand on his child, trying to keep him calm. Instead, James screamed. He twisted and tried to escape. Graham grabbed him before he could get too far.

“Hey buddy, it’s okay. It’s just me.” Graham maneuvered the child onto his lap. James vibrated in his arms. He wrapped his assuring arms around the child in a fatherly embrace.

“I’m scared,” James choked out between gasps of breaths.

“What are you scared of?” Graham tried to remain calm. Applying logic wouldn’t help a toddler deal with emotions he didn’t understand, but Graham couldn’t stop himself. He wanted to throw his son in the bathtub and show him that things were okay. He knew James wouldn’t understand, though. He needed the child to work through these emotions first.

James violently pointed up toward his room. Graham turned to look at the door. The door appeared to swing open a few inches. Graham blinked, trying to assure himself that the door hadn’t moved, as they were the only ones home.

Turning back to James, he saw the child’s eyes flicker towards the room. His expression showed that his eyes were called to the room, even though he wanted to look anywhere else. For a moment, he believed his child’s fear.

Ghosts and goblins didn’t exist, and no one could have gotten in the house without his knowledge. He chastised himself for even thinking that something could cause his child to act this way.

No, growing up caused his child to act this way. James didn’t act this way because he was scared but because he fought for his independence.

“Come on,” Graham said as he reached for his son. James screeched. He had no idea how a child so small could sound so loud. His ears rang. The entire street could hear the scream.

He couldn’t just let his son out of bath time because he acted up, but after an entire day of dealing with everyone in the household, he didn’t want to fight anymore. He sat back down and took his hands off his child. “Okay, we don’t have to take a bath.”

Immediately, James calmed down. The child controlled his breathing and stopped the tears. “I can play?”

Graham clinched. He shook his head and braced for the impending scream. “Sorry, buddy, but we need to go to sleep.” While he knew all the reasons James needed to sleep, Graham needed time to himself.

James screamed. The patchwork dam, which had steadied his fear, broke. Graham gripped him with love and hoisted him up. They weren’t getting anywhere. Both grew more frustrated with each other by the second.

The boy cried and pleaded not to be taken to his room. His body grew more taunt with each step, making the trek up the stairs and to his room more difficult. The child swung his legs in the air, trying to land a blow anywhere they could.

Graham used his foot to open the door. The lamp in the room projected just enough light. The sound of rolling waves came from the speaker on the room’s green dresser on the left-hand side of the room. The newly constructed big boy bed rested on the opposite side.

With James tight against his body, Graham lowered onto the bed so the child rested in his lap. As they lowered down, James dug his fingers deeper into Graham’s arms and back. He held the boy as best he could to reassure him. “It’s okay, buddy,” he repeatedly whispered.

James’s body relaxed after what felt like hours, but the tears continued. His breath was still getting caught in his throat. His eyes turned bright red and tired.

“Talk to me, buddy. What’s got you so scared?” Graham asked.

James shook his head with conviction.

“Come on, tell me,” he pleaded.

“There’s a scary man in here,” James looked his dad in the eyes. Graham’s heart stopped. He scanned the room but didn’t see anyone.

“There’s no one in here,” he said.

“You can’t see him. He comes after you leave.”

Graham figured James was trying to get his dad to stay with him. “Buddy, no one gets in here. I make sure of it.”

“He’s here right now, but he doesn’t want to show himself,” James said, his eyes moving from his dad to the darkness behind the open door. Graham followed his son’s eyes.

“There’s no one here, James. I promise.” He placed James on the bed and walked to the door. He knew nothing would be behind the door, yet he still felt tension.

He closed the door, allowing the dim light of the room to wash the dark area clean. He walked into the formerly shadow-filled space. He took his phone out and turned on the flashlight.

He felt a chill run up his spine as he shined the light on the spot. Fear shot through his body, but nothing happened. As fast as it had come on, the cold vanished. He shivered but continued to turn his light all around. Finally, he returned to sit beside his son.

“If anyone were in here, you just scream, and I’ll come running. I’ll give them a little of this…” He smashed his fist to his open hand. “And a little of this.” He pantomimed an uppercut.

James finally broke into a smile—all the fears taken away with one laugh. Graham smiled, lifting a weight off his shoulders and his spirit finally brightening.

“Let’s get you in PJs,” Graham said and slid to the floor. As he did, he glanced at the door, hoping that James hadn’t noticed. Graham crawled over to the dresser and opened a drawer. “What do you want tonight? Police Puppies or Superheroes?”

“Superheroes!” James screamed.

Graham smiled. He put the Superhero pajamas on the ground and turned to put the others back in the drawer. He felt James’s hand on his back. The boy had gone from afraid to unable to contain his excitement about superheroes.

“Hold on. I just need to get these back,” he smiled.

“Huh?” said James, still sitting on the bed. Graham spun around, sure the child had touched his back. James could feel an ice-cold handprint on the spot on his back.

Graham shook his head. His mind was playing tricks on him. Yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling there was something there. He needed to get some rest and reset himself.

He returned to James and helped him get his superhero pajamas on. The pajamas granted a confidence James hadn’t had since the process began.

He placed his hand on his son’s head and ruffled his hair. “Come on, give me a kiss, and let’s go to bed. I promise it will be alright.” Yet he couldn’t rid himself of the ice-cold spot on his back.

The son nodded even as his smile faded. Graham kissed him on his forehead and tucked him in. He lay next to his son and looked up at the ceiling. After all they had gone through to get to this point, Graham didn’t want to leave his son alone.

Then he saw something out of the corner of his eye. It moved over by the door. For just an instant, he saw a red blur in the darkness—at least, he thought. As he stared at the spot, he saw nothing but the doorway and darkness.

Again, he felt like his mind needed rest. He knew no one waited behind the door. He just needed to get out of there and relax.

“Nighty, Night, sweet prince,” Graham said as he moved to the door.

“I love you, Dad,” James whispered.

Graham double-checked the door one last time. Nothing was there. He lingered at the door before turning back to his son. “I love you, too.”

He closed the door and sighed. He waited by the door momentarily, ensuring nothing would happen. It hadn’t been the worst nighttime routine, but it was a struggle.

He collected all the energy he had left and walked towards the stairs. As his feet touched the highest landing, he heard it.

“Dad!” a blood-curdling scream emanated from the bedroom. “Daaaad!”

Graham flew to the room and threw the door open. The boy’s bed was vacant. He spun around the room. He couldn’t find his son anywhere.

The area behind the open door glowed red. This time, it looked like two eyes and a mouth twisted into a crooked smile.

Graham fell to his knees, his spirit beyond broken. His life had just vanished, and it had been all his fault.

Read More From Jarrett S. Smith

Want to read more stories from this author? Check out his first novella, Letty Rose and the Mistaken Identity and all the other creative fiction he’s done here on the site.

Also, make sure you follow him on Instagram, Facebook, and Threads. And if you haven’t signed up for the mailing list, make sure you leave your email below! Some day soon, my fiction will be exclusive to mailing subscribers.

And if you’d like to contribute to the author to keep the stories coming, you can leave a donation.