The Nightlight

I finally decided to shut the phone off, and once I had gathered the courage, turned the lamp off. I hated the dark. Most nights it caused me to panic. It felt as though the second light disappeared from the room, all the nasty thoughts I had ever thought or any terrible image I had ever seen were fighting their way to the front of my mind, rendering me unable to think of anything else but what was dark and disturbing. The dark made me feel that something was coming for me, something was watching me. Sometimes I think I could feel the dark like an animal on me, stalking me in the night. I could feel its cold breath on my face, and its long, spiny fingers stroking my neck. I turned the lamp on again in a rush of fear, but when I looked to where I could hear the darkness’s breathing before, there was nothing. Within a second of seeing the room illuminated my terrors seemed childish. This is getting ridiculous. I thought to myself as I stared at the lamp. It’s light was harsh and its body was not very pretty, being a sleek, plain figure. but it drove away the darkness, and that was all I needed from it. This will be the last time. I told myself as I turned away from the bright light of the lamp, and eventually into sleep.
After work I went to the nearest department store and scoured through the lighting isles. Finally I found the small plug-in lighting area and scanned through the contenders. It couldn’t be childish- I’d be embarrassed if someone came to visit, it had to be modern and conservative and stylish and inviting and warm and beautiful. I was unsuccessful, so I went to the furniture store. I had no success there either. I decided that as a last resort before the sun went down that I’d go into the little vintage shop and see if I could find anything. The air was thick with dust, and it smelled of old paper, in an almost comforting way. I began my search once again, but as the sun began to set I accepted that I would be sleeping with the lamp on tonight. Just as I turned to leave I saw her. A vintage baby lamp, with a blue mushroom-cap top, and star-shaped silhouettes to project onto the ceiling. On the base of the lamp stood Mary and her little lamb. She smiled at me. She was elegant, with a pale pink dress and a sweet lamb by her side. I knew immediately she was the right one. I quickly purchased her and had the cashier use extra wrapping to make sure her fragile porcelain body would survive the drive home.
I set her next to the lamp and plugged her in. After I got into bed I didn’t even waste time checking messages or social media. For the first time in years, I wasn’t afraid to go to sleep. I pressed the button and she started to shine. I turned the lamp off without a second thought. Little stars spread out across the ceiling, bringing the room to life, even in darkness. Her light was warm and calming and made me feel safe and protected. She gave me a small nod, as if to show me she was ready for her night shift, so I rolled over and closed my eyes. No visions of monsters and catastrophes were coming to mind, so I decided to fall asleep. It was the best I had slept in years. I awoke to Mary, who was watching me. She beamed and waved when she saw my eyes were open. I smiled back at her and turned her light off. She yawned, stretched her arms, and snuggled up next to her lamb, falling asleep almost instantaneously. I was ecstatic. I slept the whole night without waking up once. As I drove to work, I thought to myself. How is it that a simple baby lamp was the answer to all my problems? I chuckled. That night I was practically excited to go to bed. I didn’t even turn on the lamp. I switched her on and Mary hopped right up, ready to stand guard for the night. I glanced at the stars and admired their warm, gentle glow before I finally drifted off to sleep.
We became close friends quickly; she told me that she was starting to worry no one wanted her anymore. She told me how she was insecure about her faded dress, the scratches on her crook, and her lamb’s crooked bow. I could tell she was grateful to have a home, but she still wanted to be pretty again. For the next few months every night was the same. She would shine her light at night, and drive away the darkness, and I would sleep like a baby. I felt bad, having to wake her up and forcing her to wait for me to relieve her of her shift. I decided that I would do something nice for her in return. I came home from work early, unplugged her, wrapped her up way more than was necessary, and got into the car. I refused to tell her where we were going, to her dismay. We arrived at the vintage repair shop, and after I checked in, I handed her gently to the man who owned the shop. She looked scared, but I gave her a reassuring nod. She and her lamb held each other tightly as they were carried into the workshop in the back. I started to become nervous. I knew she’d be fine, the owner seemed to be a very sweet man, but I was worried about me. I hadn’t been alone at night for a long time now, and I was worried that the shadows were going to come for me again. I climbed into bed, and out of habit, turned the lamp off. At first, there was nothing. Then I heard the hoarse breathing I hadn’t heard in months. It grew louder, and louder,growing closer. I wasn’t going to wait for it to reach me. I flipped the lamp’s switch, but it didn’t turn on. No. I flipped it on again. Nothing. The breathing got closer. No no no no. I flung off the covers and ran to the main light switch. Still nothing. How? How? A soft growl came from the darkness. No no no no no no. I ran out the door, trying every light in the house. Nothing would work. I tried the kitchen light one more time, listening to the raspy hum of the shadows, coming from right in front of my face. The bulbs overheard slowly flickered to life, and the huffing stopped.
I skipped work to pick her up early. She was already wrapped when I retrieved her, so I would have to wait until we were home to see her. I took her up to my room, and carefully peeled back the brown paper covering the lamp. She was unrecognizable. Her colors were vibrant and even. Her porcelain was smooth and shiny. Her crook was straight and the lamb’s bow was a bright baby pink. She beamed at me. I didn’t need to even ask her how she liked it, her new rosy cheeks said everything I needed to know. I plugged her in, shut the blinds, and pressed the button. We both smiled. Now there were twice as many stars covering the ceiling, shining brighter and rosier than ever.