MHI: NIGHT TERRORS by L. E. Daniels
Trigger Warning: This piece addresses mental health
The HWA is pleased to launch its Mental Health Initiative, a coordinated roll-out of events, resources, and activities intended to promote positive mental health, foster the concept of hope, and challenge the stigma of mental illness in the horror genre. The initiative, run by the organization’s Wellness Committee, launches in June, and includes the following blog posts from Of Horror and Hope, a downloadable anthology of poems, flash fiction, and personal reflections on mental health by HWA members.
NIGHT TERRORS
L. E. Daniels
Shadows stretch late-afternoon-long to deep-solid-dark—
A mirror for your dread.
Often, themes repeat: fly from sleep, see your body, a gray rumple—
Oh-my-god-am-I-dead?
You strike the wall like a bird trapped and wake panting, bed empty.
You glance down the hall at children asleep.
Your husband, the night owl awake, calls out: You’re OK. He’s used to this.
You’re not.
Maybe it’s smoke—a rolling black canopy overhead; DayGlo orange wicks up walls.
Flying, you wake racing down the hall
Set to carry children from a smokeless house, two at once.
You hear again,
You’re OK. He’s used to this.
You’re not.
Turn off the bedside lamp:
A pill knocks you down a hole saved for must-have nights,
But this medicated troll snaps at children over breakfast, and eventually, you fly anyway.
Pills journey into the cupboard, forgotten, until another must-have night.
You’re OK, you tell yourself. You’re used to this.
And you’re not.
Bodies: a gnarl of women like Guernica forever and ever, arms thrown open exclamations—
Among them, you try to breathe, heart full, your walls grow thinner—
That’s what makes you a good writer—
And in the kitchen, you hold onto the sink.
Your son taps you: Mom, you’re OK. He’s used to this.
You’re not.
Sometimes, sometimes there’s nothing—you never know when—
And sleep peels open like soft fruit. Rest takes you.
Dream snakes shy from your touch. Bodies stop asking to be seen and
You wake with the relief of birds at first light.
You’re OK. You’re used to this.
You’re not. But you will be.
