I tossed and turned in bed trying to sleep. I heard mummers from the floor below. I wiped the sweat from my forehead before getting up.
“What is it, honey?” My wife asked.
“I think I can hear Scott talking in his bedroom again,” I responded.
With a thumping headache I descended the stairs to the ground floor, to my son’s room.
I opened the door, seeing Scott sitting on the end of his bed.
“What’s the matter, buddy?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he replied.
“It’s okay, you can tell me.”
He seemed anxious before he spoke, “I was talking to my friend Dan, he says he’s scared.”
I took a moment before I asked, “Is *Dan* your friend?”
“Where is he now?”
“He’s in the closet.”
I tip-toed over to the door to the cupboard, put my finger up to my mouth, asking for silence.
“Is he in there?”
He nodded again.
I slowly opened the door, “Can you see him?”
“Yes,” Scott responded.
“I’m taking *Dan* out of the closet now, he won’t bother you any more.”
“Thank you Dad,” Scott responded, climbing back onto his bed.
“Sleep well, son.”
“Thanks again,” he said, burying his face in his pillow.
I slipped the padlock on the basement door and clicked it shut. I chastised my self for being so stupid.
I won’t let this happen again.