Aiiiiieeeee,” little Margarette Ann screamed, attempting to wake up from her nightmare.
She screamed several times before Albert and Emma roused from their deep sleep. Emma, close to the end of her second pregnancy, slowly rolled out of the bed, big with child, in her eight and a half month. Pain had kept her awake most of the night.
Glancing at the clock on her nightstand on her way to see about Margarette Ann, Emma figured she must have finally fallen asleep about two hours ago. It was going to be a long day from 3 a.m. until 9 p.m.
“What’s wrong with that girl now?” groused Albert over the din of Margarette Ann’s screams.
Emma noticed their daughter’s nightmares becoming more and more pronounced. Several times, they’d heard her whimpering or talking in her sleep, saying “No!” to whomever she was talking to during the course of the night. That hadn’t been too bad.
For the past four or five nights, though, Margarette Ann began to cry out from her nightmares. Almost every night like clockwork, the child whined and screamed from whatever bothered her while she slept before jumping out of bed to wake her parents to save her. It quickly became old for Albert.
He loved his little Margarette Ann, that was a fact. But these late-night/early-morning episodes were taking away from his sleep. Working every day at the feed store from sunup until well after sundown, Albert worked hard. When he came home from work, he barely made it through dinner without nodding off at the dinner table.
His family needed the supplemental income between farm seasons. After the crops were in and while the land rested during the winter, there was not much income until the next harvest. Every year from November until March or so, Albert and his brothers found work in town at the feed store to supplement their family’s income. Margarette Ann waking up in the early morning hours was not something he needed when he had a full day ahead.
Glancing over at the time, Albert exclaimed, “Three a.m.! Emma, get that kid quiet so I can get some sleep!”
Emma shuffled as quickly as she could to her daughter’s room. “Why don’t you get up and do it yourself?” she muttered angrily under her breath as she trudged down the hall. Albert acted as though this were her fault. He had at least gotten some sleep since he went to bed at seven or so. She had yet to get a good rest at night since these nightmares started.
Sometimes, she was just so tired of his constant whining and bellyaching. As the so-called ‘master’ of their home, Emma thought he took the role too seriously, especially now that she was so late into this second pregnancy.
She didn’t know what caused these nightmares in their daughter. Margarette Ann didn’t watch anything scary on TV at night—or any other time for that matter—because they limited her viewing. She played all day either by herself or with her cousins who came over daily. Good and tired when she went to bed at night, the little girl often fell asleep at the dinner table. Emma had no idea what was going on.
“Unnhh,” Emma groaned as a sharp pain took her breath away.
She’d been having sharp, infrequent pains around her midsection for the past week or so. Her water hadn’t broken yet. When she spoke with Dr. Frank, he told her to try to take it easier than usual. So close to having their second child, she didn’t want anything to happen to this precious bundle.
Margarette Ann shrieked again, this time as she barreled out of her room, headed to her parent’s room. “Daddy,” she caterwauled as she hurriedly brushed her mother out of the way. What bothered Margarette Ann the most were the eyes glowing in the darkness of her room. Yellow, green, red—all she saw was their gleaming scariness. And she didn’t like it.
CD had slept beside the feverish child all night, lazily stroking her fevered brow as he heaped his ugly diseases one by one upon her fragile body. When her fever spiked at a hundred and two degrees, he harshly slapped her awake, all pretense of gentleness gone.
Mischief chose that exact moment to fling the closet door wide. He stood there drooling, breathing out curses at the child. Margarette Ann screamed the first scream. She screwed her eyes closed as tightly as she could, hoping to blot out the image she had just seen. Sweat pouring from her little body, she pulled the quilt up and over her head. As she opened her eyes under the blanket, she saw more ugly eyes there with her. Trying to get away from those scary eyes, she screamed a second time.
Reaching for her, CD’s claws barely touched but scratched her skin. She yelped in pain and fear as he reached for her, grabbing strands of hair as she shook her head trying to get rid of the monster in her bed.
Fright had become quite strong since Lucifer had convinced him of his new name. He later discovered he had been lied to. However, he liked his new personality much better. He loved his job of frightening little kids and did it extremely well. In partnership with Mischief, Fright usually had a good belly laugh from his assignments that kept him until it was time for the next target. On this night, he chased the child Margarette Ann from her bed. He only did it so she could raise a ruckus in the little farmhouse and create turmoil for the family residing within.
Jumping out of her bed, Margarette Ann scurried to close her closet door. Mischief cornered her by her toy box. His foul smell enveloped her as he threatened to touch her with his claws. “I’m going to get you, Margarette Ann!” he yelled threateningly at the child, jumping toward her, startling her.
The color drained from her face as Margarette Ann ran to her bedroom door to get away from these monsters invading her room again. They had never been this bad before. She had always been able to say, “In the name of Jesus,” just as Granny Dottie had taught her and they would leave. But not tonight. Too afraid to do anything but scream, scream she did.
When she tried to open her bedroom door the first time, Fright held it closed so he could terrorize the frightened child a little more. Quaking with fear, she repeatedly tried to pull the door open with the unmoving doorknob. While Fright held the door closed, Mischief mesmerized the child into a trance of fear.
“Aiiiiieeeee,” she screamed the third time, finally breaking free from the trance. Flinging her bedroom door open, Margarette Ann ran from the room as though her life depended on it.
“Daddy!” she screamed as her mother reached for her.
“Margarette Ann,” Emma cried as her daughter barreled past her. She twisted around just in time to see the child careen through her opened bedroom door.
From the bed, Albert quickly turned on his bedside lamp just in time to see his daughter leap, almost from the doorjamb, into his arms, frantically throwing her arms around his neck. Sleep vanishing from his mind and body, Albert comforted his little one, worried as he tried to figure out what was wrong.
Emma rushed into the room in time to see her daughter gratefully hugging her dad’s neck, trying to burrow closer to him, thin body quaking with fear. From what, her parents did not know.
“Emma, she’s burning up,” Albert alerted his bewildered wife.
As he soothed their child, Margarette Ann started to murmur in her fever-crazed state.
“Monsters, Daddy. Monsters,” she explained in a frightened, little girl voice.
Albert glanced up at his wife, understanding dawning on him as he realized what his daughter was saying.
“Monsters? Emma, what’s going on here?” he asked his wife, quickly becoming angry.
Bewildered, Emma put her hand on her daughter’s forehead.
“Honey, I think she has a high fever. Maybe that’s why she’s delirious,” she explained.
“It’s not the fever!” Albert shouted. “It’s you! What are you letting her look at on TV all day?”
Emma could not believe he would blame her for their daughter’s nightmares and everything.
“Albert, you know Margarette Ann doesn’t look at TV all day. She plays outside by herself and then the kids come over to play with her,” Emma said emphatically. She was becoming frustrated with all the stuff going on. What with the new baby almost here, hardly getting any sleep, and having pains almost constantly, like now.
“Unnhh,” she groaned, grabbing for the dresser beside her. Making her way to her side of the bed, Emma sat down hoping to release some of the pressure of the pain.
“What’s wrong with you? Is this your way of getting out of our discussion by faking a pain? Well it’s not working!” Albert yelled as he laid Margarette Ann on the bed in his spot, got up, and pointed a finger directly in Emma’s face.
“Albert, what are you talking about? You know I’ve been having pains going on two weeks now!” she yelled. “How could you believe I was faking this pain, Albert?” she screamed, becoming more and more upset. “How could you?” she sobbed, tears rolling down her cheeks.
Strife hovered just above the family laughing his head off. He loved making people go at each other, especially the so-called happy couples. They were always so positive, so happy. Well, he would see about that! In all his ugly demonic ways, Strife was very good at what he did. He threw several more darts toward Albert Wells as he paced the floor of their bedroom, becoming angrier and angrier.
“I don’t need this garbage, Emma!” he shouted. “I work hard every day for this family. I don’t deserve this treatment. I have been good to you! Nothing is ever good enough,” he cursed toward her, ranting and raving out of his mind.
Emma looked toward Albert, wondering how this could have happened between them. She knew they loved each other with all their hearts. She knew she had never told Albert that what he was doing wasn’t good enough. She bowed her head and said in her heart, Lord, what do I do?
She heard the still quiet voice as it answered, Bind! Well, it couldn’t hurt even though she probably should have done it way before now. She struggled to her feet and lifted her hand to point in the corner of the room. “In the name of …” she began, shouting as much as she could to get the attention of whatever demon had dared to infest their home.
Before she could get the name out, Mischief and Fright attacked the sleeping Margarette Ann again. Flashing their ugliness in front of her fever-glazed eyes, they slunk back into the shadows of the room. They hung around only long enough to give Margarette Ann a good scare.
“Daddy,” she screamed, jerking from her fitful slumber. “Daddy!”
Albert put his hands over his ears as though in intense pain. Strife called out to Anger, “Now! Hit … him … now!” he yelled.
Anger flung himself on Albert in a full frontal attack. Albert became even more agitated than before.
“Can … you … please … quiet … that … child … down!” he said menacingly between clenched teeth. It was becoming harder and harder to bridle his anger.
Emma became very frightened. She had never seen Albert act this way before. She whispered softly, “Lord, please help us.” As she whispered this prayer, she looked into her husband’s face. He looked as though he were in pain. Emma summoned the courage to whisper another quick prayer. “Father God, please help us in the name of …”
Again, before she could utter the name of Jesus, another attack was launched against both her and her husband. Emma felt a sharp stabbing pain in her lower back. The pain seared hotly around her midsection causing her to double over. Clutching her stomach, she felt the baby leap vigorously inside her body. For the briefest moment, concern filled Albert’s eyes. Then Anger attacked again.
“Look at you, Emma. You’re pathetic,” growled Albert. “You think you can fool me into thinking you’re in pain so I’ll stop yelling, don’t you? Well, it’s not going to work,” he shouted menacingly, standing over her, pointing an accusing finger in her face.
The look on Albert’s face was enough to frighten even the bravest person. But at this moment, in pain and vulnerable, Emma was not that person.