The night breathes heavier when Mom turns off the light. She smooths my blanket and kisses my forehead, attempting to lull me to sleep. She leaves my bedroom door ajar, breathing slightly into the passage.
I lie still.
Thick heat presses against my skin on the midsummer night. Sleep draws into blooming dreams. But dreams are not always dreams. Sometimes, they pull past what I can comprehend.
Night after night, on the sunlit lawn of my dreams, I hover over our backyard. My arms spread, and air fills the space between them. I flap my arms like wings, harder with each sweep. They slice the air with ease. Each motion lifts me higher, rising above the lawn, as I drift toward the neighbor’s fence. I flap harder, stretching toward the clouds, but they always stay too far.
This time, though, I float higher than ever before—high enough to finally clear the fence.
Grass smells different beyond the boundary.
Damp and sour.
Flowers bloom neatly in Mom’s patch, but the neighbor’s lawn is bare. Light slips behind clouds as if the sun has changed its mind, wrapping the other side in shadows and gloom.
Intrigued by the mysteries surrounding me, I drift toward the dark corners despite the echoing warnings. I remember the veil Mom speaks of when she walks past the sweets like they don’t exist, while I kick at air in the supermarket. “The veil sees everything,” Mom always warns, “especially little ones who don’t listen.”
Her words linger, but I push them aside.
This other side pulls me deeper, and I follow.
My wings freeze mid-air, keeping me suspended over the barren yard, when a large figure steps in front of me. It has a hollow outline of something once human. Darkness swirls through its body. I meet his eyes once, and I know.
Him.
The devil’s watching me.
I blink, and the image shifts. I am standing in our den. Shadowy figures huddle together, drifting closer, arguing. At the far end, I spot his eyes urging me to follow.
But I refuse.
I scream and the window shatters, exploding into crystalline shards. The shadow figures—and his face—fracture and flee.
I am awake, paralyzed.
It’s not the cold waking me. It’s the pull. Something tugs at the edge of my covers, gentle but certain, like fingers that know me. My blanket has slipped down past my knees, leaving me exposed.
Mom, Mom! I beg, but the room stays deaf.
I force my right finger to move. The tiniest flick and will my limbs to obey, commanding them to flee to find safety with Mom.
The unseen grip loosens, and I scream into the darkness. This time, my vocal chords obey. This time, I am heard.
Mom rushes in, wrapping me in her softness. She takes my trembling hand in hers, shielding me, her face hard with fear. She guides me out of my bed to her room where safety waits. Away from the thing I will not name.
At the far end, where the corridor bends—a sharp glow.
I see a figure rising, tall as the ceiling. An ethereal being with wide wings, stretching wide enough to cover the house. Its robe shimmers and catches the dark and splits it. The most beautiful being I’ve ever seen. Light pours, reaching every corner. It is not here by chance. It sees past the night. Beyond me.
My breath snags and my feet slow. I don’t understand how there’s space to pass—yet we do. Mom’s hand still holds mine, guiding me forward. She stumbles over her night frock, and her grip tightens. She feels it, but she cannot see it.
The being says nothing. Does nothing. Still, it knows I see it. My skin prickles and I press closer to Mom’s side. We pass it, step by step.
I look back.
The hallway is empty. As if it never stood there. As if I imagined it into being. But something in me knows better. I felt it and it saw me too. For a second, I saw beyond the veil.
Nestled in my mother’s embrace, I sink into her pillow. Into her breath. Her warmth wraps around me, and the night is finally safe.
INSTANT NOODLES 