Growing up in the countryside, I experienced all the joys of childhood — the soothing seasonal changes, chasing butterflies, having fun with friends and discovering new things every day.

However, the world, so familiar and safe in daylight, transformed into a frightening and mysterious place once the sun set. One fear that I shared with many young ones and which always sent shivers down my spine, was the fear of darkness and the unknown.

As night fell, the darkness would wrap the world like a blanket. It had a chilling whisper that could freeze my heart. When the lights went out or were dimmed down, my fear woke up. Even soft voices sounded terrifying. Shadows looked like monsters. The insects’ chirping warned of danger. The moon and stars looked like ghostly figures. And my imagination would take control of my mind.

My fear worsened when I was seven and started wearing glasses — blurry vision made everything scarier. I kept the lights and glasses on all night and hugged my grandma tight. The darkness haunted me and I just wanted it to go away.

Grandma was old and kind. She knew a lot of folk tales. In the spring, we planted seeds of carrots, tomatoes and peas together. In the winter, we would bake egg and banana cake on the wood stove. At night Grandma would lie beside me and she would hold my hand.

“Close your eyes, honey,” she would say softly.

“I want to be brave!” I would say in a whisper.

“You are brave, my child,” she would assure me. “You know, the things around you don’t change at night. They’re just not visible. Your teddy is still there on the chair, my coat is still hanging on the back of the door, even the curtains are the same and you, my dear, are still safe in your bed. See the stars? They are our friends, watching over us,” grandma would explain gently.

And so I would sleep peacefully in her comforting embrace, and she would slowly remove my glasses.

One December morning, grandma accidentally fell down the stairs. She got severe injuries. Uncle Hasan and Aunt Marium rushed her to the hospital and she was kept in the ICU for many hours. That night, I was scared of two things: the darkness and losing someone I loved.

The next morning, we received the news that Grandma hadn’t survived. I couldn’t believe she was gone forever. I would never see her again. It felt like a big hole had been dug in my heart. I couldn’t stop crying. Aunt Marium said she would stay with me until my exams.

The house felt empty and scary without grandma. Even in daylight, I felt sad and frightened. One night I decided something.

“I am tired of feeling insecure. I have to conquer this fear someday, why not now?” I thought and got out of bed when Aunt Marium was sleeping, looking tired.

I turned off the lights which were kept on because of my fear and after a minute, the moonlight peeked in from under the door. The room was dark, but I told myself everything was the same as in the daylight. I put on my coat, gloves and shoes.

At midnight, I slowly opened the door and went outside. The porch was shining in the soft moonlight. I sat down and observed every detail around me; surprisingly, my fear started settling like foam. Everything was peaceful, no lurking shadows or monsters were around. The orange tree’s leaves were moving gently.

I looked up at the moon surrounded by stars, feeling like they were watching over me just like grandma and appreciating my bravery. I stayed there for a very long time, and when my eyes got heavy, I went inside to sleep. And after that night, my heart was free from all my fears.

Published in Dawn, Young World, November 2nd, 2024