It's funny, isn't it - how things which seem so scary and unnerving at night appear so harmless and vague in the wake of dawn?

Avish awoke in response to the surplus of sunlight falling on his lids through the bedside window. His lips moved in an inaudible grumble as he yawned and flexed his muscles before truly coming to his senses. He looked at the Mickey-Mouse clock hanging on the sidewall. It was 11:08 a.m.

Wait, what?

He never woke up that late. Ever. He was a paragon of the "early to bed, early to rise" kind. He had never required alarms or for his mother to wake him up. His pineal gland was on point. So what in the -

The music. The man.

His eyes darted over instantly to the bean-bag. It was vacant. Obviously.

A dream. A stupid, stupid, STUPID dream is all that was.

Everything became clear now. Saturated. He recollected the events -

(no, no, no, just a dream, just a dream, just a dream)

- of last night. The stranger, the gruesome-looking, polite intruder.

Avish could not distinctly remember when, exactly, he had fallen asleep. The man had leaned forward in the bean-bag, revealing his disturbing personage. He had smiled then, his ugly, mottled teeth as crooked as his looks. He had asked him a question, asked him something-

(are you still afraid of me)

-and Avish had shrieked then, shrieked on top of his lungs, hid under his sheets. Through his cover, some unusually long fingers, like drumsticks he'd used to have as a toddler, had reached out and touched his face - the man was fast, wicked fast - covered his mouth so the scream wouldn't be heard - and Avish had yelped, screamed louder than ever, though stifled - and the bony drumsticks had rammed into his skin
- and then - and then -

And then what?

He could not remember.

Your stupid dream ended, is what happened! Don't overthink it.

For a long while, Avish sat there on the bed, staring abstractly at the clock. Tick-tock, tick-tock, it went.

What if the man was still in the house somewhere? Hiding? Waiting for the right chance to pounce?

Tick-tock, said the clock. He's not. Because he's not real.

What if the man was under his bed right now?

Tick-tock, said the clock. He's not. Because he's not real.

What if -

No! He's NOT REAL!!!

Tick-tock, tick-tock . . .

Avish was so lost in his shallowly deep thoughts that he jumped nearly a foot off his bed when someone entered the room. It was only Mom.

Tick-tock, said the clock. What else did you expect? That the man would barge in and slaughter you in cold blood?

'Ah, I wondering when you'd w-' Mom stopped mid-sentenced as her mouth took an O-shape of surprise. She rushed toward Avish and inspected his face. 'What's that on your face, honey?'

Avish frowned. He touched his own face. He felt idiotic doing it. 'Nothing happened to my face, Mom. I'm fine. Quit messing around. I'm not a kid anymore.'

'No, really, honey,' Mom said. 'Look in the mirror if you don't trust me. It's a li - '

'Shweta! Where the hell do you think you are?!'

'Oh, Daddy's calling. Gotta go!'

Saying this she dashed out of the room, color rising in her cheeks.

Avish got up, stretched his limbs a bit. Then he walked up to a mirror and, sure enough, there were marks on his face. Impressions.

Four long red vertical lines. Another shorter one across.

His heart filled with terror as the meaning of this dawned on him.

It had been real. It had all been real.

When the stranger had touched his face through the covers with his drumsticks - uhm, his fingers - he had left impressions etched on Avish's soft skin. There was a veritable evidence of that. Right in front of him, in the mirror.

No. It can't be. It just can't.

But it was. No denying it now. The man had been animate. Last night had not been an idiosyncratic nightmare. It had been an actual, alive one.

Dear God, he mouthed, hands joined in prayer. Please help me.

______________________________________

It wasn't a school day, so there wasn't much Avish had to do. He did his homework, watched an episode of Scooby-Doo, ate his cereals and his fruits, played his videogames (not much of an outdoor person, not him), fed the birds (a little hobby of his), savored the beauty of the nature (it was autumn, and he loved admiring the garden in front of his balcony).

And so the day passed, as days always do. It went by pretty swiftly, too.

All the while light kept playing false tricks on him. Every nook, every corner of his house that had until yesterday seemed snug and amiable, now seemed haunting. He felt like the man in black was omnipresent; like the man was Avish's own shadow.

And after last night's encounter, Avish was reminiscent of the umpteen number of times the man in black might have met him. As he had said - protecting him, or whatever.

Like the time Dad had lost an important work document of his. He had gotten extremely mad and was venting his anger out on Mom. Avish had witnessed the domestic violence with his own eyes, as the kid he had been back then (this was three, four years ago). He loved both his parents with all his heart. How could he despise his Dad now, for doing wrong to another person he also loved so deeply? With the first blow that landed on his mother's cheek, tears had broken all barriers and oozed out uncontrollably. Dad blamed Mom for losing the document, a document, which if lost, could mean the end of his career. Avish had wailed, helpless.

But as far as he recounted, that was when he'd spotted the man in black for the first time.

He'd been standing quietly in the surreptitiously-lit foyer, the man. Avish couldn't tell his father, couldn't tell his mother - they were engaged in a fight. Even the kid knew Dad never lost the fights because he had 'the Fist'. So he had taken it upon himself to ensure the safety of his residence. And of course the man in black offered as a distraction from other, more horrible things going on between his parents.

The man had led him to a cupboard under the staircase, always maintaining distance, always distant, always enigmatic.

In the cupboard, instead of finding a monster as young Avish had been anticipating, he had found the lost document.

The man in black had, at that time, helped to resolve conflict between his parents.

There's no way you remember this correctly, Avish reasoned.

Just because he had seen a man in the night, a man who claimed to have always been there for him, didn't mean he was necessarily telling the truth.

And despite the obvious proof of it all having been real, any logical person would deny such supremely uncouth events had anything to do with their lives.

So Avish resolved that he had found the document himself, all those years back. Resolved that he had never met a mysterious man in black. Resolved he would discuss this with Roy at school tomorrow, see what he thought.

Far as he was concerned, nothing had ever happened.

Only so much had.

Boy, did he not have a clue.

_______________________________________

'Mommy?'

'Yes, dear?' Shweta had too much on her own plate right now. Her relations with her husband were straining. Wind was against their sails. Even as she stroked her son's unkempt hair, she thought of what would happen to his world if things came to the worse. Avish would be torn apart. She did not want that to happen. Not one bit. Avish was one of the best things to have ever happened to her. She could not just let that fact fly.

'Have you ever seen a ghost?' her son asked.

This bought her out of her reverie. 'What?'

'Never mind,' Avish said, embarrassed. 'It's silly.'

'Not at all, honey,' she said understandingly. Children always underwent this phase. She was just glad her son trusted her enough to confide in her with the ridiculousness of his childhood. She herself would have given anything to be a child once again. 'Tell you what. I saw a ghost once too.'

'Really?' Avish's face lit up like a Christmas tree.

'Sure. It was my grandmother's.' She didn't want to elaborate on the matter, so she tried something else. 'There are some things, Avish, that - erm - that we will never be able to explain. They are not events; they are experiences. So there's nothing to be shy about. Although I wouldn't recommend printing pamphlets to tell everyone, yay, you saw a ghost.'

Avish snickered. Then, after a prolonged pause: 'Momma?'

'Yes, dear?'

'Are all ghosts bad?'

Shweta took a deep breath, thought for a second, then beamed brightly. 'Mine wasn't. Mine told me I would have a beautiful baby angel, and then I got you.'

Another few moments went by. 'Mommy?'

'Yes, dear?'

'Do guardian angels exist?'

Shweta replied, beaming still, with a twinkle in her eye: 'I have you, don't I?'

______________________________________

His father returned home early that night. The three of them had dinner, served with fresh cold looks shot between the adults. The kid gobbled up his food quickly, much to his mother's dismay, and ran to his room to sleep.

______________________________________

That night, he waited patiently for the man in black to show up. Hours passed, with him in bed, contemplating this and contemplating that. Thinking he'd have to face the Boogies again tomorrow at school.

Urgh, why does Monday ever come?

But all this was overlapped almost entirely by a veiling excitement and trepidation. He would confront the man properly tonight. Try not to be afraid.

Soon Avish was yawning and struggling to keep his lids open. What if the man never showed up? What if the man was afraid that Avish would attempt screaming like the night before and call his parents?

Another hour or so passed. Avish fell asleep in spite of his eagerness.

Humming and whistling, like from the night before, began sharply when the clock struck two.

But Avish was deep in slumber and dozed away through the night, unperturbed.

The melody gave him comfort even a-dream.