There was a sleepless draught tossing the tendrils of Daniel's tousled hair. It was midnight when he checked his phone. He pulled his blanket up, covering his head, thinking this might aid him to sleep. The cloth was soft against his face. He could feel his warm breath passing through the fabric's tiny holes. He continued to inhale and exhale through his mouth, feeling the rising and sinking of the material touching his lips. A droning hum of the electric fan, an invitation of drowse, a song, was lullabying him goodnight.

At last, it was comforting. His eyelids drooped, and he became drowsy. The comfy mattress caught his weight. His head was immersed contentedly on the soft pillow, losing consciousness. His eyes were now shut, too heavy to unfold, half asleep, sunk in reverie.

A vision was softly creeping into his dream. From a nameless, shapeless void, a shadow crawled its way to his open window. The shadow had two bright emeralds, blinking its piercing value, too sharp and disquieting. He was bewitched, sucking his attention, heart, and soul into the swirling black holes at the core of each gemstone. It was stupefying but terrifying. The shadow moved closer, lazed around by the window, boasting more of its lustrous gems ogling for something tasty. From stillness, it grew willowy boughs—one, two, three, four, and five. The last bough was the longest, craning aloft and coiling like a seductive serpent. The mysterious shadow crouched, leaning forward, watching out for the hiding lump under a dirty shirt. It pranced stealthily, scaring the little bump that squeaked and clawed helplessly under the shirt, finding a way to escape the monster.

Daniel woke with a jolt.

"Shoo!" He let loose a forceful slap pounding the mattress. "Bad kitty! Shoo!"

He slipped off the bed, flicking his hands, shooing the black cat out. The cat growled and hissed like a demon disinclined to leave him in peace. "Shoo!"

The little lump squeaked—a scared mouse—running away from the hairy miscreant. "Mousy!" he kicked his left foot toward the cat, protecting his little acquaintance.

The wicked cat hissed at him.

"Shoo! Get out!" he grabbed a shoe, alarming the feline to leave at this instant.

The cat persistently made noises, gambling its breaths, sneaking to evade danger and safeguard its nine lives. "Meow!" the wild feline cried, clawing the wooden floor.

Daniel focused his irises on the cat's two glowing emeralds and threw the shoe at its demon face. But he hit his chest of toys instead.

The tomcat's back fur stood up, puffed its tail, and jumped off from the floor to the windowsill. The cat spun its skull, narrowed its sharp glowing eyes, and hissed a silencing threat to the brave boy. "Meow!" it jumped off the window, landing on the roof eaves.

Daniel slid the vertical sliding window shut. After the midnight encounter, he massaged his temples and tugged his hair back, brooding. He reached for the lampshade cord and pulled it, turning the light on. He faced the mirror. "What now?" he asked himself, spreading out his hands that seemed strangely dumb.

He took two or three awkward steps behind and let gravity pull him, tumbling, caught by the firm mattress. He lay down, glaring at the ceiling, seeing things in black and white. "When will the drowse spirits visit me and possess me?" he asked the universe.

He felt hollow inside, missing his mom and dad as he listened to the fan's soft humming. He scratched his eyes, feeling emptier lying alone on his bed. I am caged within the four corners of my room, veiled in darkness, and all I have is my loneliness comforting me tonight, he thought, feeling his pain peaking.

He lowered his gaze, wiggled his toes, and saw the unlocked toy chest. There were raw words at the base of his throat, wanting to break free. "Forgotten toys," he uttered.

He rolled out of bed and moved his tired feet. He picked up the shoe he had hurled lying on the floor. "It could be that you are the reason why the chest unbolted open," he said, talking to his shoe. He bent down and tried to fasten the hasps, but it was impossible. Maybe it was the ball, he thought.

He knew the ball was there, the very ball that struck the pasta casserole dish, killing someone. He decided to open it to see why he was having a hard time fastening the chest. There was a twinge of pricking remorse as he opened the lid. He saw the orange ball, rolled his eyes, and gawked at the silvery flashlight. He switched the flashlight on and pointed the ray of light at the pool of toys. He dug up the toys and saw his mom's favorite hair barrette decorated with a huge sparkling dragonfly. Its cobalt blue head, thorax, and abdomen were still intact and shiny. The dragonfly's silver forewings were beautifully embedded with white quartz. He looked closer, examining its sophistication. He discovered that there was missing quartz and one of its hind wings was broken but intricately wreathed with different shades of tiny sapphire crystals. Despite the loss, it was so beautiful. He clasped it into his pocket. Again, he plunged his arm into the sea of toys, grabbed a handle, and pulled it out. "A magnifying glass!" he snapped.

It was a gift from his father when he was five.

The magnifying instrument had a dull black handle and a thick yellowish convex lens. Daniel rubbed the glass with his thumb, removing the spots. He remembered his fifth birthday, a happy day with rainbow streamers and floating bubbles. His cute friends were there wearing different animal costumes, pouncing, crawling, growling, and quacking like wild beasts. Booming music from the sound system engaged their tiny bodies to move, feeling the beat, catching the rhythm, and loosening up, shaking their booties. He and his friends were funny, and laughter from their parents crackled everywhere.

A sudden pop made the kids shriek and petrified, and then white and yellow pieces of paper rained down like fluttering butterflies. The kids were hopping as high as they could, catching the confetti with their tiny hands and throwing them up high above, showering back at their angelic faces. His mother and father squeezed through the bunch of wild animals holding a colorful birthday cake. They started singing a birthday song, a harmony filling the air, warming his chest fervidly.

His mother greeted him with a happy birthday. "Now, blow out the candle and make a wish," she said graciously.

His father was silent by her side, showing a little awkward smile. "What is your wish, Daniel?" he shyly asked.

"I want to keep it a secret. Is it okay?"

"It's all right. Hold it inside your heart and have faith, for someday it will come true," his mom said as she patted his curly hair.

"I will."

His mother showed a sweet smile and clapped her hands. "Okay! Who's hungry?"

His father grabbed his shoulder and steadied him in place as the crowd disappeared. His dad knelt and extended his arm with a box—a gift. "Happy birthday," he whispered in his ear, "My child."

"Thank you," he tore the wrapper and opened the box. "What is this, Daddy?"

"That instrument is called magnifying glass. I'll show you how it works." He led the little kid to the garden, and they halted in front of a bushy citrus shrub.

Daniel clasped his fingers around the handle. "Hold it like this," his father said, grasping the boy's petite hands around, "and fix it like this, focusing it on an object you want to magnify and must be within the focal length of the lens."

"Vocal? Focal what? I don't understand."

"Here, let me guide you." He chose a spot where a crowd of little insects was kissing on a blob of gooey dew. "Fix it near the dew, not too close, and maintain a position not too far from the magnifying lens," he guided the kid's head, and they got it. "Look at the magnified image!"

"Wow! Tiny white creatures are swarming around the dew."

"Those are aphids."

"They are huge and look pretty creepy under this simple lens."

"Yes, it is a simple instrument, but it enables us to see the small things in bigger and finer detail."

"I can see their tiny legs. Look!"

His father surveyed his eyes thoughtfully. "Simple things can make a big difference, my son," he said and kissed his forehead.

———————

The flashlight malfunctioned and lost its power. He switched it on and off several times. I think the torch is busted. Anyway, I didn't need it anymore, but I guess the timing was pretty good, he thought.

He clambered into bed clumsily, sat astride, and twirled the magnifying glass round and round with his fingers. At every turn, as the yellow glow from the lamp passed through the lens, it created fancy refracted lights dancing on the sheets. Daniel found the distorted lights amusing, a speck of wonder of physics, bizarrely astonishing. He grabbed the dragonfly barrette out of his pocket. He pinched his throat, clenched his teeth, and began to speak in a pitchy female voice. "Mr. Lens, with your wondrous glass, can you examine my health? I feel woozy all the time when I fly," the dragonfly said.

Daniel pursed his lips and changed his speaking voice, mimicking a mannish sound of a professional adult. He picked any name for the barrette. "Lady Mondragon, please move here and lie on the pillow," he glided the barrette, landing wobbly on the cushion.

He drew nearer the magnifying tool to enlarge the broken wing and delicately examined it. Daniel switched to his normal voice, "Mr. Lens," he called the magnifier, "What is your diagnosis?" he worriedly asked.

"Daniel, Lady Mondragon has lost a wing, and her balance is uneven. Upon observing her landing, it seemed like she had difficulty maneuvering."

Lady Mondragon butted in. "You are right, Mr. Lens. I struggle to control my flight. And looking down from above, I can't steady my sight."

"Nausea!" Daniel snapped.

"At least now I knew it was not vertigo," Lady Mondragon said.

Daniel lifted the magnifying glass and looked through the lens, zooming his right eye. "How about the missing crystals on her wings, Mr. Lens?" he paused, "Lady Mondragon seems her parts are falling apart."

"The missing crystals are part of aging, I believe." Mr. Lens barked mindlessly.

Daniel picked Lady Mondragon with his other hand, ascending slowly, reaching his face, right at the level of his eye and before the magnifying lens. "Excuse me, Mr. Lens. But that is not a nice way to point out someone's age, especially on a woman's face. How about you? How old are you?" she asked, showing off the splendor of her wings.

"I am old."

"Numerical?"

Daniel picked any number, and Mr. Lens replied. "I'm sixty-two, Lady Mondragon. I will be sixty-three next month."

"And I am turning fourteen next month," Daniel excitedly announced, "On March 15."

"Fifteen of March? We're the same. It is my birthday too. Maybe, let us celebrate it together," Mr. Lens beamed as Daniel put the magnifying glass down. "How about you, Lady Mondragon? What is your age?" Mr. Lens asked the barrette again without a hint of hesitation, teasing her.

"I will not talk about my age!" she screeched.

"Are you okay up there? With your age, you cannot stay flapping your wings too long."

Lady Mondragon cringed, stricken by the truth. "You are right again, Mr. Lens." Daniel carefully glided the barrette down, casting the insect's shadow on the wall, landing the hair clip on the edge of the headboard top rail.

"Are you all right, Lady Mondragon?" the boy queried.

She panted and quivered her body. "I am just dizzy."

"That's wear and tear, the effects of aging," Mr. Lens teased.

"That's not cute, Mr. Lens," she paused and hit him back, "You are—"

Before she could shoot her retaliation, Mr. Lens stood straight and said, "You fly elegantly, Lady Mondragon. You still have it in you—beauty."

Lady Mondragon changed her mind. "You are helpful, too, Mr. Lens. And thank you for saying something admirable, but it will not help you reveal my true age."

Daniel coughed, pinched his throat, and prepared his vocal cords. "Why do women hate talking about their age? I didn't see anything wrong if someone asked. Well, I remember a television show. A granny was awarded a Guinness for beating Japan's oldest known living person. After the interview, she was thrown with a surprise by her children and grandchildren cuddling her, celebrating her long life," Daniel scratched her nape. "I don't understand why you, Lady Mondragon, and other women are pissed if someone asks about her age."

She flapped her decorated wings and replied. "It is rude, just rude."

"Okay—"

"Wait! Did you feel that?" she asked.

"Feel what?" Daniel squinted, sharpening his senses. "Did you feel anything, Mr. Lens?"

"Nope—"

"Did you feel it? Someone is here with us," she whispered.

Daniel continued playing with the hair barrette and magnifying glass, stitching a new story segment. "I feel it too, and I hear the heavy stomps coming to us," he kneeled and turned around, wrinkling the sheets, feeling a mysterious breeze blowing his neck hair. "He's at my back."

The pale boy mustered his courage though his knees were melting weak, and his hands were trembling.

"Daniel, perhaps my incredible lens can help. Look through me!" Mr. Lens suggested.

He followed his suggestion. "I see something. He is ugly!" he jumped away from the invisible creature.

"What is he doing right now?" Lady Mondragon asked.

"Nothing. He is just staring at the lamp with wide eyes."

"He is attracted to the light." Lady Mondragon prepared her wings and glided, obscuring the light, "Ouch!" She was thrown, hitting the wall with an invisible force, and landed on a pillow.

"Lady Mondragon!" the boy cried.

Daniel raised his left knuckles, walloped a punch, shifted his feet back and forth like a boxer, and threw an uppercut.

Mr. Lens was cheering him, "Hit his face! Hit his face! Hit his ugly face!"

He clenched his fist into a solid ball and threw a straight punch wrecking the creature's face. The invisible creature whimpered, covered his bleeding nose, and flew away from the victorious kid.

"Yahoo! The Umbra is gone! We won!" he jovially shouted.

"Umbra?" Lady Mondragon asked as she tried to stand up.

Daniel bit his tongue and squeezed his brain. "I call the invisible creature Umbra. They are monsters, the ones responsible for the destruction of the moon. They're not satisfied. They choose to harm more. They get hungrier, unleashing venomous despair on Earth. Now, they are all over our house, reeking misery, engulfing any light source."

"Umbrae are awful creatures!" the hair barrette said.

Mr. Lens gleamed as he faced the lamplight. "Daniel," he paused, "you must carry me always in your pocket and look through me whenever an Umbra attempts to harm you."

"Okay, Mr. Lens," he said, lowering the magnifying glass from his eye.

Daniel picked up the barrette lying tilted on a pillow. "I'm scared, Daniel."

"Don't worry. I am here to protect both of you. But I need your help. We are a team," Daniel yawned.

Everyone yawned.

"It's time to sleep," he sank into a soft huddled heap, cuddling the barrette and magnifying tool close to his chest. "Mr. Lens and Lady Mondragon, can you sing a goodnight song?"

"Of course," his two imaginary friends replied.

They exchanged their goodnight to one another. Daniel cleared his throat and sang a sweet slow melody, lullabying himself, resonating across the dimly lit room and through his ear canals, calming his lonely soul.

The night was solemn, begging for the sun to shine. A surge of wind bellowed, and the crooked branches were using their sharp claws, tainting the innocence of the neighborhood windowpane. A billion stars were twinkling, held captive by the cosmic black canvas. And the shadows were free, not minding the curfew, dancing loony in the dark.

The forgotten lamplight in his bedroom shone its intimidating glory. It sickened evil to enter his dream. His eyelids began to feel heavy, and he tipped his head to a side toward the warm yellow light, letting the shadow fall behind. He smacked his lips and rested still under the starry midnight skies where his mind wandered off over the moon.