Just updated this part with very minor updates if you were wondering. Still mostly the same.

Nightlight:

I was a very fragile kind of child growing up. You know, all careful and timid but even so gravity genuinely loathed me, circumstance urging me to just topple over and bawl out my eyes.

Even though my parents worked a lot and hardly took me outside I felt nervous and even more high-strung even at such a young age under the scrutinizing gaze of strangers, lingering a little too long onto the colourful band-aids that littered my pale skin.

I was kind of thankful that their attention was more intensely captured by the tiny plastic stickers and not the dark circles under my eyes. Or the consistent yawns escaping my mouth now and again.

My parents were well aware that there was something uncanny about a four-year-old being extremely sleep deprived.

They'd try taking me to the doctor every time it got out of hand or if I had fallen ill because of the lack of rest. It went the same each time. I was aware enough to recognize the expressions my parents exchanged when the doctor promptly scribbled something on a small slip of paper.

They couldn't afford the recommended medication.

I have to say although my sleeplessness was pretty intense there were just a few things that put it to ease. For example, I was able to hit the hay pretty soundly if somebody else was there with me. But that rarely ever happened with the countless night shifts my parents were slaves to, there excuse being that they paid higher than day jobs in our city. It hardly upset me though, I was weak to my parents exhausted, overworked expressions.

Even so, I've always trusted my parents blindly. Letting them pull me by the wrist to run whatever errands they had to do or just sit and wait in the lobby of the part-time jobs they did, shaking my legs impatiently as the shifts dragged out.

Sometimes I'd daydream about what it'd be like going to school and running around behind that colourful preschool fence without a care in the world. Safe, enclosed and protected.

I wanted to work hard and be of some use just like how my parents did. It was always so clear from their faces of how exhausted and stressed they were, but nonetheless determined to go back and repeat the cycle the very next day. They were trying, trying so hard and it was plain to see.

I was nothing but a burden.

It was a rather flush late august as the heat took its final toll. I was unlucky and fell drastically ill, sicker than I had ever gotten before. My parents had to use up their emergency days off to tend to whatever malady I had caught this time around thanks to my insomniac ways.

It was horrible and made my frail body even measlier if possible. It almost felt like being possessed- some sort of unearthly entity consuming my health and causing gravity to be tenfolds stronger on me.

I was uneasily taken to the doctor who gave an expression of pure pity. He could surely grasp the kind of situation this was, the grave circumstances I was only born into and morbidly, the kind only death would grant an end to.

This time came as a shock to my parents, enough for them to produce the kind of money they didn't have for my treatment. If it was possible at this point I felt even worse. The guilt eating right at me. I couldn't fight the tears.

I was so invested in this blinding guilt that I failed to notice the sign that went up in front of my small house with the big bold letters reading SOLD. I was once more pulled by one bony wrist into an unfamiliar house that was supposedly our new home.

I stopped outside of my car door glancing at an unfamiliar, ominous-looking house. It was then when I realized the kind of sacrifice my parents had made.

They'd sold our house to pay for my counselling sessions. The doctor had suggested starting with just verbal treatment and not directly into medication which was rather intense and not suggested for children as young as I was at the time.

I nearly started crying again for the fifth time that week- this time tears of utter gratitude. But I'd managed to hold it in, simply smiling to myself.

My mom took note of this, looking over the large box in her hand over to my small expression. The lines around her eyes creased as she spared a grin my way. "Like the new place Duncan?" she asked. I nodded just out of habit, taking a glance at the place in question.

Something about it irked me pretty bad. I don't know what it was exactly, but looking back I can chalk it up to my unfamiliarity with the residence at the time.

The day was long and draining as we moved heavy boxes into the new place. I have to say it was hard for me to believe that this new place was so drastically cheaper than our previous one that my parents chose it in a heartbeat. For starters, It was even bigger than my old house, even if it didn't have a backyard.

As a four-year-old, this house gave me complete and utter chills. From the peeling wallpaper to the tall, stained windows. My parents noted the little deformities here and there and just sighed as if they'd been annoyed to the point that nothing could bother them any further.

At some point, I had been pressured into going upstairs to have a look at my new room. I complied, allowing my parents a little alone time to discuss random matters. As I slowly pushed open the door to the room my parents had dumped all the boxes with my things, I studied the faded blue wallpaper plastered on the walls with all its creases and tiny tears.

I nervously crept inside, floorboards straining and creaking at even the little weight I sported. It was about the same size as my old room. Setting down my backpack in a nearby corner, I stepped up to the wide window. There was a fine coat of dust layering the floor where the stream of sunlight hit through the window, so I was careful to step around it.

The room didn't have any curtains, so besides all the scattered boxes it was empty. I continued the very short tour as I marched over to my closet door. I carefully opened it with hesitation and was relieved to find it empty except for a few cobwebs here and there.

Waves of exhaustion and boredom hit me with the lack of distractions and entertainments so I decided to head back downstairs. Just as I hopped off the last rickety step the sound of my parent's conversation filled the air.

I didn't exactly mean to eavesdrop or anything. But I didn't want to interrupt their conversation either so I just leaned against the wall waiting patiently until they were done. I didn't hear exactly everything but I got the agitating gist of what they were saying thanks to a few sentences here and there.

"...It's a little rickety but it's spacious and livable..."

"...That is true and there's nothing a little spring cleaning can't help..."

"...It's kinda creepy though, have to admit..."

"...Yeah, just a bit. But mostly because of the whole incident that happened here..."

"...Nothing like that has happened in this community for the past few years..."

"...Even so, it's straight out of a horror movie..."

"...Worst case scenario: we have a few ghost friends..."

Laughter followed.

"...No sweat. We'll hardly even be home anyway. It all works out..."

"...But still, I don't want Duncan to grow up in that kind of neighbourhood, you know..."

"...Honey, come on it'll be fine. School starts in a year anyway..."

It was around that last snippet of conversation that I tuned out and lost myself in a state of endless paranoia and questions. What happened in this house? What happened in his community? Ghosts? Friends? What school was I going to? Was there something wrong with this house- I was interrupted from those tormenting thoughts by my mom who walked past the entryway where I was sitting and got startled by my presence.

"D-Duncan what're you doing here?" She asked pinching he bridge of her nose.

Tears brimmed in my eyes.

"Mom...what happened in this house? Is it haunted or something?" I questioned right back.

My mom groaned and tapped her foot in irritation.

"Bedtime," She said before promptly picking me up in one arm and a blanket and pillow in the other before carrying me upstairs.

I tried thrashing around and flailing but it was to no avail. Before I knew it I was tossed along with a blanket and pillow into my new room with the instructions to sleep. The door was promptly shut and then I heard a jangling sound as if it were being locked.

I darted to the door trying to twist the handle but it was no use. No matter how much I pounded or complained, I was left in a dark room with no light switch with scattered boxes casting looming shadows.

Not to mention my own horrific fantasies. I felt my way over hurriedly to the blanket and pillow and sprawled it over top of me as if I were hiding from an unknown villain.

If there's one thing I remember correctly about that awful night it was that I didn't sleep a wink. I was cold even under the blanket. I was distraught. I was a young child who was afraid and quite literally in the dark.

Somewhere, halfway throughout the night, I mustered up some courage. As I slowly eased my tightly shut eyes open under the blanket I could make out a faint glow by my feet. I shut my eyes tightly again, panicked, willing whatever it was to go away. As I lifted my heavy eyelids once more I was still greeted by that crimson light.

I stared at the distinct spot from under my blanket, burning a fearful hole with my eyes. Holding my breath I gently pulled the blanket off my eyes with shaking hands. I nearly cried out as I was looking directly at two glowing crimson dots, see-sawing between being fainter and brighter just like wavering candlelight.

I stared at it for what felt like hours and not once did it back down. Meanwhile, my rampaging thoughts created listless stories and harrowing fantasies for whatever this peculiar sight could be.

And just as it started it was over. Light seeped through as the sun finally made an appearance. The pearls of blinding red gone as soon as they appeared, taunting me as if what I was seeing was really only a figment of my restless imagination.

Nothing more than a hallucination. It was both frustrating and insulting but I could do nothing more than sigh and stare up at the ceiling, not having the heart to even try and find some kind of restfulness.

It wasn't long before I heard the comforting footsteps of my dad followed by the unlocking of my door. He greeted me a good morning and having just gotten back from work, he made his way back down to pass out on the couch.

I scrambled out of the makeshift bed and got on with the expending day.

The next night was completely different. It was quite pleasant, dare I say. It was the kind that extinguished the flame of desire I had to get some hours of sleep in. I didn't care how many as long as 'sleep' was written in big bold letters on the menu and served on a silver platter right to my hungry mind.

The only thing that remained unchanged about the second night I spent was the quivering red specks. For some unknown reason that I didn't complain about they had a different, warmer edge to them.

As I stared at it, wide-eyed and anticipating it only kindly flickered back. My eyelids becoming heavier and heavier and my chest warmer and warmer as the gentle radiance lulled me out of stressful thoughts.

It was like a dazing ballroom dance, gentle and enchanting. Calm and melodic. I found some peace. To this day, I don't know why but I couldn't help the heartfelt "Thank you," that escaped my lips as my Alice of a mind fell into a tranquil Wonderland.

I had found something I'd lost way before I could even recall what it was. Things fell back into place. My old restless ways changed and each day I grew healthily and steadily just like all the other kids. I was happy, my parents were happy and there was nothing more to ask for.

The counselling sessions ended quickly as sleep or my lack thereof wasn't an issue anymore. Money was saved. Bank accounts were more full than they'd ever been. I was spending more and more time with my family.

Whether the day was good, bad or mediocre it wasn't a problem. Because I knew no matter what that nights would be absolutely, positively rejuvenating and nothing could take that away. I wondered why we hadn't moved into this wonderful house sooner.

At some point around the age of seven, I started to question the enchanting red glow, not in a panicky, nervous kind of way but instead in a curious and contemplative kind of manner. It was like having a friend you knew for a while but only knew by their first name, it was only pure interest to wonder about their last name.

I decided to finally ask my parents about it and they didn't even seem surprised. My mom just shrugged and told me it must be a nightlight. She said that she's seen one in the guest room to when they moved in and was the type to automatically light up at night. I just nodded happily, munching on the rest of my cereal with glee as I felt a sense of easiness in my chest.

And from that day forth that's simply what the faint red radiance was: a nightlight.

Life calmly and steadily went on. Sure there were ups and downs but I grew up as a normal child. Doing normal childhood things. Accomplishing slightly above average things as I progressed. I made friends, joined teams, won medals, got a part-time job, got a used car (that was actually in pretty good condition), got to know myself better, became comfortable as myself, came out to my parents, was supported my parents and eventually I even found love.

It wasn't long before I graduated high school and was faced with some heavy decisions. Decisions I eventually faced head-on and had the outcomes turn out to my liking. The biggest one being my choice to move in with my boyfriend who had recently bought an apartment by a decent university that we both got into.

Tears were shed (mostly by my parents). Excitement welled inside of me. Boxes were packed. Goodbyes were bid. Finally, the moving day had arrived. All signs pointed towards a great future.

I was so caught up and excited I forgot about one of the most vital things I needed to stay the same. Sleep. I had only realized this after a restless night of tossing and turning as I stayed the night in our new place, annoying the heck out of my boyfriend. At some point, I had rendered it useless to keep trying to get some shut-eye in that kind of state.

I had completely forgotten what this tense, worked up feeling was. I struggled my way out of bed and grabbed my phone and keys. Right before I made my way over to the door I spared a glance at my boyfriend's peaceful sleeping expression and gave him a kiss on the forehead. That meanie was totally going to make fun of me for sleeping with a nightlight.

I made my way over to my car and didn't hesitate at all to drive back to the place I admittedly knew best. It was a long drive, so much so that sunlight had already trickled up over the horizon, signifying that it was now early morning.

The feeling of pulling back up in the driveway of my childhood home gave me a tender pang of longing in my heart but ignored it and went on to do what I had to. As always, my parents weren't home. I didn't understand why they still took the night shifts even though they had a reasonable amount of money saved up.

I guess it was just because of the stubborn human need to fulfill some sort of purpose and after all they'd fallen into the habit of their busy lifestyle. I could only support them with their choices just as they did with me.

I pulled out the spare key to the house (that they insisted I should keep just in case) from the rest of the bunch and stepped inside. I'd only realized how dark the house was until after moving out.

Impulsively I dug out my phone from my pocket and turned on my flashlight, just to see the steps clearly as I took them upstairs. There wasn't a single creak that I hadn't heard before and for some reason it made me feel happy that everything was still in place.

As I opened the door to my childhood room, that I hadn't even been apart from for long I felt like that nervous kid I was all over again. It was completely empty, save for the dim light seeping in through the window. I didn't waste to much time and looked around for the outlet I was completely sure happened to be somewhere around here. I frantically looked around to no avail.

What the fuck?

Maybe my parents had tampered with something. I felt bad bothering them but this single thing was very important to me as it hushed my thoughts to rest all those distressful nights so I dialled my dad's number.

It took a few tries but he finally picked up. "Duncan, how are you? Is everything okay?" He asked worriedly. "Yeah, I mean no actually," I was a little taken aback at how agitated my voice sounded I cleared my throat before continuing.

"I'm at you guys' place. Um, I was wondering if you knew where you put that nightlight. You know the weird red one that was in my room?" I questioned. There was silence for a few moments before my dad's voice came back "Oh...that...Wait, don't tell me you drove all the way back home just for that!" My dad exclaimed concerned.

Then there was a sigh. "Look, I didn't want to break it to you over the phone-yet break it to you at all. But, you're old enough to be a man about this," he huffed. "D-dad...?" I murmured, switching my phone over to the other hand. I didn't know what was to come but it was exactly that, that made my heart hammer.

"I'm sorry that we lied to you. But you have to know it only supported you. After we moved here things got so much better. You were sleeping better, we were saving money. Most of all we were all so happy..." His voice took a dejected kind of edge. "Back to the point: I...We don't know what it is you saw every night as you fell asleep. Honestly, we were kind of worried at the same time about these delusions but we'd never seen you sleep like that since you were a baby," He choked back a sob.

"There was never any nightlight Duncan," were the words that shook me out of a trance I'd fallen into so long ago. I broke out in a cold sweat and chills ran through my spine as flashes of my childhood ran through my mind at a mile a minute. All those nights spent staring into what? An illusion. I knew that couldn't be. Even as I closed my eyes I could still see that comforting red blur.

But the longer I stood there dead in my tracks in my childhood room the more my father's words sunk in. Deeper and deeper like a knife plunging right into my chest. Two red dots. They danced around my mind. As if they were tormenting, laughing at my ignorance. I shakily took a breath in and turned around to face the very wall that those orbs liked to project themselves upon.

It's like they's been watching over me. And they'd seen me at my most fragile and jovial states alike. They'd watch me grow, seen what I'd become. Like some kind of companion, no...more than that.

It was my father's words that brought me back to reality once more. "Son, are you okay?" he asked, his voice full of concern. A memory found itself resurfacing in my scrambled head. I'd actually forgotten about it but at that moment I really did feel like that high-strung boy all over again.

"I'm fine," I lied as I hung up the phone before darting out of the house quickly without even giving so much as a glance over my shoulder. It wasn't until I was finally inside the safety of my car that I pulled out my phone and quickly searched up what I wanted to.

I knew there was nothing okay about this. I was short of breath and my head hadn't stopped spinning since I found out. I looked up through my windshield at my childhood home with a different sentiment residing in my chest than when I arrived here earlier today.  The dots were finally connected with one another.

I thought back to my mother's words on the foreboding day we had moved in.  The whole incident that happened here. I didn't waste a minute googling up the address and clicking the first article that popped up.

"Single teen mom and infant brutally attacked and killed by 'Hellhound'" read the headline. My heart stopped. I took a deep breath before reading the rest of the article. As soon as I'd read the entire thing I didn't have to think twice before shifting gears to reverse and driving the hell away.

I stifled a whimper of uneasiness as I drove as far away as I could, reflecting on it all at the back of my mind. The article explained the tragedy that happened at my house not too long before me and my parents moved in. As the headline said, a teen mom and her kid were attacked by their own german shepherd who had allegedly been bitten by some sort of parasite or bug that made it 'shot-circuit' causing it to foam at the mouth.

The young woman and her daughter had approached the dog unaware of how distraught and different it was from the loving pooch they thought they knew. It brutally attacked both parent and child, leaving behind a bloodbath. The neighbour happened to walk by and see the aftermath through a window and called the police.

After the incident, there was even an interview held with the neighbour who moved out shortly after and she'd talked about how warm and loving their family was. The dog who was actually named Casey was a trained dog who gave the single mother emotional support. The neighbour claimed that she was the sweetest and most well-mannered dog she'd ever seen, giving unconditional love and comfort to those in need.

Contrary to that the policed were informed about how vile and devilish this beast of a hound really was in this state and called at least six to seven men equipped with guns to shoot it down. They were all enough to successfully overpower it but they claimed to have seen the literal devil in the dog. A nasty expression on the animal's face, an almost sinister low grumble from its mouth. They had no choice but to shoot it over and over again.

But what bothered me. What really drifted my attention from the road was a tiny little detail. The lead police officer in the case made a rather interesting claim and contribution to the story of Casey the Hellhound. He said that as he looked the dog right in the eyes a sense of awful fear struck through him and that the eyes he'd looked into of that dog on that fateful day were unlike those of any he'd ever seen.

I thought back to all those agonizing nights I spent before we moved into that house (with quite the history) gazing up at the popcorn ceiling, fearing the dark as I slept alone. There was only one thing that made me fall asleep soundly and that was if someone else was in the room with me.

...If someone else was in the room with me...

Crimson eyes: it's what that officer saw as he shot the dog in the head one last time.

Crimson eyes: were the last things I saw as I shuddered and drove directly into a tree on the side of the road.

After all, they had lulled me to sleep since I was a child and today was no exception.