Fiction by Sam Pernada

I was terrified of the dark as a kid. I know it’s a classic and perfectly rational childhood fear, but it was so bad that I would cry through the night if I didn’t have some sort of light nearby. Heaven forbid there was a blackout in the middle of the night. However, I vividly remember how I was able to overcome that fear. I was seven, visiting my grandma’s cottage in the middle of the forest. It happened to be on the night of a new moon.

Grandma and I were sitting in the living room of the cottage on a cushy, moss-green couch with arms that curled over into a thick, log-like shape. I sat on one cushion with my legs criss-crossed and my body facing Grandma, who sat in an elegant manner on the other side. The springs that held up the cushions squeaked with even the most subtle movement.

I was intently listening to her life story that she had been telling for the last few hours after we finished dinner. I asked question after question, which might have been why the conversation lasted so long. She also spent a lot of time talking about Grandpa. I didn’t have any recollection of him, but Grandma pointed out the wedding portrait that hung on the uneven stone wall across from the couch. She was wearing a white dress with long lace sleeves and held a bouquet of white roses. Grandpa was wearing a black suit with a bow tie and a white rose pinned over his heart. He had one arm wrapped around her waist, and the other cupped her cheek. She had one hand on his shoulder and the other held the bouquet between them. They gazed at each other tenderly. When Grandma told stories about Grandpa, she had the same look in her eyes. Ever since he died, she had been alone. Maybe that’s why she was so eager to share her life story with me.

Grandma wrapped up with how we spent the day together, up to that very moment. She scooted over to me to give me a gentle hug, and I returned it tenfold. Her hugs felt like she poured extra love into them, since I didn’t get to see her often. I hoped mine felt the same for her. I was so close to her in that moment. I could hear her steady heartbeat and smell cookies on her knitted cardigan.

My eyes wandered to the door that led to the backyard. It looked like black curtains were drawn on the outside of the small window. I hadn’t realized how late it was. Unlike my parents, Grandma let me stay up late. When she noticed how dark it was, she gently pulled me out of the embrace and asked if I wanted to hear a bedtime story. I nodded eagerly, to which Grandma stood up and walked to the other side of the room. Beneath the wedding portrait was a bookshelf packed with her favorite books and Grandpa’s journals. She asked me if I wanted to pick a story from a Brothers Grimm book or hear one from Grandpa’s journals. I wanted to know more about Grandpa, so I chose the journals. Grandma started looking through the bookshelf. Then, out of nowhere, darkness.

My seven-year-old self’s first instinct was to panic. My heart thundered as I struggled to get my shaking limbs to function. I fell off the couch while trying to climb down from it, all while crying out for Grandma. I could only hear her telling me to calm down. That she would find me. I didn’t believe she would because it was pitch black. I couldn’t see my hands when I put them in front of my face. My bare feet ruffled through the stringy carpet that, I knew, was in the middle of the living room. However, I forgot there was a coffee table there too, and banged my shin against one of the legs. I toppled over, luckily landing on the carpet instead of the hardwood floor. I sat up, and that was about as much as my body could do by that point. I helplessly sat in one spot, fear ripping through my throat as hot tears ran down my face.

I heard approaching footsteps, and I opened my eyes to see an orange ball of light floating toward me. I wiped my eyes as it came closer, and I noticed it was Grandma. She was holding an oil lamp that had a little flame dancing inside. It wasn’t too bright, but it was enough for me to see Grandma’s sweet smile again. I reached up for her, and she pulled me into a tight side hug, being careful to keep the hot lamp away from me. She did her best to calm me down by stroking my back and rocking me back and forth. She reassured me that she was with me and wasn’t going anywhere. As we basked in the warm, orange glow, she began to sing Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star, but she added some lyrics to the end, which I remember to this day.

Little star came from the sky,

down to earth to share its light.

Here within you, love of mine,

I can see that starlight shine.

Twinkle, twinkle, little star,

know it’s deep inside your heart.

By the time the song ended, I had calmed down a little bit, though my breathing was still uneven. Grandma asked if I wanted to see something super special. I nodded, and she guided me to stand up. She took my hand and led me to the back door. There was a click as she unlocked it. When she opened the door, the chill of the night air whisked past, carrying the refreshing scent of the pine trees that lined the backyard. I shivered a little. Not only because it was cold, but also because it was completely dark outside. I gripped Grandma’s cotton skirt, timidly following behind her. When we stepped outside, her house slippers lightly slapped on the wooden deck and my bare feet pattered along, echoing out into the moonless night.

The light from the flame wasn’t bright enough. I could hardly make out the treeline past the fire pit. We stopped at the edge of the deck, and Grandma set the oil lamp on the railing. My confused, seven-year-old self wondered what she had to show me when it was so hard to see anything at all.

Just as I thought that, she warned me that she was going to snuff out the flame. I immediately panicked and protested. Grandma promised that she would still be right by my side and told me to hold her hand. I gripped her hand tightly and squeezed my eyes shut just as hard. I pressed myself against her, hoping to find comfort in her warmth. I heard a squeak as she turned the dial of the oil lamp. I felt her slowly shift down, letting out a slight grunt of pain, probably due to her aging knees. Once she was down to my level, she gently placed one of her wrinkled fingers under my chin and tilted my face upward. She assured me once again that there was nothing to be afraid of, that it was safe for me to open my eyes. I hesitated, but eventually found the courage to open one eye. Then, I found myself widening them both at the scenery before me, far above the shadowed tips of the pine trees.

What I thought was going to be a black abyss was instead an ombre of dark blue and purple, accented with green and yellow. All the colours came together in the shape of a tear in the middle of the sky. White speckles sparkled like diamonds, and slightly larger dots of light lit up the sky in a way that wasn’t blinding, unlike looking at the sky in the middle of the day. The moon wasn’t out to reflect the sunlight that would’ve outshone the stars, which made it easy for me to gaze up at the natural work of art.

I had never expected to see something so beautiful in the place I feared the most. I never knew that the night could be so enchanting, so calming, so bright.

Grandma extended her arm, spreading her knitted cardigan like a bird wing. She wrapped it around me to protect me from the cold. I leaned into her embrace, my ear once again pressed against her heart. This time, my gaze was enchanted by the magic above me. As we were cuddled up in her cardigan, she whispered the words that will forever be ingrained in my mind: “Just because you can’t see in darkness, doesn’t mean there’s nothing to find in it. Only in the dark is where true beauty shines the brightest.” We sat under the stars until I fell asleep.

The next day, I was picked up by my parents. I excitedly told them I wasn’t afraid of the dark anymore, and that Grandma had shown me the night sky. They looked so happy, probably because they wouldn’t be awoken by me crying in the middle of the night again. As my parents and I drove off, Grandma waved from the front porch. I stuck my head out the window and yelled to her that I would come back to see the stars with her again. That was the brightest smile I ever saw from her; it was brighter than the stars I saw the night before. Unfortunately, it was also the last.

Growing up felt like I was hopelessly wandering in a black abyss. I couldn’t see where the course of life was taking me. Nine years after Grandma’s passing, I had made it to my sixteenth birthday, which fell on the night of a new moon. I laid in the grass of my backyard underneath the night sky to celebrate my birthday with Grandma.

My parent’s birthday gift to me was having my grandpa celebrate it with me too. They gave me the very first journal he wrote. I read it outside, using Grandma’s oil lamp which somehow still worked. The very first page was the added verse of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star that Grandma used to sing to me. I hadn’t thought of the song after she passed, but when I read it, I could hear her singing it to me again. I spent the rest of the night crying as I read of Grandpa’s love for her. I hoped they were happily reunited somewhere amongst the stars.

The words Grandma said to me came back. I opened my eyes and started looking toward the stars that light up my night sky. Mom, Dad, my friends, all the people who made a positive impact on my life. They were the stars that shone their light on me, even in my darkest moments, and made my life more beautiful than it had ever been before. But the brightest star—my guiding star—was my grandma; the one who taught me how to overcome my fear of the dark and create my night sky.

Sam Pernada attends Humber Polytechnic as a Bachelor of Creative and Professional Writing (BCPW) student. Back when she first discovered writing in elementary school, she only ever wrote for herself. When she reached high school, she branched out to a more public platform; she realized her stories could be a source of entertainment for her readers. When she eventually found her place as a writer and hopeful author in Humber’s BCPW program, she made a goal to bring out emotion through her pieces, and have her readers understand the emotions she tries to connect them with.