Iridescent Spirits

Shelter of a constantly changing Soul.

Cradle Nightmare


During dark nights, when everyone sleeps in silence, he, who comes without invitation, wakes the child. She sleeps in the cradle, though a bit bigger already, she wakes up in the middle of the night, for noises unknown. She stands up, clings onto the bars of the cradle, calls for her mom with fear, but she never comes, as she’s sound asleep in the room of the other side of the dark house.

The dark shape enters the house, takes its way to the children’s room. He slowly comes closer, the light of the moon shines through the glass of the front door, enough for the child to notice the uninvited figure but instead of making it clear to see, the moon gives him an even fearful silhouette.  The little girl trembles, cries for her parents but no one hears her.

All of the sudden, it’s silence again, in the pitch dark house, everyone’s peacefully asleep as if nothing has happened. The frightful man disappeared but the little girl cannot sleep alone for ever. Years pass by, no answers found, but during stormy nights the silhouette comes backs for his moonlit visits to scare the now adult child.

Now, the toys, that never existed, have been sitting lined up on an iron shelf, start moving at their own will. They start walking but all of their movements are staggered only to after one or two steps, they fall off the shelf lifelessly. Maybe, they were brought by the shady shape, maybe they were lined up there, in a previous life. Whichever the case is, they can never leave the shady room, of dim memoirs. Neither does the child, who is still waiting for someone to rescue her, in the cradle of frighteningly dark nights.


3 thoughts on “Cradle Nightmare

  1. Really vivid story. Great start to the course. Can’t wait to read more of your work.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Reblogged this on The Mystic Horse Chronicle and commented:
    The following reblog describes an unsettling nightmare. Such is the the nature of childhood abuse; it should make us uncomfortable. I am presenting it here for an additional reason. There was a fascinating synchronicity that happened across the world between two bloggers who did not know each other; a young woman in Hungary and an eldering woman in California (me). It was one of the numerous magical moments that happened to me during the week that I was preparing my last post, “Breaking Out of the Closet: Healing Childhood Abuse.”

    I was too young to remember the actual abuse, so how it happened was a missing link for me though I wasn’t troubled by not knowing. But when I was taking a break from my writing last week, I went to the pasture to hand out with my horses. My thoughts aroused a question which I hadn’t considered before. How did it happen? Where were my parents? Was he babysitting me? Within a couple of hours of those wondering thoughts, I serendipitously landed on the blog, “Iridescent Spirits, a shelter for a constantly changing soul.” Both the name, and as I soon discovered, the tagline intrigued me .

    After reading the most recent post on the blog and liking it, I decided to explore further. I found a post called “Cradle Nightmare” which drew my attention immediately. In the context of the story I was writing for my post, you can imagine why it called to me. I couldn’t resist a further read. As the story of the nightmare unfolded, I experienced one of those moments where I was transported into another world and could barely believe what I was reading. I knew instantly that it was my own story, the essence of what had happened to me, if not literal. Though the description made me uneasy, I was amazed that the one missing link to my own story was revealed so soon after my question had been raised only a couple of hours before. It was my infant’s horror coming through the writing of another blogger! It was gently wrapped in the healing synchronicity and comforted by the magic of completion. The bittersweet I’ve found, is so much a part of the healing process.

    My heartfelt thanks to Adrienn for allowing me to reblog her post. What this nightmare means to Adrienn is not my story to tell. But the rest of “our” story is that she and I have become email friends so many miles apart but so close in our spirits. Iridescent spirits.

    Adrienn is Hungarian and is a very delightful and imaginative writer. She is a fairy tale herself. You might check out her blog,


Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s