Roy sat curled up on the couch, clutching a pillow tightly. His heart pounded with each crack of thunder, the sound reverberating through the house. The storm outside mirrored the turmoil within him. "Grandma, do I really have to go down there?" he asked, his voice barely audible over the howling wind.
Grandma, a kind-faced woman with a gentle smile, looked up from her knitting. "I’m afraid so, dear. We need that pickle jar for dinner. I promise it’s not as scary as it seems."
Roy stood at the top of the stairs, gripping the banister so tightly his knuckles turned white. "You can do this," he whispered to himself, taking a deep breath. Each step creaked ominously underfoot, echoing in the confined space. Shadows seemed to shift and dance along the walls, fueling his imagination with unseen terrors.
"What was that?!" he yelped, racing back upstairs in a panic.
"No way!" he exclaimed, bolting back to safety once more.
He descends cautiously, but once again, the fear grips him as he spots the shadow of yet another 'creature'. "I can’t do this!" he shouts, racing back up the steps.
"Here, take this, dear. It’ll help you see the truth."
"It’s all just in my head!" he laughs, relief flooding his heart as the shadows lose their power.
Roy climbed back up, each step lighter than the last. He emerged into the living room, holding the pickle jar aloft like a trophy. "I did it, Grandma!" he announced, his smile wide and genuine.
Grandma beamed with pride, setting aside her knitting to envelop him in a hug. "I knew you could, my brave boy," she said softly, her words a balm to his spirit.
Roy sat by the window, gazing out at the clear night. The fear that had once gripped him seemed distant now, a shadow of its former self. "Maybe the basement isn’t so bad after all," he mused, feeling a warmth blossom within him—a courage he hadn’t known he possessed.
