A strange pattern

Weird dreams, weird dreams everywhere...
I have found a strange way of making it through fear during the weekend. It seems stupid I guess, but it worked. It's pretty simple, every time your mind focus on those ugly faces you're afraid of (in my case, the weird smiley ones), think how it must feel horrible for them to always be alone at night because people are afraid of them.
I developed compassion for gross characters and urban legends. Haha, damn...
On another note, it seems I have found out that forgiving myself is even harder than forgiving others. But that will come later.
Really not in the mood for writing any stories, but since I've promised myself to do it, here we go...


—When will daddy come home?
—He'll be home soon, sweetie.
That's the story of Adam, a little boy around seven or eight years old. It's almost ten hours, past meridiem. He should already be sleeping, as you may see, but a strange dream woke him up from his daily 9 p.m. sleep.
He still didn't tell his mother about it, though. His mind still processes the ideas. Sometimes when you are too afraid you get confused whether should you cry or not.
So for a while he just sits with his teddy bear at the sofa, close to his mother. She watches television, obliviously. Though somewhere down there, something feels weird, Adam doesn't wake up like that. "I want to see daddy", that's all he said. Perhaps weren't it for the program devouring her attention, she would be seriously worried about the situation.
Commercial break, she hugs her son and plays with his hair. He just holds his teddy bear, oh, its name is Mr. Pops by the way. Why did it receive its name is not the point right now. And by holding I mean keeping it close for dear life.
—Adam, would you like some warm milk?
—No...
His voice comes frail.
—I can put chocolate in it.
They look at each other in the eyes. She sees a dim light in her son's eyes.
—Okay.
It's still Adam, after all. And as if the enchantments of the television just vanished, she goes to the kitchen, planning what to do, starting to worry a bit more about what woke him up.
Not much after, she comes back from kitchen, a glass of warm milk with chocolate in it. A masterwork of motherly cuisine, I'd say.
He lets Mr. Pops go, keeping him by his side and grabbing the glass with both hands.
—So sweetie, did you have a bad dream?
A sip of milk.
—U-hu.
—Oh, sweetie, you know mommy and daddy told you nothing in your dreams could hurt you, right?
Another sip.
—And you always have Mr. Pops to make you company too, he wouldn't let anything harm you — his mother continued.
A large gulp this time. She kept looking at him with that face that seemed to be the perfect breed between a smile and a worried face.
—But it was a bad bad dream...
He spoke that with marks of milk around his mouth. Somewhat hard to take someone serious with those on their faces...
—You want to talk about it?
Adam looked at his mother. Perhaps the processing was over, because almost instantaneously, tears started rolling down his cheeks. She grabbed him closer.
—Don't worry sweetie, mommy is here, 'kay? You don't need to be afraid.
He finished drinking his milk.
—I know mommy, but I wanted daddy to be here.
—He must be coming home already, daddy's work ends around ten hours, remember?
—U-hu...
—So he'll be home soon. We can wait him here, you can watch TV with mommy until you sleep again.
—I just don't want to die.
These last words came stronger than everything else he had said that night. He spoke in a serious manner, it didn't even feel like his voice. That hit her like a truck.
—Adam, that's not going to happen. Don't... don't worry about it. We told you already that dreams are just dreams, even the bad ones.
She looked at his eyes, they were fixed at her. This time almost as if angry with her.
—I just wanted daddy to be here...
—I told you he must be almost home now — she made huge efforts now to keep her voice calm.
—...not the thing that wears daddy.
—What?! Adam, what did you dream? I told you dreams are just dreams, perhaps you got too impressed with some movie you watched.
—You know it's coming to kill us.
She opened her mouth, but no sound made its way. She wasn't prepared for such a change of mood.
They were so dragged by that conversation that the footsteps outside weren't noticed.
Now the key had entered the keyhole. It started to turn...