But, as always, Anne’s words hit far closer to home for Mummy’s to matter, and the darkness seemed to close in around him know matter what his mother cooed at him - no matter how tightly he squeezed his rosary.

So as his mother finished locking the door from the outside and the soothing sound of her steps slowly faded away, Nicholas could think of plenty of reasons to be afraid of the dark.

The edges of the rosary bit deep into his fist as he squeezed it, eyes narrowed as he peered warily over his shoulder, brows furrowed.

Nicholas knew that when he died, he was going to Children’s Hell. It stood to reason that, if lying about loving and believing in God could send you there, wishing you were dead (because then you wouldn’t be afraid of the dead things in the dark, you see?) would to.