bramble

My three-year-old son’s cries jolted me awake. I rushed to his room. Michael was sitting up in bed and crying.

“Bramble, Mommy,” he said through tears.

I pulled him to me and stroked his soft hair.

“It’s just a dream, Baby,” I told him. “Bramble isn’t real. He can’t hurt you.”

For weeks now, my son had been having the same recurring nightmare—about a bald man called Bramble. In the dreams, Bramble stood in our backyard,