The Silent Prayer

The scream didn’t reach her ears at first. It hit her spirit. Maya sat bolt upright in bed, heart pounding, before any sound came down the hallway. For a split second, the flat was silent, wrapped in the heavy, muffled darkness of 2 a.m. Then she heard it. “Muuuum!” Eli. She threw off the duvet and ran, bare feet slapping the cold floor, every nerve in her body already awake. The hallway felt longer than usual, stretched by fear and shadows. By the time she pushed open his bedroom door, the cry had fallen into broken sobs. He was curled into a tight ball, fists tangled in the sheets, chest heaving as if he’d been running for his life. Sweat glistened on his forehead. His eyes were shut, but his lips moved, whispering something she couldn’t quite catch. “Eli, I’m here.” She crossed the room in three quick steps and sat on the edge of the bed. “Mum’s here, baby. Wake up for me.” His body jerked. “No… don’t take me, please… don’t… don’t…” Maya’s stomach twisted. She placed a hand on his shoulder. “Eli. It’s Mum. You’re safe. Wake up.” His eyes shot open, wide and unfocused, pupils blown. For a second, he stared past her, as if looking at something over her shoulder. Maya felt the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Then his gaze locked onto her face, and the terror in his eyes cracked. “Mum?” “I’m here.” She pulled him into her arms. “I’m here, I’m here.” He clung to her, fingers digging into the back of her T-shirt. Maya rocked him gently, the way she used to when he was a toddler with a fever, and she had nothing to offer but her arms and a whispered song. His heart hammered against her chest. Slowly, his breathing began to match hers. After a while, she eased back just enough to look at him. The streetlight outside spilled a pale stripe across his face, catching the tear tracks on his cheeks. “Same dream?” she asked softly. He swallowed, throat bobbing. “Worse.” Maya waited. She’d learned not to push too hard; sometimes talking about it made the images tighter in his mind. But tonight, something in his expression told her he needed to say it out loud. “What happened this time, sweetheart?” Eli rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand, like he was trying to wipe the memory away. “I was in the house,” he whispered. “But it wasn’t… our house. It was like this one, but… darker. The hallway was really long, and there were doors everywhere. Someone was calling me.” He paused. Maya forced herself to keep her face calm. “Calling you how?” she asked. “Just my name.” His voice dropped. “But it sounded far away. Like… like when someone shouts in a tunnel. I couldn’t see them, but I knew they wanted me to follow.” Maya’s fingers tightened around his hand. “And did you?” He nodded, eyes drifting to the window as if the night itself might answer. “I didn’t want to, but my feet kept moving. Every time I tried to stop, something pulled me. Like… like a rope round my chest.” His voice shook. “And I knew if I reached the end of the hallway, something bad would happen. I just… I don’t know what.” He shivered. Maya swallowed the lump in her throat. Images from her own childhood flickered at the edges of her mind—hallways that stretched too long, shadows that didn’t quite match the furniture, that same feeling of being pulled by something you couldn’t see. She pushed the memories down. This wasn’t about her. This was about Eli. “You’re not in that place now,” she said firmly. “Look at me.” He turned back to her. “You’re here. In your room. In Reading. Not in any dark hallway.” She squeezed his hand. “Nothing in this flat can take you anywhere without going through me first. And I’m not going anywhere, okay?” A tiny, tired smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “You sound like a superhero.” Maya brushed his hair back from his face. “Maybe I am. A tired one who still has to be up in four hours to make your packed lunch.” He let out a shaky laugh. The sound loosened the tightness in her chest. She reached for the glass of water on his bedside table and held it out. “Sip.” He obeyed, hands still trembling around the glass. When he was done, she took it back and set it down. “Do you want to try and sleep again?” she asked. He hesitated. “What if it comes back?” That was the question that always sat between them like a third person in the room. Maya smoothed the duvet over him, tucking it gently around his shoulders. “If it does,” she said, “I’ll be right here.” “You’ll stay?” “For a while.” She gave him a reassuring look. “Close your eyes. I’ll sit right here until you’re asleep. No hallway, no voices. Just Mum humming off-key.” He blinked slowly, the fight leaving his muscles. “You don’t sing that badly.” “Lies,” she murmured, but there was warmth in her tone. He settled back onto the pillow. Maya dimmed the lamp until only a faint glow touched the wall, then leaned against the headboard, one hand still resting on his arm. Within minutes, his breathing had softened. His face smoothed back into the innocence of sleep, but shadows of the nightmare still lingered in the tight line of his brow. Maya stared at him, feeling that familiar mixture of love and helplessness twist inside. It wasn’t the first time. As the flat settled into silence again, her mind would not. She leaned her head back and stared at the ceiling, tracing the pattern that had slowly taken over their nights. The first nightmare had come three months ago. Eli woke screaming then too, drenched in sweat, clutching his chest as if someone were dragging him away from his own body. She had rushed to him, heart splitting, sure he’d had a one-off bad dream after a long day at school and too much time on YouTube. But it hadn’t stopped. Another night. Another cry. Another trembling boy gasping her name. At first, Maya tried to explain it away. Too much screen time. Stress from school. A growth spurt. Anything normal. Anything ordinary. She bought a cheap night-light and plugged it into the socket. She left the hallway light on and his door open. She banned scary games, warmed his milk before bed, and played soft worship songs at a low volume. None of it mattered. The dreams kept coming—sometimes once a week, sometimes every other night. Always the same feeling: something chasing him, something calling, something just out of sight. And every time, she did the same thing. She would slip into his room, sit on the edge of the bed, and hold him until his breathing slowed. Sometimes he talked in his sleep, muttering words she couldn’t fully understand. Sometimes he cried without waking. Sometimes he clung to her shirt as if she were the only barrier between him and the dark. When he finally settled, she would creep back to her own room, too tired to pray properly, too wired to fall into deep sleep. Her alarm still rang at the same time each morning. Life still demanded breakfasts, buses, work emails, appointments, social workers, and bills. The world moved on like normal while her nights slowly broke apart. Tonight, though, felt different. Tonight, he had heard a voice. Maya rubbed her forearms as a shiver slid over her skin, though the room was warm. A voice calling his name… that detail crawled under her ribs and refused to leave. This is how it started with me, she realised, heart thumping. The strange dreams. The feeling of being watched. The shadows that never quite matched the furniture. The sense that something was reaching for her whenever she was alone. Her mother’s voice rose from years ago, spoken over kitchen sinks and late-night mugs of tea back in Tanzania. “Maya, our family does not fight against flesh and blood. Some things follow a bloodline. Some battles are spiritual.” Back then, teenage Maya had rolled her eyes, pulled out her headphones, and promised herself she would leave all that talk behind when she moved to England. She wanted a life that was simple, explainable, and scientific. Bills and bus routes. A job and a child, and normal problems. No talk of curses or spirits or generational battles. But blood didn’t change with an address. She studied Eli’s small hand lying open on the duvet, the same curve of fingers she’d kissed when he was a baby. The thought of anything unseen reaching for him made a fierce, unfamiliar anger rise in her chest. “You are not going through what I went through,” she whispered, the words more like a vow than a hope. “Not if I can help it.” She glanced at the clock on his bedside table at 2:43 a.m. In three hours, she’d need to be up, getting him ready for school, pretending she hadn’t spent half the night guarding him from enemies she couldn’t name. Her head dropped back against the wall. Exhaustion pressed down on her shoulders like a heavy blanket. She wanted to pray. Properly. Out loud. The way her mother used to—walking through the house, Bible in hand, declaring scriptures into the night. But the walls here were thin, and neighbours were quick to complain. The last thing she needed was another letter from the housing office. So, instead, she let the words rise only in her heart. God… I don’t even know where to start. Her fingers tightened gently on Eli’s arm. You see him. You see us. If this is just bad dreams, then calm them. If it’s more than that… She swallowed, the unspoken words heavy. If this is something spiritual… show me what to do. I can’t fight what I don’t understand. But I’m not giving him up. Not to fear. Not to whatever this is. No thunder rolled. No light burst into the room. The only sound was the ticking of the cheap clock and Eli’s steady breathing. But something inside her shifted. The fear was still there, but it sat beside something stronger now—a quiet, steel-like resolve. She didn’t yet know where to start or who to ask for help. She didn’t know what, exactly, she was up against. She only knew one thing: This wasn’t just about nightmares. This was the opening move of a battle that had been waiting for a long time for her family. Maya lowered her head, resting her cheek lightly against Eli’s arm. “I’m here,” she whispered, barely moving her lips. “And I’m not running this time.” Her eyes burned, but no tears fell. She stayed like that, listening to his breathing and the soft hum of the night, her silent prayer still echoing in a place no one else could hear. Whatever was coming, she would face it. Even if she had to fight on her knees and in silence.