Someone Noticed Her Today
1573 Words
By the time Maya reached the school gate the next morning, her stomach already felt tight.
She barely slept. Every time she drifted off, she jolted awake, thinking she heard footsteps in the hallway, or Eli whispering, or the soft creak of the front door.
She told herself it was just nerves.
But she didn’t quite believe it.
Eli stood beside her, clutching the strap of his schoolbag. The wind brushed his hair across his forehead, and he kept shaking it back, irritated but too tired to voice it.
“You okay?” she asked quietly.
He nodded, but his eyes were dull.
When the bell rang, he walked inside slowly—almost unwillingly—his shoulders hunched, his steps small. He didn’t look back at her the way he usually did.
Maya’s chest tightened.
As she turned to leave, someone called her name.
“Maya! Wait a moment?”
It was Mr Collins, one of the teaching assistants.
Younger, friendly, always patient with the children.
He jogged toward her, slightly out of breath.
“Sorry—just wanted to catch you quickly.”
A flicker of panic rose in her chest. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, no—nothing dramatic,” he said, holding up a hand. “I just… noticed something yesterday. And today.”
Maya exhaled slowly but stayed tense. “What did you notice?”
He shifted awkwardly, lowering his voice.
“Eli seems… frightened. More than a tired child normally would be.”
Her throat dried.
Mr Collins continued gently, “Children get tired. They get anxious. But they usually bounce back. Eli… isn’t bouncing.”
Maya clasped her hands together.
She didn’t trust her voice yet.
“I didn’t want to overstep,” he said quickly, “but he flinched when another boy tapped him on the shoulder. Then he apologised about fifteen times. I told him it was okay, but he still looked… shaken.”
Maya’s heart sank.
“I’ll… keep a close eye on him,” Mr Collins added. “Just wanted you to know, in case you needed support.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
As he walked back toward the building, Maya stood rooted to the spot. It wasn’t just her noticing now. It wasn’t just the nightmares. It wasn’t just the hallway or the door.
Someone else had seen it.
Someone who didn’t know anything about their spiritual history or what was happening at night.
Eli wasn’t hiding it as well as he thought he was.
At home, Maya sat on the edge of her sofa with her phone in her hand.
Her thumb hovered over her mother’s number again.
She could call.
She could ask.
She could open that doorway she’d kept shut for years.
But another thought struck her like a sudden gust of cold wind:
What if the truth was worse than she remembered?
She tightened her grip on the phone.
No. She couldn’t deny it anymore.
She pressed “Call.”
The ringing felt endless.
“Maya?” her mother’s voice finally answered, warm but surprised. “Is everything okay?”
For a moment, Maya couldn’t speak. Her throat closed, and the words tangled together.
“Mum…” she whispered, “I need to talk to you about Eli.”
Silence.
A deep, waiting silence.
“What happened?” her mother asked softly.
Maya closed her eyes.
She told her everything.
Not every detail—she held back the door incident, the sleepwalking. But she described the nightmares, the fear, the withdrawal, the way he looked as if someone was calling him from far away.
When she finished, she felt drained.
Her mother inhaled sharply on the other end.
“Maya,” she said, voice trembling just slightly, “You should have told me sooner.”
“I thought it was normal nightmares,” Maya admitted. “But it’s getting worse.”
There was a pause, as if her mother was choosing her next words carefully.
“You remember what I told you when you were young?” her mother asked gently.
A cold shiver travelled down Maya’s spine.
“About… dreams?” Maya whispered.
“About our family,” her mother corrected. “About the things that visited our ancestors. The things that followed the bloodline.”
Maya gripped the edge of the sofa.
“Mum… I didn’t want to believe any of that.”
“I know,” her mother said. “And I never forced you. But Maya… these things don’t disappear just because we move countries.”
Her heart pounded.
Her mother continued carefully, “When you were Eli’s age, you had similar dreams. Do you remember?”
Maya swallowed hard.
Flashes came—dark hallways, shadows that felt alive, waking in the night with the same cold fear she now saw in Eli’s eyes.
“Mum… what is it?” she whispered.
“I don’t know exactly,” her mother said. “But I know it isn’t just bad dreams. Your grandmother fought something similar. So did I. Now it has come to Eli.”
A tremor ran through Maya’s hands.
“Why him?” she whispered. “Why, my son?”
“Because he is sensitive,” her mother said. “Because he sees more than what the eyes show. And because sometimes, things try to enter through children first.”
Maya’s breath caught.
“No,” she whispered fiercely. “Not him. I’m not letting anything near him.”
“You’re not alone,” her mother said firmly. “And you are not powerless. Listen to your spirit, Maya. When you said something was whispering to you—guiding you—what you felt was not fear. It was guidance.”
Maya closed her eyes, tears slipping silently down her cheeks.
“Come to church,” her mother said. “This Sunday. Speak to Pastor Reuben. He helped me many years ago.”
Maya let out a shaky breath.
“I will,” she whispered.
“And tonight,” her mother added softly, “pray over every room in your flat. Light or no light. Neighbours or not. This is your home. Your space. You have authority over your son.”
A warmth spread through Maya’s chest—fear and strength mixing until she felt something she hadn’t felt in weeks:
Hope.
“I’ll do it,” she said.
“Call me tonight,” her mother replied. “I will pray with you.”
When the call ended, Maya sat for a long moment, letting the silence settle.
Her spirit felt stirred again—not with fear this time, but with a quiet determination.
Tonight would be different.
Tonight, she would not stand by and watch her son sink deeper into darkness.
She wiped her face and whispered:
“I’m fighting for him.”
When she picked Eli up from school, he walked toward her with a small but tired smile.
“How was today?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Okay.”
“Did anything scare you?”
He shook his head.
But she noticed the twitch in his hand. The small glance over his shoulder.
They walked home slowly, the late afternoon light casting long shadows along the pavement.
Eli stuck close to her side.
“Are we doing homework today?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. “But first… we’re going to talk. Just a little. Okay?”
He nodded nervously.
Once they reached home, Maya made him a warm drink and sat beside him on the sofa.
“Sweetheart,” she began softly, “Do you know when you told me sometimes you feel something is… waiting?”
His eyes widened.
“You’re not in trouble,” she added quickly. “I just want to understand.”
He swallowed.
His hands twisted in his lap.
“I don’t know what it is,” he whispered. “It’s like… something stands far away and calls me. But I can’t see it. I just… feel it.”
Her heart broke and hardened at the same time.
“And do you feel it now?” she asked gently.
He hesitated.
Then nodded once.
Maya reached out and took his hand.
“Tonight,” she whispered, “Mum is going to pray over the whole house. Nothing scary. Just… protection. Peace.”
“Will it help?” he asked, voice shaking.
“Yes,” she said firmly. “It will help.”
He leaned against her, his small body trembling with unspoken fear.
Maya wrapped her arms around him.
Tonight, she thought, this would end.
That night, after Eli was asleep and the flat was wrapped in silence, Maya stood in the hallway holding her old Bible.
Her heart hammered, but her spirit felt strangely steady.
She stepped into Eli’s room first, whispering softly:
“Peace in this room. No fear. No darkness. Only light.”
Then the kitchen.
Then the living room.
Then the hallway—slowly, carefully—speaking words she hadn’t spoken since she was a girl.
Her voice wavered at first.
But by the time she finished, her spirit felt stronger… anchored.
When she returned to her room, her phone buzzed.
Her mother.
“Ready?” her mother asked.
“Yes,” Maya whispered.
They prayed together—across countries, across miles, across generations.
And when Maya finally lay down in bed, one thought filled her mind:
Tomorrow, things will start to change.
- Writer
