It was dark, and some noise woke me. I, in my eleven years of experience, lay there very still, waiting to hear something else. Normally, I would have passed it off as a servant, but most of them were also in bed...and the noise didn't sound like it was coming from outside. It sounded like it came from inside.

Upon not hearing anything else, I eased my grip from the sheets, and looked over the blankets. My father was standing there, looking at me with a strange look on his face, one I had never seen before. It took me a while to place it, but when I did, I was amazed, and please. He was looking at me affectionately, as in, 'he was fond of me'.

I grew excited at that, but wary too. Father was weird sometimes, and his moods changed quickly. He made me nervous.

We looked at each other for what seemed to be eternity before he sat down on the bed beside me, and gently drew the blankets down a bit more, so he could see more than the top of my head. Once he was closer, I could see that he wasn't normally in the suits I was used to seeing him in. He looked like he was dressed casually, but it was hard to tell. It was night, after all, and I was never allowed a nightlight even though sometimes my nightmares were like a force of nature.

He slowly reached a hand out to me, until it rested on the top of my head. I felt something then, but I didn't know exactly what. It was sort of a tingling, spreading out from his hand to my head and on down. It was nice, and felt safe. I relaxed some, and he smiled--that much I could see, though his expression remained odd still. Again I say, it was dark, and I was eleven.

"Don't worry, baby-boy," he said softly while stroking my hair. "I could never hurt you." His eyes got that far-away look to them, and a chill run through me. I quickly ignored that, though. "I thought...."

He fell silent again, thinking his own thoughts. I lay there, almost sitting, but not quite, waiting for his next word. He had a habit of doing that, sometimes, and a knack for making people hang on his every word. I had watched him do it to my mother enough times, and to myself as well. It didn't matter how much I hated him, or how much Mother did. In the end, we always came around.

"...but that's not important," he finally finished softly. "I found a replacement, so you don't have to worry any." Replacement for what? I thought, but didn't dare ask. He stopped stroking my head (which by now I was actually grateful for--sometimes Father didn't know his own strength), and reclined a little on the bed. "You'll be safe in this little place until I come back."

Then he did something I never forgot--he leaned forward and kissed me on the forehead, like Mother did when tucking me in. I felt that warm tingle again, like an energy passing from him to me, and smiled at him. He smiled back. It was straight out of a Rockwell painting. After that, he stood and walked away from the bed, towards the wall. As he walked, some sort of...ribbons appeared around him, in all sorts of wondrous colors.

Then he folded upon himself, and disappeared, leaving only those ribbons behind. I screamed, reaching for the bedside light. Sure enough, he was gone when I fumbled it on. I screamed again, for Mother. She was there in seconds.

"Nicky?" she asked, looking rumpled in her robe. She swiftly sat on the bed beside me as I pointed at the spot where he had vanished, eaten, folded. Whatever.

"F-Father was here! He d-disappeared!" I clutched at my mother, and in vain tried to get her to see the last of the ribbons. Alas, they disappeared as I watched, and when she finally turned her head, they were gone altogether.

"Nicky," she said in a soothing tone. "It was just a bad dream." She gave me a hug, and I clung to her, sobbing now. She smelled wonderful, as she always did. Wonderful and comforting. "You know you get them after your father's been gone a while...it's alright, sweetheart." She leaned back from the hug, breaking my grip on her, "Go back to sleep, ok?"

"But he was h-here! I saw him!" I was frantic to get her to understand, but she clucked her tongue and shook her head.

"No more of that now," she said in her disapproving voice which meant all comfort was over with now. "Go back to sleep. I have an important breakfast tomorrow, and I can't miss any sleep."

I wiped my tears away, straightening up. My parents had always had that effect on me. Give me an order, and I obey. It was inbred, I think. Mother was the same way with her father, and I'm sure Father was the same way with his. Still, I wished she would let me sleep in her bed with her tonight, as she had done when I was littler and had bad dreams.

She stood, and turned the lamp off. She closed the door firmly behind her as I forlornly watched. I turned back, now almost blind in the dark, to look at where Father had disappeared. He said he'd come back. He promised, I thought as I lay back down. I was almost over the shock of the scene now. He's not dead or anything. It was...it was....magic. I bet he's a really powerful sorcerer or something, and that's why he's gone all the time, to fight off the ... well, bad guys...I guess. And maybe sometimes things don't go right, so that's why he's upset alot. I bet so. I bet. It's not like he's not coming back, but...what did he mean by a replacement?

And so thinking, I fell asleep that night. It's wonderful how children's minds are flexible. How they adapt. How they protect themselves. It's unfortunate that we lose that ability at some point after we are no longer innocent. I have often wondered at his words, and always fail to supress a chill in remembering.

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