“Please don’t send me back.” Ciaran’s little form shuddered, not quite skeletal but edging on underweight. His tousled dark-brown hair framed his round face, his eyes wide and red. His chin was crinkled, his lips curved into a grimace.

Tears streaked their way down his cheeks as he sobbed the words over and over again.

“Diane,” I hollered to be heard over his moaning. She scootched over in the bed, the covers deflating beside her. “Ciaran, shhh,” I whispered. Having already padded out of bed, I scooped him up in my arms and laid him down beside Diane. She held him close and he snuggled into her.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong? It’s two o’clock,” she asked calmly, concealing the worry-stricken face she projected to me while his eyes were hidden in her robe. “Did you have a bad dream?” That wouldn’t be a surprise, considering how often he has them. They’d been getting worse lately.

“Did he say anything?” I asked.

“He nodded,” she replied. “Baby, tell us what’s wrong.”

He disengaged himself from Diane and sat up, wiping his tears from his eyes. “I’m sorry I’m so weird,” he coughed. We didn’t dare correct him; he’s too smart for that.

“It’s fine,” I replied soothingly. “There’s nothing bad about that.”

“I don’t want to scare you.” He sniffed up the snot driveling from his nose and wiped his face with his left arm. Diana and I gave each other looks. Did you say something? I mouthed. Of course not, she shot back, obviously offended. Sorry, I mouthed back, raising my hands slightly.

“Why do you think we’re scared?”

“You and daddy always talk about me. When I do something you’ll go away and start to speak quietly. That’s what I used to do to keep them from hearing.” Them, of course, meant ‘the children’ in Ciaran’s convoluted mind. “Like now,” he whimpered. “I said something weird and you’re already mouthing to mommy.”

Diane sighed and coddled Ciaran in close, petting his head. “Why don’t you tell us about your dream?”

“Okay. Well, mama and tata thought I was weird because I knew things and could hurt people so mama grabbed a knife and stabbed it through my stomach and then my throat and I drowned in my own blood as my lungs glubbed and filled and I couldn’t hear anything and then I was back!” he sobbed. “They sent me back!” He rolled around on the bed, hysterical. “How could they do that?” he breathed against the comforter. “It’s such a waste to kill children. Blooms of opportunity. To snip them before they blossom is villainous.”

I’m not going to lie and say I never considered the possibility that my son was possessed. That would be too naive. He drifts off sometimes and talks about things like he’s a scholar, or a parent. Then he drifts back and he’s our little boy again.

Diane thinks he remembers supposed “past lives” through dreams.

“Ciaran, there is nothing on this Earth you could do to make us do something like that,” Diane and I said together. “Nothing. We love you, inside and out, every part,” I added.

He didn’t bother responding, instead falling asleep reassured between the two of us. Shaking our heads, my wife and I lay down on our sides and tried to get some rest. There’s never enough in this house.