The house was warm and quiet on this cold, January night. The snow was falling softly outside covering the creek in a blanket of white. Every now and then the wind would howl through the trees, creating an eerie sound. Inside, the occupants of the home were settling down before bed. It was the kind of night that John Witter cherished.
John's three daughters and oldest son were sitting in front of the television watching some program that they could all agree upon. Upstairs, Gaby, his wife was giving their youngest son his bath before bedtime. It was a ritual that was followed to the tee as John did not deviate from the norm.
John sat in his recliner by the fire that he had built in the hearth upon returning home from work. The man was the Chief of Police in their small community and today had been another slow day down at the station. It was mainly dealing with speeding and the occasional call about unruly teens down by the piers and on the boats that were moored there. He had lived in Capeside his whole life and he loved the town like no other.
John sensed the tiny little feet coming into the room before he heard the sound of his little guy. It was a tiny, little giggle and the soft breath that he expelled. John turned around to find Pacey in his footed pajamas holding his favorite blanket and a book to read. This was their nightly routine and John wouldn't change it for the world.
Even at three, Pacey was already proving to be a handful. The child was rambunctious and loved life to the fullest. He erred on the side of impulsive, thinking about the consequences of his actions after he got himself into trouble. It was a trait that John feared the child would always possess. He always knew in his heart that this one was going to be trouble; the hardest of his five to rear. John feared the teenage years like no other and had the sinking suspicion that there was going to be a lot of arguments and screaming in the years to come. But for now he would take this little boy just as he was and read the story that he knew Pacey wanted to read.
"Daddy? Read to me?"
"Ok buddy. What story are we reading tonight?"
"Goodnight, Moon."
"But we read that the last three nights."
" It's my most favoritest book ever. We gots to read it. Please."
"Alright. Hop on up into my lap and we will read this story."
"Goodnight Moon by Margaret Wise Brown. Pictures by Clement Hurd. Goodnight Room; Goodnight Moon; Goodnight cow jumping over the moon. Goodnight light and the red balloon; goodnight bears, goodnight chairs, goodnight kittens, and goodnight mittens. Goodnight clocks and goodnight socks; goodnight little house and goodnight mouse. Goodnight comb and goodnight brush. Goodnight nobody; goodnight mush. And goodnight to the old lady whispering 'hush'. Goodnight stars, goodnight air, goodnight noises everywhere. The end."
John looked down to find that Pacey had already fallen asleep in his lap clutching his blanket to his face. As quietly and carefully as he could he lifted the little boy up and carried him upstairs to his bedroom. John lay little Pacey down on his bed and pulled the covers up to his chin. He bent over and brushed the brown hair out of the baby's face and kissed his soft cheek.
"Goodnight Pacey. Sleep tight love."
John left the room as quietly as he entered it and went back to the recliner and sat down with a smile on his face. God, he thought, how I would love to just keep him that small and angelic. But he knew it was not to be.
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