Disclaimer: Any use of the title, dialogue, and plot is strictly prohibited. Anne of Ingleside belongs to L. M. Montgomery.
Walter Blythe was known for having an active imagination. This was not surprising considering how he and his siblings would spend their days in Rainbow Valley relishing in the innocence of childhood. While it was true Walter had a knack for using his gift to come up with various characters for whatever game the children chose to play that day, sometimes having such a talent would scare the poor boy. This fear was due, in part, to his sensitivity for which he was often mocked at school.
It was during such a night when the boy awoke, glancing furtively around as if afraid a specter would materialize and take him away from his family. Earlier that October afternoon, the children had been engaged in one of their usual games. The valley had been transformed into a haunted forest where the wind howled and ghosts waited in the trees, ready to frighten anyone who dared enter their dwelling. Walter had become so frightened that he was the first to run quickly back to the house when it was time to go inside for supper.
Walter quietly slipped out of bed and made his way toward his parents' bedroom. He raised a hand and knocked on the door.
Anne awoke to the sound of a familiar knock and walked toward her door. She opened it to find her son in the doorway, his face pallid in the moonlight which streamed in through the window at the end of the hall.
Anne instinctively reached out a hand and pulled her son close. She then sat him down and listened intently as he told her his nightmare.
"I dreamed there were ghosts after me," the young boy began, and Anne could see tears in his eyes.
"There, there, dear," she soothed, wiping them away with the back of her thumb. "It's all right. There aren't any ghosts after you. How did this come about?"
"We were playing in Rainbow Valley. We imagined a forest with ghosts and I-I—"
"You got scared?"
"Y-yes. Mummy, I don't want ghosts to take me away from you, Jem, the twins, Dad, Shirley, and Rilla."
This story sounded very familiar to her. She recalled when she had also imagined a haunted wood with Dianna all those years ago. She remembered the night when Marilla had asked her to go to Diana's when it was twilight, but she had insisted on going the next day. She sympathized with Walter because she, too, had fears of going into the spruce grove after dark; she had also been afraid of the white Lady, the skeletons, and Headless Horseman who awaited her arrival.
"Don't be scared, darling," Anne said after a while, "there's nothing to be afraid of. I learned a long time ago to not let my imagination interfere with what's real and fictional. Those ghosts you saw? They're not real."
"Are you sure, Mummy?" Walter queried in a small voice.
"Yes, I'm sure. I learned my lesson when Aunt Marilla made me walk through the spruce grove on the way to Aunt Diana's house."
She then proceeded to tell him the story of that day, and soon the boy was fast asleep, his head resting comfortably on Anne's shoulder. She carefully took him up and carried him back to his bed where she planted a kiss on his head before quietly closing the door behind her.
As she made her way down the hall, Anne reflected on how her own flights of fancy had terrorized her into believing that what her mind had conjured up was truly real. She had learned the consequences of having an overactive imagination, and learned to harness it so it would not take hold of her completely. Marilla had been right in saying there was no such thing as ghosts. She knew that, in time, Walter would learn this lesson, but for now he was still the little boy who loved to dream. She only hoped she could hold on to him remaining a child forever.
For the remainder of the night Walter slept peacefully, his mind no longer plagued by specters reaching out their bony hands toward him.
