I sighed to myself as my six-year-old son, Zachary, tossed and turned under his spaceship bed sheets. He's never been able to fall asleep easily, and here I was thinking I was playing it smart, letting him run around the playground for an hour so he'd tire himself out. But no, sadly, things never turn out the way you want them to.

    "Hey, buddy... You having trouble sleeping?" I asked softly, sitting on the edge of his mattress.

    "No! I'm a big kid, and I don't have trouble with anything, ever!" he said defiantly.

    "You sure?" I asked. I knew he liked to say he was totally independent, and fine on his own, but I also knew that he hated being alone, and could lay awake for hours, thinking of monsters under the bed.

    Which is why I should have known that buying a picture book full of horror stories was a terrible, absolutely terrible, idea. I only got it because it was the biggest thing right now- everyone was buying it. Yeah, some young guy right out of college thought it up, named it "Eyes", and, suddenly, it's an instant hit. I, personally, want to hit him. He has scarred my child.

    "So, Zachary, do you remember that book you read earlier today?"

    His eyes widened, and he nodded mutely.

    "Well, do you know, I personally met with The Eye Man, and do you know what he told me? He said, 'Zachary? Oh, he's awesome! I would never hurt him! Never!' Really, that's what he said! Isn't that great?" I said, hoping this blind grab would work.

    "Mom, I'm not stupid. I know that The Eye Man doesn't talk to anyone! He doesn't have a mouth! Just two eyes!" Zachary argued, pulling his covers over his head.

    And, well, I managed to just sing him to sleep, but I knew it would be a long time until he could stop having these fears.

    "Zachary! How was school today?" I asked, taking his backpack as he stepped in the door.

    "Good, I guess... My teacher gave me a note," he muttered. He handed me a large piece of drawing paper, which had a note stapled to it. I read the note, doing a double take when I saw the message.

    "'Today, your son drew a disturbing picture of a grotesque figure, known only as a living thing by the two eyes on its face. What is more concerning, however, is that all of the other children his age have drawn almost identical pictures for the past few days. Parents have made calls, reporting that this character can be found in a new story, Eyes, and that their children have been having nightmares. I advise you to keep this book away from your child, and seek counseling if needed,'" I read aloud to myself, letting Zachary go to sit on the couch.

    I glanced at the drawing, horrified by what I saw.

    And suddenly, it wasn't Zachary in front of the television.