“Can anything harm us, mother, after the night-lights are lit?" Nothing, precious," she said; "they are the eyes a mother leaves behind her to guard her children.”

I've always known people who other people consider not to be there.  I'm not talking the whole sixth sense crap, at least I don't think I am, but ever since I was a little girl I've acknowledged the presence of others who are ignored by everyone else.

Some were nice, some were scary.  There was a werewolf who would prowl around outside my bedroom door.  Understandably, he and I weren't the best of friends - now there's a lion there who stops him from lingering.  There's a little white kitten who sometimes comes bouncing in.  There's also a lion outside in my garden - although not as friendly as the first.

There are people too.  A whole crowd of them who stand there by my CD player watching me.  All different ages, races, genders (sure there are only two but you know what I mean) and all with their own different personality.  There's a little girl with a clown doll.  A woman who cries sitting in her chair because she's lost her baby.  An old woman who glares at me dressed in widows weeds.  An old man with a toothy grin and a flatcap turned jauntily to one side.  A clown with a sad face holding a balloon.  A jolly couple with pink cheeks who wave at me.  A doctor with a surgical mask and a white coat holding a needle and clipboard who makes notes about me and smiles all the time as if to reassure me (he doesn't), and of course, Anne Boleyn.

The nastier ones are outside in the garden at night.  If I look out of my bedroom window at night, I'll see them all there looking up at me, waiting.  In dark places wherever I am, some of them fly at me and grab me screaming into my face.  Except, I can never understand what they say.  They then cry and disappear.

Pochahontas runs alongside our car on the road.  I give her an umbrella when it's raining.

But since I've been taking this medication, I can't see them anymore.  Not the nice ones.  Not the nasty ones.  They are all gone from me.  When I forget to take my medication, I'm almost happy because I can see them again.  They smile and wave at me like an old friend who keeps on going away for a journey.  Then the other ones come back and I'm terrified.

Sometimes they get through, even with the medication.  A shadow.  A smile.  Whispered conversations in my ear.  I can never understand what they say of course.  I like to think that it's just an invitation to Neverland.