When I was little, I used to be afraid of the night. I convinced myself that the shadows of the tree out my window was fire and goblins and nothing good. I used to hide my face under Raggedy Ann’s conveniently flat head.
Once I had my son and did some reading, the books convinced me that if he slept with us for a while, he wouldn’t be afraid of the night. He’s almost 7 and still he sleeps with us and still he is afraid. Maybe being a bit scared of the dark is normal. We can’t see clearly in the dark, so being on the alert for the lurking tripping hazard or witch hiding behind the door is smart, self preservation and all.
At night we try to tell sweet stories, and talk about what the animals who are more comfortable being in the dark, what are they doing. We go out for walks to be more accustomed to the dark. And a painting of a sweet smiling whimsy moon can’t hurt.