As a child, I wasn’t really afraid of the dark, but I was always alert for the monsters under my bed, and attentive for the creeps in the closet. I always heard a thump somewhere and if I let myself go, I could actually see them. Fantasy and I were a strong team: the best of friends.

My parents thought otherwise. I should just close my eyes and go to sleep. That’s not always easy when Fantasy whispers in your ear: ‘Do you also hear that strange grinding sound under the bed?’ Fantasy and I were inseparable for years. But when I think about it, I wonder: Is it really a friend who makes you afraid? I don’t think so. As I got older, Fantasy became easier to deal with. Just like the anxious moments in your life. Horror movies aren’t scary anymore. Monsters under the bed have been replaced by stacks of magazines, and the real creeps are in reality soaps, these days.

Sometimes Fantasy still tries to scare me. When I go to bed after watching a anxious thriller, I hear a whisper in my ear: ‘Suppose there is a murderer behind the door..’ But I don’t listen to it anymore. I just turn on the light. Only when I am in the water Fantasy sometimes succeeds. Because there is still some fear in me. While swimming I am whispered to that a bloodthirsty shark definitely could be swimming around here. Then Fantasy has got me.
I give in.
Just like before.