Who’s the one really jumping out of fear at night—me or you?

Who’s the one really jumping out of fear at night—me or you?

By Carmel Ben Shushan

When you’re young, you’re afraid of anything that jumps around at night, but it never occurs to you that the creatures making noise in the dark might actually be afraid of *you*.

I am one of those creatures. I love to jump, leap, and howl in the moonlight, breathing in the night air. I can’t wait for nightfall so I can head outside; I love the night so much and hate the day, because during the day I’m forced to stay in our den. Even at night, when I’m finally allowed out, Mom always warns me not to howl too loudly or jump too high. She worries that the terrifying creatures living beyond our forest might hear me and come to hunt us—just like they did in the past, forcing us to flee until we reached the forest that became our home and our sanctuary. The night I saw the terrifying lights was just an ordinary night; I didn't think I’d been too loud or had jumped high enough for them to spot me, yet their frightening lights found me anyway. I was alone and quickly hid behind a large tree that shielded me. I listened to the sound of their footsteps; they didn't sound as menacing as Mom had described—they sounded small and shaky. Their lights were trembling too, yet they kept walking, and as they drew nearer, I began to hear a faint muttering that grew clearer with every step: "I'm not afraid, I'm not afraid"—they repeated the words over and over. Their words made me want to see them; why were *they* the ones who were afraid? They were the huge, terrible creatures with evil lights and hideous heads. As they approached, I felt compelled to see the terrifying monster from Mom's stories, so I dropped to my knees and crawled beneath the bushes until I could peek out without being seen. At first, the light was blinding—they had aimed it right at me—causing me to jerk backward and snap a branch. The noise made them shine the light even more intensely into my eyes; the pain was so sharp I couldn't suppress a scream. I covered my eyes and stood up. The terrible creature approached me with its light. "It burns!" I cried out, and only then did it move that awful light away from my eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you," the creature said. I blinked until I could see the creature clearly; it didn't look so frightening or terrible after all. It was a little shorter than me, with small ears, strange clothes, and a pleasant scent. It wasn't scary at all—why had Mom told me that the creatures beyond the forest were so terrifying? We looked at each other. "Hello," we said in unison, which made us laugh—though the sound of each other's laughter made us stop abruptly; after all, why would monsters laugh? He was braver than I was; he stepped closer, held out his hand, and said, "Hello, my name is Benjamin." I looked at his hand, not understanding why he was extending it—perhaps so I could get a better sense of his scent? I moved my nose closer and took a good, deep sniff. He smelled pleasant, reminiscent of the blue flowers that bloom once a year in the distant meadow—the one Mom always warned us to stay away from. I liked his scent, so I licked his hand to taste it, too. That made him jump back and shake his hand rapidly. The movement was so sudden that I was startled; I thought he was about to use his explosive power on me because I had done something wrong. "Hey, hey, it’s okay—sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," he quickly said, showing me his open palms. When I saw he wasn't holding anything, I moved back toward him. We looked at each other; we were so different—me with my upright ears and fur, and him with his small ears and strange coat. "What are you?" we asked in unison. We were both startled by the other's voice for a moment before realizing nothing had changed. We were just two creatures in this forest, each afraid of the other—though we didn't really need to be. "Can... can I touch your tail?" he asked me. That made me hide my tail for a moment, as I wasn't yet sure if I wanted him touching me. But when I caught the sour scent that signals sadness, that made me wonder why he was sad just because I didn't want him touching my tail; I didn't want the sad scent to linger.I felt I could trust him. I shifted my tail around to the front and turned it so it brushed against his legs. The scent quickly shifted to the pleasant aroma of happiness. Benjamin reached out and began to stroke my tail; his touch was gentle and pleasant. I loved the way he touched me. "I can't believe Dad said you're monsters. You're not a monster—you're amazing," Benjamin said quietly. I don't think he meant to say those words out loud. "Monster?" I repeated. "I'm the monster? But *you're* the monsters—with your burning light and explosive power, you're the monsters who hunt us." I said to him, "We—I’m not a monster. Dad said *you* were the monsters—that you hunt us for our meat and kill our flocks, leaving us nothing to eat so we’d all starve." "That’s not true," I shouted at Binyamin. "I’m not a monster," I said. We looked into each other's eyes; each of us realized that our parents' stories hadn't been true—neither of us was a monster. Binyamin went back to stroking my tail. The silence between us was so good—a silence of understanding that while we were different, neither of us was bad or a monster as we believed. Then, the silence was broken by the sound of my stomach rumbling; I had left our den so quickly that I hadn't eaten a thing. Binyamin smiled at me. "If you're hungry, I have some cheese and dried meat with me," he said, reaching into his strange fur and pulling out a package. "Hey, how did you do that? Does your fur have openings?" "This isn't fur; it's my coat—it's fabric," Binyamin explained. But when he saw I didn't understand. him, he took my hand and placed it on his chest. "You can feel the fabric—wool, not fur." ​​It felt pleasant; Binyamin’s touch was cool and comforting against my hand. "Let's sit and eat." We sat at the foot of the tree; I hid behind it. Benjamin divided the meat and that yellow thing of his in two and gave me a portion. I was afraid to eat, even though his food smelled good. Benjamin took my hand again—making me look at him—and took the first bite; I felt reassured that the food was good. We both ate and enjoyed the food; when we finished, Benjamin went back to stroking my tail. After we finished eating, we started talking. We talked about the stories our parents had told us, about the terrifying monster living beyond the forest. Everyone in the story was so funny and weird.. We discovered that we weren't monsters at all. We kept talking until the light began to peek through the forest branches. We both quickly sprang to our feet. "I have to go home," I blurted out. "I need to go home too," Benjamin said. But suddenly, we found it hard to part ways. I took a deep breath and quickly asked, "Can we meet again?" For a moment, Benjamin said nothing, and I thought he wouldn't want to see me. "I can meet you in three nights," he said, and I was overjoyed.

That is how we promised to meet; every three nights, each of us would hurry from home toward the big tree. The site of our first meeting became our special place—a spot where we could talk about everything, laugh, and be happy together. That tree bore witness to the promise made by two monsters—who were really just children—to be friends.

On that fateful night, two monsters met and realized that the true monster was the fear others had cultivated in their hearts; so, who was there really to fear—those children, or the fear of getting to know one another?