bramble
Jul 25, 2019
3 minutes
By Angie Curley TERRE HAUTE, INDIANA
My three-year-old son’s cries jolted me awake. I rushed to his room. Michael was sitting up in bed and crying.
“Bramble, Mommy,” he said through tears.
I pulled him to me and stroked his soft hair.
“It’s just a dream, Baby,” I told him. “Bramble isn’t real. He can’t hurt you.”
For weeks now, my son had been having the same recurring nightmare—about a bald man called Bramble. In the dreams, Bramble stood in our backyard,
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