Susan LaffertyOur firstborn was 14 weeks old when we moved overseas. En route to Pakistan.
The week before we left America, I held her close and wept. Quietly. With the door shut. In the bedroom at my in-laws’ home.
I asked the Lord, “What are we doing to our little girl?”
The weight of leaving what we knew and going to the unknown hit me hard that day as I rocked Becca in my arms.
But we finished packing our trunks and suitcases. Then boarded the Thai Airways flight across the ocean.
The house was bright and airy. The back door opened to a lovely garden.
A year after we moved our family to Indonesia, we were looking for a house to rent. This one seemed just right. We moved in. And slowly put things in order.
Then Jenna came to me one evening. Afraid. She was 10 years old.
“Every time I go into a dark room at this house, I see the outline of a man. He has two red eyes. I’m scared to go in the dark rooms.”
This was not the first time she had mentioned the red eyes. And it wouldn’t be the last.
“Momma. Momma.” I woke from a deep sleep. In the middle of the night.
Jenna, 6 or 7 years old at the time, was standing next to the bed. Pressing my arm.
Yes?
“I heard a voice. Like this…” her voice changed from sweet innocence to a guttural growl. “‘Jenna, I’m going to get you.’ And there were two red eyes. And he laughed like this…” It was an evil laugh.
I sat up straight in bed. On high alert. Heart pounding. Wide awake.
