Illustration courtesy of Chris Piascik

The evening before Election Day, the house was full of welcomed quiet. The TVs were off. And after a glass of wine, Steph was on her way to bed.

But as she walked past Ben’s room, she heard sniffling. She cracked the door and understood he was still awake.

“What’s wrong, honey?” she whispered.

He rolled over to look at her, and Steph saw he’d been crying.

“Everyone is so angry,” he said. “I’m afraid what might happen tomorrow. I’m scared, and I don’t understand why this is happening.”

The presidential election, she thought. If it was a scary time for adults, it could be a terrifying time for children. She’d never thought how it might be for a 9-year-old who’d never really paid attention to a national election until this year.

She entered the room and sat on Ben’s bed.

“I think you’re old enough to hear the tale of the Trumpusnacht,” she said, caressing his forehead.

“The what?” he answered.

“More commonly called Trumpus,” she began. “It all started with Uncle Sam …”

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