When I was about your age, I had a sleepover at my friend Jenny’s house. Jenny is the friend I told Willie I punched in the stomach once, when Jenny was at my house and wouldn’t let me win at Battleship.
The sleepover preceded the punch visit, and it was delightful enough, until Jenny’s mom told us a scary bedtime story. I don’t remember a thing about the story now, except that at one point, Jenny’s mom assumed a weird voice and pointed a lit flashlight at her chin from below, casting her face into a frightening, backlit shadow. Then, as if I weren’t sufficiently terrified, she cackled.
When bedtime came, I told Jenny I was too scared to sleep. She told her mom, who appeared to me in the doorway of Jenny’s bedroom, this time with an acceptable chin and voice. I’m sure Jenny’s mom felt terrible for causing me distress right before bedtime; she’d been trying to be fun, and it had backfired.