Afraid of the Dark

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Emily stared in the darkness, ears straining to pick out the sound that must have woke her. Behind her, Tony rolled to his side and draped his arm over her waist and pulled her closer. She didn’t resist the contact, but she didn’t relax to his embrace, either. Something had pulled her from a deep sleep, and she doubted it was Tony trying to get closer. People had been talking in her dream. Speaking in a language she didn’t understand. The volume had increased until everybody was shouting at her in French, the unfamiliar words piercing her ears like pointed weapons. When she opened her eyes to the dark room, the words were still there. Moving in a steady stream through her mind, nonsensical sounds forming phrases that felt deliberate. That had the rhythm and cadence of an actual sentence with actual meaning.

Tony murmured something that wasn’t quite a word and moved again, turning onto his back and kicking his legs out. He was a big man. Big enough to take up the majority of their queen sized bed. She pushed gently at his ribs, trying to get him to move, but he just moaned and pushed back at her. Sighing, she kicked the sheet from her legs and sat up. Something wasn’t right. She searched the vague shadows of the room, picking out blurry shapes without any real form. Why was it so dark?

Slowly, she began to notice all the lights that weren’t on. Her alarm clock’s face was completely blank. The small green light on the computer’s monitor—the one that always seemed so bright in the middle of the night—was similarly dark. And though the window blinds were open, no light filtered into the room. None of the street, none from the house next door, none from the moon. Emily couldn’t even see the house next door, though the structure was almost close enough to touch from their bedroom.

The power must have gone out. It happened fairly regularly in their neighborhood. Tony had called Rocky Mountain Power more than once to complain about their shoddy service, and they always offered the right words to mollify his anger, but they never actually corrected the problem.

She snagged the spare flashlight she kept in the nightstand and flicked the switch. Nothing happened. Had Tony used it last? Had he put it back without replacing the batteries? She hated it when he did that. Especially since she always felt like such a nag when she had to remind him to do simple tasks like replace batteries. Still clutching the flashlight in her clammy palm, she stood and carefully made her way across the bedroom.

Emily opened the door, but stopped before she stepped into the hallway, her foot hovering above the floor. She knew there wasn’t anything amiss, but every instinct she had shouted at her to stop, reminding her that she didn’t know what was out there. Anything could be lurking in the darkness, and she could be stepping right into its—his—clutches. Emily shook her head and dismissed the feeling. You haven’t been afraid of the dark since you were five.

True. But she hadn’t seen blackness like this since she was that age. When her father had taken her camping and a dark blanket of clouds and rolled in to cover the moon and stars. She remembered waking up to the nothingness, wondering where the warm fire had gone. Wondering where her father had gone. Wondering if she was going to be trapped there forever—wondering if she would die alone in the dark. She had been too afraid to venture from her sleeping bag, and when she whispered for her daddy, repeating the word over and over and over, he hadn’t responded.

Sighing, Emily held her hand out in front of her—only half defensively—and stepped into the hallway. The nightlight she kept plugged in for the kids would have been welcome then, but it was dead, too. It hurt when she swallowed, her parched throat aching with the automatic action. She’d get a drink from the bathroom, check on the kids, and then go back to bed. In the morning, she’d deal with all the dead batteries, and find a nightlight that held a charge and would remain lit even if the power did…

Emily stopped short. There were voices coming from her son’s bedroom. Voices. Plural. Did he have a friend over? Had he snuck a girl into his room? He was too young for that…wasn’t he? It felt like twelve was far too young to be worrying about girls. She should have at least another three—and ideally four—years before he started pulling stunts like that.

She changed her trajectory, altering her destination path to his bedroom door. She held her breath as she padded towards the door, trying to pick out the voices. But they were too low to be distinct. It could have been anybody on the other side of the door, talking about anything. Any other time, she would have assumed it was the television. Especially since the words she could pick out appeared to be French. And Hunter didn’t speak French.

Emily tapped lightly on the door—because he was twelve now and she couldn’t just barge into his room—and the voices instantly stopped. Which did nothing to make her feel better. In fact, her pulse was jumping in her throat, fluttering helplessly against the prison of her skin.

“Hunter?” She turned the doorknob, surprised when it gave easily. Neither of the kids had locks on their doors, but she was still startled. “Hunter? Who are you talking to in here?”

No answer. His bedroom was just as dark as the rest of the house, and she couldn’t even see his outline on the bed.

“Hunter? Don’t pretend to be asleep. I heard you in here.”

Still no answer, and now Emily felt an all-too-familiar flush of annoyance. Hunter had always been good at pushing her buttons. Especially at the worst possible times. In the middle of the night, in the dark, while her skin was flush and slick and crawling, was not a good time to fuck around with her. One hand curled into a tight fist, but she kept it at her side, using her other hand to feel around the room.

“Hunter? Answer me. Who were you talking to?”

“Mom?” The word was dry and thick with sleep. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t play innocent with me. I heard you in here talking. Who were you talking to?”

“What? I wasn’t talking to anybody.”

“I heard you.” She stood over the bed, but she still couldn’t see his face. He had a nervous tick. It was always easy to tell when he was lying to her—something he did often—when she could see him. But now she didn’t have any clues at all. “Answer me, or you’ll be punished.”

“I wasn’t talking to anybody. I was sleeping.”

Emily reacted automatically, too annoyed with his constant lying to think clearly. Her had moved in the dark, and she heard the satisfying slap of skin against skin as her palm connected with his cheek. “Don’t lie to me,” she hissed. “I heard you.”

“No…” There was a catch in his voice. One that meant he was trying to hold back tears. “No, Mom, I swear. I was asleep.”

He doesn’t respect you. He thinks he can lie to you and get away with it. Is that the sort of son you want to raise, Emily? Do you want to teach him that it’s okay to lie? Do you want him to be that sort of man?

No. No, she didn’t. His father had been a lying scumbag, and the day Hunter was born, she had vowed that he would not be that sort of man. He would not take after his worthless father. She might have been a little harsh as a result, but it was all out of love, and he would thank her for it when he was older. So would his future wife.

“We’ll discuss it in the morning. I’ll make sure you get up on time.”

“I remembered to set my alarm,” Hunter said meekly.

“Yes, but the power’s out. Your alarm clock isn’t on.”

“Mom…yes it is.” She heard rustling, and knew Hunter was pushing his blanket off. “It’s ten after three. See?”

Emily didn’t see. At all. She shivered and the force of the shudder made her head throb. There was a pain behind her eyes that she hadn’t noticed before, but now she realized it had been there since she first woke.

“Just…go to bed. Go to bed.”

She turned and stumbled out of the room, only missing the door with her face by inches. He’s probably lying, you know. That’s what he does. That’s what they all do.

All of them.

Just go to sleep. Don’t worry. You’ll be perfectly safe here. Her father’s voice, reassuring her beneath the forest’s nightly chorus. The river flowing over rocks just a few yards away, thousands of crickets, an owl somewhere, the wind in the treetops. I’ll be right back. That had been a lie. All of it had been a lie. Every single word.

She shut Hunter’s door behind her and tripped over the long hem of her nightgown. She put her hands out at the last second, catching herself before her nose smashed into the wall. Where was she? Was the bathroom on her right or her left? She still needed a drink. It hurt to swallow. Her whole face hurt, from her hairline to the hollow of her throat. Her lip throbbed, her jaw ached, even her cheeks felt sore and bruised. Like maybe Tony had accidentally walloped her in his sleep. She tentatively reached up, letting her fingertips dance over her face, expecting to feel—something. What? Bruises? Blood? A broken nose and a busted lip? Nobody had pounded on her while she was sleeping. And her tentative investigation bore that out. Her face was fine. It was all in her head.

And there were voices coming from Hunter’s room again. Maybe that had been what woke her up. Maybe she was stumbling around in the dark like a fool, disoriented and frustrated, because Hunter was happily babbling to himself while the rest of the house was trying to sleep. He had always been a difficult baby. She hadn’t sleep a wink for three months after he was born. But now he was twelve years old, not twelve days, and she had the right to a decent night’s sleep. Especially since she had to wake up and leave for work in less than four hours.

Growling, she spun on her heel and marched back to the bedroom. If he wasn’t going to be quiet on his own, then she’d teach him a lesson he wouldn’t forget any time soon. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t see him. She knew exactly where he was, exactly where to find him, and even his startled cry couldn’t deter her.

“I told you to be quiet!”

“I was being quiet. I was asleep.”

“What is wrong with you?” Her long fingers closed around his throat and she lifted him from the mattress. He was too skinny for his age. He had always been a picky eater, which had ruined more meals than she liked to think about because they always got in ridiculous battles of will. “Do you think I can’t hear you in here?”

Do you think anybody will hear you out here? The memory slammed into her, the words as vivid and as real as the night they had been whispered in her ear. The voice had been familiar—daddy?—but she refused to believe it was anything she had heard before. It had been a stranger. A stranger holding her down to the ground. A demon. That’s what she had told herself. Do you think anybody will hear you out here?

“Mom? Mommy?” Hunter gasped for breath, and now she knew he was crying. “What are you doing? I didn’t…I didn’t make a sound. I promise.”

She pried her fingers from his neck, forcing herself to release him. “I’m sorry…I’m sorry, baby. I don’t…I had a bad dream. That’s all. I had a bad dream. Just go back to sleep. I’m sorry.”

Where are you going? Are you going to let him get away with that? He doesn’t have any respect for you.

“Shut up. Shut up. Just shut up.”

She slammed Hunter’s door behind her and sank to the floor, the thick carpeting absorbing the sound of her falling. She closed and opened her eyes, but there was still no light. No sounds except her own sobs and Hunter’s more muffled tears on the other side of the door. Jesus, what’s wrong with me? What the fuck is wrong with me? What’s wrong with me?

A chorus of voices responded, answering her question all at once with a variety of different possibilities. In a variety of different languages. They crowded her brain, shouting until her ears started to ring, and the pulsing behind her eyes grew stronger. Became something she could see. The one thing in all the world that hadn’t suddenly disappeared from her sight. She covered her ears with both hands, rocking back and forth, pleading with the voices to stop, stop, for the love of God stop, leave me alone, stop, stop stop stop just stop no more I can’t take anymore please stop pleasestop stop please pleasestop…

“Emily? Emily? What the hell…Emily?” The words were accompanied with Tony’s hand on her shoulder. “Emily, what’s wrong? Are you hurt? Where’s all this blood coming from?”

Blood. What blood? She didn’t feel any blood. “Turn on the light.”

“The light is on.”

“I can’t…I can’t see.”

“Look up. Let me…oh my God.”

“What? What’s wrong, Tony?”

“Hunter, go call 911 for your mother. Carol, stay in your room.”

“What’s going on? Tony? Answer me. What the hell is going on?”

“I…Emily…”

“What is it?”

“It’s your eyes. You…oh, Emily. How did you do this? Why? I thought you were better now.”

“I am better. I am…”

“She was in my room tonight,” Hunter said softly from her left. “She was really angry…”

“Tell me what the fuck is going on,” Emily demanded, putting more of an edge in her voice. They were going to answer her. Even if she had to make them.

“I think you should be telling me what the fuck is going on,” Tony snapped, his anger a common response to her demands. “What did you use? One of your knitting needles?”

“Use for what?”

“Your eyes, Emily! They’re gone.”

“My…eyes?”

I took them, Emily. They belong to me. Remember? I always come back for what’s mine.

The voice she heard that night in the woods. The voice that might have belong to her father but really didn’t—right? The one that whispered harsh words as he claimed her body. “No…”

Yes. It’s been thirty years. This very night. I’ve always been here. But I’ve been waiting. I wanted it to be…special. For both of us.

“Thirty years…”

“Emily?” The frustration was gone from Tony’s voice.

“No…please stop. Please stop. Please…”

Don’t be sorry I took your eyes first. I wanted to spare you. From what comes next.

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Comments

Interesting. The last line is the best part of the piece; that actually brought up thoughts that gave me goosebumps. Really important to have a strong finish, in a story like this.

Hey, and who did that illustration? Nice!

Thanks. I don't know who did the illustration. I just did a search for "demons" and tried to find an image that didn't look hokey!

Not a bad story. The historian in me wants

“I think you should be telling me what the fuck is going on,” Tony snapped, his anger a common response to her demands.

to be changed to:

"“I think you should be telling me what the fuck is going on,” Tony snapped


Cause I'll never care if it's the common expected response, who gives a shit. It's a response. Me shooting Myrnalene in the head for being a zombie might be the common ordinary response but what I just did is I actually just shot her in the head. Ok. I'm oft. You're all gay and play bingo.

Well, hates, when you're right, you're right. I agree that that line should have been edited out (or not written in the first place).

Ugh. Criminy, you people need to stop posting scary shit and forcing me to read it in the middle of the night.