Maybe I Am Afraid of the Dark

A Story by K.M.Brown

What happens when you are left alone with your worst fears? Can you survive the night, or will you succumb to the darkness?

I'd like to get something straight: I am not afraid of the dark. I'm almost fifteen. I'm too old; I know better. What I am afraid of, are the things that use the darkness as a protective cover, wrapping themselves in a blanket of silence, waiting for the precise time to strike -a time when I'm exposed, vulnerable. Those are the things that send shivers racing down my spine. The darkness is just a silent accomplice, providing those creatures with shelter.

That's why I made sure the doors and windows were locked after my parents left to get ice to keep the fridge cold until the power comes back on, but locking the doors and windows won't help me. The things I fear dwell inside the deepest recesses of our world, just waiting patiently to gnaw their way inside my head and slowly tear away at my sanity until I

snap, leaving them with nothing but a hollow shell of the person I used to be.

I push those thoughts out of my mind, but they will always be there. They taunt me every second of every day. No matter how much I occupy myself with monotonous, everyday tasks, they will always show their ugly faces the moment the lights go out. Because no matter how hard you try, you can never repress memories. Not completely, anyway.

I grab a can of Pepsi that has long since assumed the temperature of my house, but I don't care. I wander into my living room and settle into the soft fabric of my couch, surrounding myself in a blanket, even though I don't need one. It

sends a comforting warmth throughout my body.

I carefully position a flashlight in between my neck and my shoulder and hold my book in my lap. I angle the book in such a way that I can read the words despite the awkward tilting of my head that allows me to hold the light in place.

The light is reassuring, letting me know that something is there to ward off the darkness, even if it can be extinguished by flipping a switch.

Thunder booms outside. For some reason, I have always liked storms, and that's not typical of someone who is afraid of monsters. I guess you could call them monsters. When I think about it, that's about the best word I can use to describe the hellish beasts that plague my psyche.

It's times like now when I wish that I had friends, but people aren't friends with girls who still check under the bed and in the closet before they go to sleep. If I had friends, maybe I wouldn't be alone right now, left at the mercy of my nightmares.

I close my book and turn off the light. I can't concentrate on much of anything at the moment. I hug the blanket close to me as I bring my knees up to my chest, making myself as tiny as possible, which isn't very when you factor in my height of 5'8".

My eyelids grow heavier as time ticks by. With each minute that passes, they become increasingly harder to keep open. I reluctantly allow them to close, and I drift away almost immediately.

My feet pound on the tile floor of the kitchen as I run. I suck in deep, hurried breaths, each one filling my being with

terror. Adrenaline courses through my veins instead of blood, quickening my heart and urging me to run faster.

The scary thing is that I don't even know what I am running from.

A small voice in the back of my mind pushes me forward, telling me that I cannot stop. I fling open the front door and

sprint out into the night. Grey storm clouds cover the bright stars twinkling in the ebony sky.

The frigid air burns in my lungs as I fly down the sidewalk, but I propel myself onward, refusing to slow down. Something is following me, I know it. A second set of footsteps slapping on the pavement echo in my head. I shake them off and keep running. The muscles in my legs ache with each stride. My breaths come in short respirations, none of them providing me with a sufficient amount of oxygen.

I need to rest, but I keep going. Because resting would mean stopping. It's coming. It's close. I round a corner. My pace is gradually slowing down. I can't fight it anymore; I need to stop.

And then it is upon me.

I snap awake. I can still feel my heart pounding within the walls of my chest, threatening to burst with each beat. I pull locks of wavy black hair away from my face. My blue eyes tentatively search the room, afraid of what they might find. Relief washes over me when I find the room empty.

However, I just can't shake the feeling that something is watching me. It's eyes stare into me from the depths of the darkness around me, grinning as it sees my distress. I feel it waiting for me, waiting to drag me down into its realm

where no one can save me, where my screams and frantic cries for help fall on deaf ears.

Scratching emanates from the floor above me, the sound hovering in the air, making it seem heavier in my lungs. It falls prey to silence as quickly as it came. The quiet deeply unnerves me. I find myself wishing that the sound was back. It would allow my mind to develop an explanation for its cause, but the silence forces my mind to run wild, whisking me away into my own personal Hell.

The silence lingers, sending fear quaking through my being. God, how I wish the lights would come back. Countless times the lights have saved me from succumbing to my insanity.

Again, the scratching returns. I can imagine the creature that causes those God awful sounds. I can almost see its claws dragging across the floor, leaving deep scratches in its wake. I can see it waiting for me, the anticipation building up inside of it.

I have to end this. I will not be afraid of them anymore. I will not let them steal another second of my time; they've taken far too much of it. It's time for me to take control again, to end my days of living in fear.

The stairs give soft groans as I climb them. I keep one shaky hand on the railing and a knife firmly clutched in the other. The silver blade harnesses the beams of moonlight peeking out from behind the clouds and reflects them into the blackness of the night that has become my only reality.

I stare down the hallway, showing my confidence, but the truth is, I am terrified on the inside.

A gentle breeze floats in through the open window, bringing cool, night air into my lungs with each respiration. Deep grooves in the wood below my feet stretch from one end of the hall to the other. I can't see anything, but I know it's there.

It anxiously waits, waits for the proper time to emerge from its cover of darkness. It embraces the silence, using it to its advantage, and its working. This knife is nothing compared to the vast arsenal of psychological warfare it will surely unleash upon me.

First, the silence will ravage me, sending a frightening reel of images through my imagination. Next, the images will become truth. It will make me perceive reality in any way it sees fit. Lastly, I will accept my new realm of existence, allowing it full access to my faculties.

The emptiness of the room fills me, drowning out everything with the sound of sheer nothingness. I clamp my hands over my ears in an attempt to shield myself from the emotional damage the quiet will cause me. It doesn't work. The silence finds its way in, reverberating off the walls of my skull.

I can't rid myself of its awful presence inside me. It wreaks havoc in my mind, destroying the last shred of hope I had. I don't know why people put so much faith in hope when it can be so easily destroyed.

Crimson stains cloud my vision. It rhythmically drips from the ceiling, staining my white t-shirt. I pull my hands away from my head and find them covered in blood. The warm, sticky liquid runs up and down my arms.

I try to run, but my muscles are paralyzed. I have no choice but to watch. A shrill, inhuman cry erupts from somewhere behind me. I feel cold hands gripping my shoulders, pushing me forward, toward the open window.

Now, I stand on the ledge, feeling the wind whip through my hair as I look down upon the concrete below. I feel myself falling. The ground approaches me with great speed. I collide with the pavement, and daggers of pain shoot through my broken body. Blood pours from my entire person, pooling on the concrete.

I am back in the hallway now, as if I never fell. I am huddled in a corner, my head buried in my knees. Tears cascade down my cheeks. I feel it coming. It stands over me, its domineering presence enough to make me wish I could disappear.

Carefully, I raise my eyes to look at it. Nothing is there, only the darkness. It envelops me, leaving no room left. I still see the empty hallway, but it is filled to the brim with blackness, creeping closer and closer to me. It presses against me, beckoning me to let go, to succumb to its enigmatic ballad. I know I can't fight it forever.

Maybe I am afraid of the dark after all.