Things that go Bump in the night...

A draft of an English question that I liked. All about the dark.

People confuse me.

They always have.

And they always will.

I don't mean that people's actions and words confuse me. From a very young age, I always understood why people did certain things. I could just see it, like a map in my head. And, for the most part, chances are I would be right. But of all the complex parts of a human's mind, there was one thing that never failed to confuse me. Fear.

More specifically, fear of the dark.

I have never been afraid of the dark. To a five year old me, the dark was this squishy black thing that embraced me every night as I fell asleep, protecting me from the outside world. We had a pretty good relationship, the dark and I. For a while. Like I said, I am not afraid of the dark.

I'm afraid of what's in it.

To a five year old me, the creaks and squeaks and the things that go bump in the night didn't seem to phase me. Sure, they were a bit scary, but I was never afraid. But, as I got older, my relationship with the dark changed. Every morning, I'd wake up, and a piece of the dark would be inside me, as if he'd wriggled his way through my skin whilst I slept. But we had a pretty good relationship, the darkness and I, so I didn't really mind. He lived in my head, and affected my heart, but like I said, I am not afraid of the dark.

I'm afraid of what's in it.

This is where people confused five year old me. I could never quite work out why everybody else didn't have a connection with the dark like I did. Were they hiding it? I never knew. But as each day passed, more and more of the dark started to live inside my head. And each day got that little bit harder. But it wasn't the dark. It couldn't be. Then I realised.

It was the things that were in it.

After that, I didn't want to be connected to the dark any more. I wanted him outside my head, where he would hug me every night and tell me that he would protect me. The dark was grumpier when it was inside my head anyway. So were the things that lived in it. They scared me a lot. They would whisper in my ears until I could barely hear anything else, and made me so afraid of the dark that it got to the point where I looked at my own shadow and didn't recognise the silhouette in front of me. But as hard as I tried, the darkness never truly left me.

Ever.

So, a decade on, and the darkness and I have had a pretty on again-off again relationship. He's been a big part of my life for about a year now, so I think things are getting pretty serious between us. I have realised that, secretly, a piece of the darkness lives inside everyone, whether it be the creaks and the squeaks or the things that go bump in the night. He is always going to be there. Always. Our counsellor says that we're probably going to be together forever, and eventually I will learn to be more independent, but like I said;

I am not afraid of the dark.

I am afraid of what's in it. 

Author's Note

Reviews welcome!

Reviews

[Robert Parlange]

This is good. I like the way you make darkness something tangible. Something can be touched and interact with us. I couldn't help thinking about the movie “The Babadook.” The film never explained what it was. I thought it was fear and darkness come to life, like in your essay.

Keep writing.

[RibhyMay]

Thank you very much for your sweet review!