Darkness, My Old Friend

I had always had a respect for darkness. There was something serene and peaceful about it, a feeling of contempt when the world was colored a dull black and grey. I found solace when the lights went off; I always supposed it was the emptiness, the loneliness, of the dark - in the dark you were alone, not even light to keep you company, but that was the point. In the dark, you were alone, and often alone meant infinite possibilities.

That's all changed. The darkness that was once comforting now keeps secrets from me, whispers too many unintelligible truths behind my back for me to find peace. Even in daylight, darkness, taunts me; out of the corner of my eye, when a dark flash would make me turn, or a streak across the ceiling made me jump. It seemed like darkness was playing with me. Every corner, crevice, and crack, I knew darkness stood, just out of reach. And who knew what uses darkness as a home? After all, darkness meant infinite possibilities.

I, Corey Laiden, a full grown seventeen year old male, was afraid of the dark. A healthy paranoia, as I liked to call it.

The clock flashed 12:38 in piercing red, numbed against the whitewash of my ceiling light, slowly ticking chills into my spine. I could ignore all the empty creepy crawlies that followed me during the daytime, but night seemed to have a special effect. Methodically, I set down my pencil, packed away the papers, closed the textbook, and set my backpack aside for tomorrow. Deep breath. Just keep moving. The trepidation was narrowing in. No matter how many times I told myself I was safe, that nothing could possibly happen when I was locked inside my room in a nice house in a good neighborhood, the paranoia could justify the encroaching fear. And logically, it made sense; why couldn't there be something I can't see, hiding in the dark? We don't know everything about the universe; there were infinite possibilities, and hundreds more that could find me where I couldn't see.

I hated myself for being such a pansy, yet denial was easier if I pretended to live with it. But no amount of acceptance could make the knot in stomach fall apart.

"Corey?"

I winced as my elbow connected with the corner of the desk, startled by the sudden intrusion. I quelched the cry. "Yeah, mom?" She stood in the doorway to my room, letting the darkness from the hall seep onto the light of my protection. I subconsciously inched my foot out of its path.

"What are you still doing up? It's late." I searched for worry in her eye, forever wondering if she could tell my heart was racing, but she just looked tired.

"Just finishing up some work," I said, giving my backpack a kick.

She nodded. "Are you going to bed soon?"

"Just about to." Forced jovialness; why put that worry in her head? Better not, for her good and my sanity. Hopefully there was still some left to save.

"Alright, goodnight honey." With a tired blink, she closed my door. My palms started to sweat as a tendril of dark escaped the hall and settled in my room. I felt that presence push against my back, that prying feeling that I could never explain. It took all I had not to turn and face what wasn't there.

I knew this was going to be one of the bad nights. One of those times where my paranoia would run wild, where sleep was just a thought. I had to try, though, try prove to myself I could deal with this meaningless fear, prove the dark wouldn't be my ruin. But already, as I crossed the room to turn of the light, phantom rodents crawled out of the walls, hands reached from under my bed, a figure stood watching out of the corner of my eye. I'm okay, I'm safe, I said to myself, but my mind was feeble tonight. I placed one hand on the light switch, shaking, panic jumping at my throat. I needed to fight; I needed to prove that I could.

It would only be two seconds. Flip the switch, turn around, three steps to the bed, under the covers. Only two seconds where I would be exposed to what was watching me, whatever floated through my walls, whatever hid under the bed. I could do that. Only two seconds, if I ran.