Don't Forget Your Shadows

Untitled Part 1

Lights out.

Burned out.

Flickering until the singe keeping them lively is consumed by the void of the dark.

      The only illuminant cast coming from the hole in basement door where  the knob should've been. This was perplexing to the young man standing only feet away from the light, but why? Simply because the power was out yet, somehow, the bulb in the floor below had not been fazed. At least, he hadn't thought so... but he'd never enjoyed coping with his basement as it was the most unsettling of rooms in his home by far.

      Then again, what he views as part of "his home" is not his at all, nor a part of the home above. You see... It is purely my home, the basement that is. It is cut off solely to my being as I live down here in the darkness, and I turned on this light that the man upstairs continues to question. Its ironic what light can do to the human mind: None leaves them hopeless, enough brings them faith, happiness and joy even, yet just the smallest increment can drive them paranoid or even insane. But perhaps its not the light itself, perhaps it's that the light only reveals so little that the fear of the darkness becomes more. But if we're talking about the man unmoving upstairs, he fears more of what controls the light rather than anything else. Yet he is not wrong too, because I control the light and he has every right to fear me.

      However, the fear of myself is blinded to him by the fear of the room I endure. He can hear me at times, he can even smell me. The coincidental falling of items that should be firm and the odd clapping of pavement against a bare foot from below the main level, that is I. Sometimes I even watch him throughout the house, but never any farther.

      I study his central home life style and revise how he acts and reacts to the recurring movement of his personal items stored in my home. I gain understanding on the working and processing of his mind by recording the videos watched by himself in my own mind, such as the Netflix, YouTube, Twitch and Porn channels he watches daily as well the "company" he has over and which videos he is willing to continue enjoying with them as well as which ones he enjoys with who.

     His name is Joey Ronder, he's 27 years of age and is no relationship strong enough to court someone to his own house. He weighs 198lbs and is 5'11 in height.

      He currently stands above these very steps that I sway near the bottom, mentally petrified, waiting for his inexpensive mind to form a reasonable explanation. I can see him even from bellow these steps, he begins to finally step forward. Placing his hand in the hole the door portrays and pulling it toward himself to open it, I can smell the tension repelling off his aura.

A moment passes,

The air stills,

He looks down at me for the first time...

and the last.

      My being sweeps through the air up the steps and I am centimeters from touching it face to his in only moments. He cannot move, his body ready to collapse from sheer fear, implementing shock. His eyes not even widening as he stares at my black transparency, humanoid yet featureless. I reach out and press my index and middle finger to the bridge between his brows and his eyes become sockets in his skull.

      His body begins cleansing itself of all human features, his skin turning a quite literal black and becoming transparent as mine begins to flow with color, with life. Soon enough the young man before is no more, and I am Joey Ronder.