(18+) Someone in the dark

Ch. 13: Greenery and scenery

I found myself sitting on the ground, slumped against the trash can outside. It was a lovely day with a light breeze and the birds were chirping in the trees and bushes nearby, almost like they did their best to cheer me up. And even though the sun was shining and warm, it couldn't melt the ice crystals that made my blood stream slow down. My heart rate and breathing. My movements. Even the way my eyelids repeatedly tried to swipe the empty stare away from my eyeballs went slower. Only my mind raced.

"Just meld in. It's less painful."

I barely reacted when the dry, croaky voice interrupted the bird song. Only days ago, I would have jumped up and cursed at him for scaring me for the second time. But now? I had to force my eyes to focus and lift my gaze to the silhouette that had cast its shadow over me. Then a large, rough hand came down and took mine and helped me up from the ground.

It was the overall man. The man with the rubber boots.

I squinted because the sun stung in my eyes, before a strange jealousy made me close them again. While I was fading into a black and white caricature of myself, he still had his blue overalls on. They were old, with several stains, and were worn on the knees from hard work. But they were blue. My favorite color. Past tense. Now I hated it. I hated all colors because of one reason. They left me.

I let him lead me to a secluded area with an old-fashioned outdoor table surrounded by four similar looking chairs right outside the kitchen, and we both sat down. He leaned forward with his hands folded on the table, twirling his thumbs while his eyes nervously scanned our surroundings. I had so many questions in my head, but my mouth wouldn't form any of them. So remained mute.

"We are being watched, so I need to be quick," he said with a thick accent and shifted in his seat. I could see on his hands that he'd been digging into the ground because of the dirt under his nails. He was probably a gardener.

"I need to warn you."

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a red handkerchief, and blew his nose. Then he polished his glasses on the corner of his shirt.

"It's worse if you fight it. Just meld into it," he repeated, and I cleared my rusty vocal cords.

"Into what?"

"The house. It feeds on your energy, and the best you can do is to surrender. Abandon the colors. Just..."

He stopped talking while his eyes hastily combed through the scenery.

"Just stay away from the light."

"What light?" I asked. He already told me that. Why couldn't he tell me what it meant?

"You'll know in time. And then you don't want to know. The less you know, the better."

Again, those words.

"It will get you one way or another. No matter how hard you fight, it's inevitable. You'll become a part of the house like many others. You've already seen the memory lane on the cupboard inside."

At first, I frowned because I didn't understand what he meant. Then I gasped.

"Those pictures?"

He nodded.

"Every fifty-seven of them."

His accent somehow became extra noticeable when he pronounced the numbers.

"They've been...?"

He nodded again, and my heart sank.

"The missing people?"

"Those, too. And a few more that never were reported missing."

"Did they..."

I wasn't sure I actually wanted to know the answer to what I had in mind. I didn't even want it in my mind in the first place. But after clearing my throat again, I asked anyway.