I have spent the last year in near total darkness
I have spent the last year in near total darkness. I can make out the outlines of my hands, maybe the lighter grays of the cold food cans I live off of. Everything else, nothing. For entertainment, my options are limited to either writing or listening to music, though I make a lot of errors in the dark and donāt have much selection (streaming is off the table; the screens are never dim enough.). I used to have friends who would come in and check up on me, but after a while they got sick of talking in the dark rooms and fed up with my āparanoiaā.
Do they think I'm doing this for fun?? That I'm choking down Vitamin D pills every day and living in total isolation for kicks??
No. No. Itās better than the alternative, sure.. But this life is hell.
Oh god, the alternativeā¦
It started a year ago, yes.. June 20th. Summer Solstice. Longest day of the year, ergo the brightest day of the year. Oh, the warm sun on my skinā¦ I had been at the beach with friends. Ollie, Leah, and Andrea. Ollie was the first to leave me, a debilitating fear of the dark since we were kids. Leah was the last.. I still regret snapping at her, those bitter words I spoke.. But anything to keep the light out, yes. Anything to keep that thing at bay. Where was Iā¦ the beach, yes. I used to surf, surfing was my life. We had gone camping on the beach, intending to surf into the late hours of the night and get up the next morning to do it again. It was true bliss, hopping along the hot sand with the board by my side, so anxious to hop into the waves.. The waves, the waves!! The last thing I remember unburdened! I was pulling off a hang 10 on a particularly tall wave when Ollie.. Oliver, that fucking prick, Oliver- He distracted me. Shouting incoherently about sharks or poisonous anemone or sand fleas or some shit and it was just distressed enough for me to lose my balance. āCourse, there werenāt any sharks, anemone, sand fleas, anything, but there was a jagged rock waiting for me on my way back with the rushing tide. Everything just went black.
They kept clamoring about blood or bruises or brain damage, arguing about who should take me to the hospital but fucking genius boy Oliver decided to do his own inspection. He propped me up against that rock, sun beaming directly into my face, and scanned me over. Inspected every fucking inch of my body for possible breakage or scarring or āanemone bitesā or jellyfish stings but no. The only thing wrong with me was the white hot sun seemingly aimed directly into my face. Unconscious due to shock, I couldnāt move my head. My eyes were wide open thanks to that bastard. I could only sit and feel my eyes melt.
I almost wish they melted. I wish I wasnāt made aware of why man isnāt meant to stare into the sun.
That fucking face, that wretched thing began to materialize in front of me after a couple minutes. Weathered grey face with a missing jaw. Splotchy pink patches like uncooked meat plastered over the gangly form. Exposed bone around the empty eye sockets was charred black and chipped. It faded gradually into vision as the rest of my vision blurred black. Some fight or flight instinct deep within kept me from falling prey to it, I jerked into consciousness and forced Oliver's hand over my eyes, rest of me flailing and screaming in panicked shock.
They fashioned a blindfold for me out of seaweed, understanding that the brightness likely left me sun-sensitive. A proper visit to the E.R with an actual doctor (Thanks, Dickweed) confirmed that I had no physical injuries aside from a slight concussion and retina strain (Again, Thanks.) No mental tests they did could explain that fucking thing that seemed to materialize every time I opened my eyes, every time I let the light in.
At first, I tried continuing on blind. I tried to just live visually impaired, even if my eyes worked fine. Blindfolds and sunglasses werenāt sufficient. Sunlight hits the rim of the frame just right, I walk into a particularly bright room, god forbid someone tries to take my protection off..
There it is again, mocking me. Beckoning me. Trying to use me to become corporeal once more.
I decided total darkness was the only way. Leah and Andrea helped me light-proof my home, blackout blinds and black paint and everything black. Oliver joked I was going into an emo phase. I thrust my cane out in his direction.
I must have hit something sensitive, because I heard him yelp out in pain. I assume he tried to take a swing at me, because the next thing I heard was Andrea shouting out at him to stop. The last thing he said to me before storming off,
āFine, then! Go be a mole rat! I donāt fucking care! Just donāt get pissed off at us when we stop bending to your delusions!ā
Was probably the last honest thing anyone ever said to me.
The silence was deafening. I didnāt even need to see their faces, the lack of response was telling enough. After a horrid minute or two of silence, I sighed and thanked them. They left soon after that.
Andrea only showed up a handful of times after that, mostly just when Leah would visit. Our conversations were dry, mostly out of obligation. I had met her in the 'surfās up!' club in high school, so we mostly bonded over surfing and sport. all of that going meant our friendship went with it. I had known Leah longer, we were used to rough patches, so our friendship held on a little longer. She was the one who would bring me my weekly supplies and update me about the world and keep me company for a brief half hour or two. She even convinced me to midnight stargaze once or twice, and I will admit the feeling of grass under my feet and constellations above my head helped balance out the looming dread of that thing over my shoulder, inching ready for the light to give it an opening..
Alas, thereās only so much water a closed up aquifer can hold until it dries up.
Our last conversation was a few weeks ago. May 10th. She would always tell me the date, even though I kept a calendar. I guess she knew hearing it from another person helps to ground you, to know you havenāt lost track. After telling me the date and setting the supplies with the rest, we fell back into that dead silence. That same dead silence had permeated most of our recent encounters, but it seemed she had enough this time. One last topic to talk about had been itching around in her brain, but politeness had forbidden her from bringing it up. Maybe it was curiosity, maybe it was boredom, maybe it was just a lack of other options. Regardless of the reason, she finally asked.
āItās been almost a yearā¦ Will you tell me what this thing looks like? Why youāre so desperate to avoid it?ā
They had asked before about why I continued to live in darkness, why I closed myself off so fervently. I only ever alluded to a figure. Vague enough for me to not have to imagine it, just enough for them to understand not to bring it up again. Until now, at least.
āYou know I donāt like thinking about that thing, please stop prying-ā
āWould it really hurt that bad to open up? What if talking about this fear allows you to overcome it, or something? Besides, donāt I deserve to know?-ā
āStop it. Stop it. Leah, this isnāt a monster in my closet or a boogeyman I see at night, this is something ghastly. Something otherworldly. Somethi-ā
āAvery, you know I work as a psychologist, right? Iāve heard all of this before a dozen times over from my patients. I was willing to put up with the delusions for a time, wait past the initial exposure as to not risk further psyche damage, but itās been almost a year. 11 months. Itās a healthy time to confront it, and I need you to acknowledge it at some point-ā
She was sitting right across from me, so I could see the glint of her phone case in her lap, the outline of her hand reaching for it. I panicked, I swiped at her hand to keep her from turning it on, but fuck.
It clattered to the ground, a pastel white lock screen illuminating the space between us.
I saw her face properly for the first time since the incident, her dirty blonde hair framing her distressed expression so softly. Almost as quickly as I could register what happened, the thing cashed in on its opportunity, claw reaching out and slashing my face with a stinging swiftness. I could see the unmistakable jawless grin before I covered my face and cried out in pain, stench of raw meat filling my lungs. The phone went back into sleep mode as she recoiled from me.
Blood dripping onto my arm, I snapped at her.
āYou monster! You bitch! How could you- I told you!! I told you so many times, itās real! Where are the bandages-ā
She let out a soft gasp and rose from her seat.
āNothing.. There. There was nothing there. Just you and your weathered face, you and your paranoia. I donāt know what you want bandages for, but theyāre next to the door like they always are. Iām out .ā
I wiped my face off on my sleeve and reached out for her in the darkness.
āFuck, fuck- Iām sorry, I didnāt mean it, I..ā
āIāll see you.ā
She opened the door in a hurry and left, the grey sky escaping through the gap like always.. I could see its face this time though, silently laughing at me. She hasnāt been back.
Iāve tried stargazing since, but without her presence thereās nothing to mask it. It just slowly wraps around me, invading every little bit of luminescence it can latch onto for an attempted slow death.
Iām not going to go out slowly like that, though. I called Andrea with my landline, miraculously she picked up. I told her to get everyone together for the solstice in a few days, to meet at my stoop at noon. Promised iād go surfing with them like the old times.
If this wonāt convince them that itās real, then I guess itās already too late.