I lie in my bed as an all encompassing darkness invades the comfortably warm room. My hand slides off of the novelty sized safety pin, its projected destination under the covers and next to my side growing closer. The large, metal adornment is attached to a longer chain, attached to a pivot-point socket, which is in turn attached to a small circuit interrupter that triggers the electricity that brings the light bulb to life and back to death. Or so I believe. The motion to turn off the light happened what seemed to be eons ago. I always forget what just occurred to me or my surroundings moments after their fruition. I can’t stand the feeling. Have you ever been in a situation where you have just found that you are lost or have been physically abandoned? It’s the moment right before the gut wrenching fear and hot temples; the split second moment in which you realize truly how stupid you can be (or are); your little mind and its opinions nothing amongst billions and less than nothing against gods, especially since you have temporarily fallen off the face of the green earth. My hand slips away from the swinging pendant, life-giver and death-maker, the light bulb no longer shedding its brilliance upon the messy room. I am reminded of what I had just done as my fingers and palm finds their place next to my side. I had been staring at the ceiling, now my eyes were adjusting to the darkness and the idiotic forgetfulness gone. I tell myself out loud that I will remember my dreams in an effort to minimize the amount of images I lose to memory when I wake. Something begins to stir in the three corners of my room adjacent and opposite to my bed. The mattress, box spring and ghetto Hollywood frame under me occupy the corner of the room nearest the equally ghetto window/backdoor. The absence of the life emitting filament has stirred an ancient evil to wakefulness; its archaic smell is that of the leviathan exhalation of a Titan. It creeps into the room through the cracks and crevices present in every house’s walls and windows, falling lazily from the creases between the ceiling and walls. This old old wretch can only whisper what it could do to you. The older still fear of him gave him his power to hold sway over your sickenly easy-to-manipulate emotions. Of course, though, he will never blatantly lash out or harm you, but oh, inadvertently he will make you a sniveling child. The Darkness grows disfigured hands that only fearful eyes can see, so I am blind to them. The hands grab at every loose object. Claws grab at books, every portfolio, careless pieces of paper and dirtied shirt, pulling the hulking and lithe mass that they are attached to closer towards my comfortable body. The Darkness recedes from my vision as I grow accustomed to it, but I can feel its presence skulking ever closer. The black tentacles dirty my walls and floor, reaching for the ceiling to meet the dust of the giants breath, and they squirm up the sides of the bed I lie upon. My eyes begin to drift close, and an accepting peace fills my chest and lungs. It’s heat singeing the small hairs in my nose as I exhale its calming presence into the darkness. His hands are groping for me now. I don’t fight it physically, as he locks coldly probing fingers around my arms, legs, chest, stomach and neck. Its hands grab for my mouth but are burnt as I exhale through it. Fire licking through my teeth lights upon a small portion of my room, creating a ring of the wretched hands around my face. The hands are motionless for a split second as the darkness’s slow, ancient mind decides what to do. I am no longer conscious of the world, just this struggle between wakefulness and sleep, fire and pitch. A small flame leaps from my mouth and rolls down my chin, a single small flame leaps from my mouth and rolls down my chin, a single mindedness to burn and devour occupies its small existence. Before winking out, he clears a path of hands all the way down to my bare chest, handless stumps pull away screeching in silence, and then the speck of life is gone forever. The little, bright flame is gone. More claws and talons move quickly to replace the ashes of their fallen brothers. I am slipping as the air grows hotter and the hands create an ever tightening ring ‘round my head, the strongest prevailing over the fire between my teeth. My eye lids are caressed by an unworldly black finger and they close slowly. The crickets outside give a brief pause for mourning at my passing as the darkness overcomes my weak attempt at rebellion. Pity that only the crickets mourn. Darkness envelopes all of my senses in a cold serenity. And then,
nothing.