Darkest Night, Darkest Day
Under a starless sky, the house breathed with the steady rhythms of the night, each exhalation squeezing out more moonlight until an impenetrable blackness flowed through its wide halls and cavernous rooms. An old grandfather clock ticked away minutes, providing a steady pulse in the surrounding silence. Three chimes erupted, shattering the stillness, but when the echoes receded, there was nothing.
The sinister presence began its rolling creep up the stairs. No one ever saw it. It traveled under cover of darkness – the darkness of night, of a windowless room, of an underground crypt. A shapeless void that fed off energy and warmth and light, dissolving it until there was none. It came unexpected and left unnoticed, only leaving behind unanswered questions and confusion.
But why?
No, impossible, he never …
I don’t understand.
On the second floor, the woman jolted awake with a gasp. She clutched the sheet to her chest and looked around wildly, blind in the dark. Instantly, the air around her was charged with energy. Eddies of fear danced on her skin, sweat collected in her armpits, her fingers shook. Her hand lunged toward the bedside table, but she overshot, and the lamp crashed to the floor. She tried to scream, but the sound was stifled in her throat. Her bladder gave.
Her husband was in Tokyo on business. Hours from now he’d be at dinner when the call came. He’d ask
Why?
How?
He’d say it was impossible. He’d say he didn’t understand.
It rolled over her like a smooth caress. Inky tendrils encircled her wrists, her ankles, her waist, her scalp. In her head, she screamed and struggled, but in that room, she whimpered and succumbed. Pulled upright, she walked, one foot in front of the other, no choice in the matter. The silky spaghetti strap of her nightdress slipped unceremoniously off one shoulder. Tears dripped from her chin and rolled down her exposed breast. Behind her, the soiled gown clung to her skin where it bunched and chafed.
It feasted hungrily on her energy, every wretched molecule delicious and arousing. It licked the fear off her skin, chewed her will, and devoured her dignity.
The chair was already in place under the noose. She wept frantically and tried to shake her head, but still was powerless.
No! She meant to cry as her hands placed the loop over her neck.
Please, no! She tried to beg as her feet kicked out the chair.
And then it released her, and she was free to move as she wished, to yell as she wished. But all her hands could do was claw at the noose at her neck, squeezing and crushing; all her feet could do was kick and flail violently; the only sounds she could make were ugly grunts and gurgles. The nightdress slid fully off her body and pooled below her on the ground. Her naked skin colored with angry, blotchy shades of red. Her eyes bulged and became fixed. The currents of energy ebbed and ceased.
Momentarily sated, it rolled off and began its quiet journey through the shadows toward the next destination. The clock ticked. The sky brightened.
Upstairs, a child woke and padded out of bed to find his mother.
Laura Cody is a practicing psychiatrist in New York where she lives with her husband and three children. When not busy writing case reports, she makes up unsettling stories and writes them down. Her current project is a sprawling post-apocalyptic sci-fi thriller that she is writing with a partner. Visit her on Twitter and Instagram @twodocswriting.