LISTEN TO THE DARK

                           LISTEN TO THE DARK         

                                  By Sherry Miller                     

    Sherice leaned forward, listened intently to weatherman McGann from WNDU give tonight’s weather report. She flinched. Forecasts like this always gave her the jitters. More so now. Especially since today was one she didn’t want to add to her cache of happy childhood memories. It was his funeral. Surely seeing him lying in that casket, a smirk on his face, would jolt loose fears. Rushing back from years ago. She peered at McGann, pointing at the shape of

Illinois on a graphic map. Looked like it was heading her way. She shuddered.  

    Still, the storm warning gave her a better excuse than “I’m just tired” or “too sick” or “very busy,” for not going to her uncle’s final event. She let out a sigh too soon. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed gray smudged clouds roiling out the kitchen window. What time was it? She squinted at the clock over the dinette set. 7 o’clock. Too late to go now anyway, right? At least an hour drive away. Too far.

    Sherice tried talking to herself. Calm. Stay calm. As long as you can. After all, she wasn’t afraid of electrical storms with lightening strobing and thunder crackling. No. It was the dark. Demons the storm ushered in. She gazed at McGann waving his hand over masses of green and yellow moving in her direction. She wouldn’t sleep tonight, that was for sure. With flashing jagged streaks blinding what’s sensible, and unforgiving claps of thunder blistering her ears. Growing loud, louder. Muscles stiff, expecting the worst. Electricity pausing. Lights flickering. And then, a final snap. Lights…fizzling…then out! Like so many years ago. When she was seven years old. The day the boogey man came. When the unseen creature slithered into her tiny locked space, spooking, biting, hitting, threatening to steal her away to hell.

    “Go away!” she yelled, falling into a trance. “Please! Stop! Uncle Looney? Lonny?”

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    She played roughly with her hands, clasping, unclasping, scratching, rubbing. Wringing an invisible sponge, not seeing the imprints, scratches bleeding into red lines and marks from pinching her skin. Her lacquered nails clawed as if by robotic command. She eased out of the trance, staring at the clock with the lighthouse in the middle. Almost 8 o’clock. The sun surely setting, the sky a dark shade being pulled, a descending haze creeping down slowly.

    It was Saturday night. Hot and muggy all day. August. A storm. So…she knew the phantasms were still coming. But Sherice had prepared, turning on all the lights in the house even before the

broadcast. Since she never could fight the fright, her brain was in gear. At bedtime, hours from now, she’d end up under the covers. Until then, she’d force herself to stay awake, frozen all night, alert to the danger. Staying up all night. She had to. To shorten the time between sunset and sunrise. When it was the darkest. Aware of stifling lack of air …a small space…tight as a closet…swirling with gray figures, circling, choking her.

    Huffa huffa. B-boom. B-booom. Where was the big flashlight? To ward off the flying black blobs? She jumped up, yanked open a drawer in the kitchen desk. It was painted shiny black. Very fitting, right? Drawer after drawer, she slammed.  

    Phantasms only came at night. The house was friendly during the day. But at night…ghosts floated in. And they were everywhere. She zoned into the past, raised her arms, saw herself pounding hard on a door until her little fists bled. Hitting the wood until it cracked, almost splintering. Screaming at the top of her lungs, “Let me out. Let me out.” Over and over. “NO-OOO! They’re touching me. Please. Let me out!” On the other side of the door, a voice crackled, laughing, snarling, “The boogey man is gonna get you. The boogey man’s coming.”

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    Sherice plopped into a chair, hiding her face in her crossed arms on the kitchen table. Still no flashlight. No flashlight! She started to cry. Maybe she should’ve gone to the funeral. Maybe she was being punished for not going If only someone would hug her, hold her, shoo ghosts away.

     B-ring-g-g. Br-ing-g-g. Sherice jerked her head up. Who was calling? B-ring-g-g. It didn’t give up. It rang and rang. Maybe ten times. Sherice rose. Staring at the small window on the receiver, she saw who it was. Aunt Bess. Uh-oh. She could be so judgmental. Still, Sherice needed to talk to someone, anyone, even Aunt Bess. Maybe she needed her. She bounced up.

    “Hi Bess. How was the funeral?” Sherice tried to sound casual.

    “Why weren’t you there? He was your Uncle, my only brother, and you couldn’t even say goodbye?”

    “Uh-no, anyway, I’m alone…driving that far and all, I didn’t feel well. Ooh, stomach’s still a little ah, queasy-

    “Can’t even talk to you, Sherice. A mind of your own. You’ve always been stubborn, too –

“- achey. Took some anti-acids, though.” How she wanted to say Aunt Acids. Get a chuckle from Aunt Bess.

    “- independent. Right now, I need to, don’t know. I’m too –

    “I didn’t mean to let –

    “ – disappointed in you…”

    “- you down.”

    Sherice focused on the sound of her aunt’s sobbing on the other end.

    “I’m so disappointed.”

         She wanted to explain. About Aunt Bess’s brother. To Aunt Bess. How he played games.

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How he was funny to the rest of the family. Looney uncle looney. But not to her. She opened her mouth, figuring she’d soothe Aunt Bess with alibis.

    Clicking sounds. Then…Slam! On the other end. That spoke louder than her aunt’s stinging words. Sherice slowly set the receiver in the cradle.   

    Uncle Lonny died last week. His funeral was today. Laid in a casket. His lights off forever. Ironic, wasn’t it? His funeral was today. But Sherice couldn’t…just couldn’t go. Not after what he did. She just couldn’t forgive.

    Knock, knock, bam came at the door. Rattling. Then a continuous shush. Rain. Pelting at the door like a mad stranger. She wouldn’t let the monster in. Why oh why wouldn’t anyone listen to the dark? Listen to her?

    Sherice rushed to the kitchen, checking more drawers. Among the pots and pans? The big flashlight was here. Somewhere. She reached deeper until she felt the long cold corrugated handle. Yes. She turned it on, hugged it to her chest. But the light was dimming. Going out? Think. Yes. Other smaller flashlights were hidden under couch cushions, on the mantle, even under her bed upstairs. But the big one gave out more light.

    Sherice looked up, glared at the clock. 8:30 p.m. Her keen ears always ready, she detected the faintest rumble. The worst part’s almost here, she thought.  Sherice glanced out the window. The sky lit up, showing trees shaking wildly, furiously fighting off small bits of white surrounding them. But the blackness won. It always did.

    The next instant…Boom-mmmm rolled around the room, hung stubbornly to the ceiling, the walls in the kitchen, and thrummed-thrummed on Sherice’s eardrums. Like ice rubbing across

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her skin, she shivered. Not now. Please. No storm. I can’t take it. Droplets formed, dripped down her nose and into her eyes, salty and stinging, her blond bangs brown and wet plastering against

her forehead. Tears pooled in her eyelids. She tried to blink all of it away. Outside, gusts, possibly forty miles per hour now…whining, squealing. She felt cold air slap at her.

    “Go away. Leave me alone,” she shrieked, realizing the window was still partly open, ajar just two inches. She slammed it shut. Smoky clouds boiled, going in mad circles. Churning. Faster and faster. How long would this storm last? One hour. Maybe two. No matter. She couldn’t take it. Not even for a minute. Every time one happened, she was certain she would die.

    If it were day, she would watch the fascinating artistry lightening created, But, not in the dark.Instead, she began planning. Like she always did if a storm came at night. Open the garage door. Get in the Impala. Drive away. Far away. Whatever. Just don’t be closed in like this, Sherice thought. It was getting darker and darker. Can’t be stuck crushed by four walls in the brunt of this storm. She was safer out there, wasn’t she? In open air. Where she could run. Hide. A knot formed in her chest and twisted. Self-conversing wasn’t helping. It was hard to breathe. She gasped for air.

    She stared at the tiffany light over the butcher block table. All pink and blue and sage green. Grasping at a lonely cord tethered overhead. It swung ever so slightly. Its motion startled her. Did she imagine it? Lights flickered throughout the house. And the fridge made a moaning sound. As if it knew how she felt. At least there was some solace in an appliance here and there. A fridge that had a seemingly human reaction to black, white, black, white, on, off, on, off.

    A flash. Intense. Jagged in the sky. Teeth. Chomping. Biting. Crack! Ahhhhh, ehhh. A scream caught in her throat, flew out her mouth. The thin membrane on her lips tingled.

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Aghhhhhhhh. Her muscles tightened. Her eyes grew wide. Terror, yes terror inside. Eating at her. The storm…right at her doorstep now. And…the lights flickering. On, off. On, off. Bright lines

streaked like a wall breaking up, crackling, crashing to the ground. Sherice shook, began to count. One-one thousand. Two-one thousand. Three-one thousand. Thunder so loud, she covered

her ears. Her lamps and Tiffany flickered into view again.

    “Don’t! Don’t go out! Electricity, stay on!”

    Lightning strikes came in continuous cadence now, three in a row, then another, and another. Okay, breathe. Like the Psychologist said. It’s not your fault you’re like this, Sherice thought. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. Become one with the storm. Just… lights don’t go out. Because it will be dark. Real dark. The flashlight in her hand faded, went out. She shook it. Nothing.

It hit her. My God! What was she thinking? Fifteen flashlights positioned throughout her 1700 square foot home and none of them in her hand. Where’s the lamp? That’s right. The sportsman LED lantern. In the pantry. Though light it gave off was eerie, it filled an entire room. At least 100 hours of the 200 left. She’d grab that one. More rumbling met her ears as she swung open the pantry’s squeaky wooden door. It needed fixing desperately. So did she.

    She snapped on the light switch on the outside wall. Only a minute. Only a minute in this stuffy place. Where was it? She scoured the shelves. There. She fixated on the grass-green base

of the flashlight hiding among cereal boxes and Oatmeal. And her favorite chocolate chunk granola bars. Comfort food.

    Then…flash! One-one thousand. Explosive! Like a bomb hit. The wood floor vibrated under her slippers. Flick-flick. On. Off. On. Off! It felt like the house shifted. The pantry door

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door shuddered, swung, slammed shut. On! Off! Off!

    “No. No. No. Oh my God!” Sherice screamed as inky stillness swallowed her. Memory flooded back. In dribs and drabs. She spun around. Faint gray orbs undulated. Her eyes wouldn’t adjust. She thrust her arms out, feeling for the knob, anything. Pain lodged in her chest. The sound she heard couldn’t have been her own. It sounded like…like…in a movie theater. Blood-curdling screams. Horror. The casket opens. The monster sits up. Jumps out. Crusty fingers reaching…squeezing…around her body. Words flooded in. “The boogeyman’s going to get you! Ooh-ooh, the boogeyman’s in there. He’s gonna get you good!”

    Uncle Lonny’s voice. Clear. Gruff. Giggling.  Another voice…screaming. Outside herself . Pounding. “Let me out. Let me out.”

    “Let me out!” Her eyes darted about. Her arms flailed. Fighting. Punching. Someone was in here with her. Was going to kill her. Stab her. The boogey man. “Let me out!”

    Sherice crumpled to the floor. Still in the past. Yet here. In the present. Where was the lantern? It fell. On the floor. She fumbled around. Finally feeling the hard square base, she pressed the button in. Strong eerie light cast shadows on the walls.

     But then…miraculously the lights in the house flickered back on! Though she was locked in the pantry by a faulty door, light filtered in through the cracks. With all her might, she shoved at the door. It opened.

     Sherice touched her throat. Several sharp pinpricks. She opened her mouth, forcing out “I screamed too hard. I can’t talk.” Her voice sounded raw, scratchy. She swallowed over the ball stuck in her throat. But…light. Everywhere. One-one thousand. Two-one thousand. Three-

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one thousand. Four-one thousand. Five-one thousand. Sherice smiled. The storm was leaving. The wind fell to a whisper.

    Suddenly, Sherice was hungry and tired. She slowly poured a glass of Pinot Grigio, eyeing gray mist through the window. Still night. Her eyes, glistening tears, she ate toast buttered with

Nutella. She showered, soaping up, trying to wash all the terror away. She rinsed the glass, setting it upside down to dry. She slipped into her jammies draped over the rod in the shower. All

the lights were on once again. The T.V. was blaring even though weatherman McGann had retired for tonight several hours ago. Still, terror remained. The dark. She was so tired. She checked the clock. Four o’clock in the morning. She would try to sleep. She’d explain all to Aunt Bess later. But wouldn’t tell her that it was her brother. It was Uncle Lonny who tormented her, teased her. A long time ago.

    For now, she had to do what she did every night. Every single night since seven. She stepped out of the kitchen, turned. Go…upstairs. To bed. The final ritual. Every night. She hesitated.

She felt so guilty about her anger she held inside after all these years. Ashamed about being so helpless, so scared. Her entire life. Especially sad about Lonny’s funeral. Worse because Aunt Bess was hopping mad. Okay, here goes. Just do it. One by one, she thought.

    Sherice approached the bottom of the staircase. She pushed up on the light switch. The Tiffany went off. The switch next to it clicked easily. Kitchen light. Off. Next, she ran up the stairs. Quick! In case the invisible boogey man was still chasing her. At the top of the stairs, she flicked the next switch. The stair light. Out. She turned, dared peek into the darkness. Squinting. No one there. Right? She dashed to the space between the bathroom and bedroom. Bathroom

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switch. Up and…Out. She rushed to her bed, flipped on the nightlight. How she needed that. Since she was seven, she couldn’t sleep without one. She about-face. One last light. The hardest.

The bedroom. Sherice touched the switch, waited a moment. She had to time it precisely. Give herself a chance to run. Get under the covers fast. She pushed down. Hard. Bedroom light. Out. Only the nightlight gave her solace.

    Then On! What? The bedroom light came back on. By itself! Sherice froze. A voice. Deep. Throaty swirled around her. A man. Distinct. Uncle Lonny? Guilty? Facing God? He sounded so

far-away yet spoke right in her ear. “I’m sorry,” he said.

    So weird. And strange. She shook. Yet calm swept over her. Of course, she’d keep the nightlight on. Always. But maybe….all the lights? “I’m sorry, too,” she whispered, tucking the covers tight around her and over her head.