A Type of Darkness That Absorbs Light

He dropped her off at dusk.  The scene was reminiscent of a pallbearer escorting the dead to their final destination.  A lady clad in black hobbled out of a dusty taxi.  She was only sixty-five, but appeared far older in the dim twilight veiling the countryside.

The dirt road leading up to the house had been narrow, almost too narrow.  The untrimmed thickets and overgrown weeds had done everything in their power to allow what was in the shade remain in the shade.  And when the car had finally made it past the weeds, it was almost as if this little nook of the world had escaped the clutches of time.  Almost.

When the car had finally come to a stop in a dark clearing, the old lady remained seated, merely staring at the house in front of them, as if it would grow legs and run away if she moved even an inch.  It was a fine brick house, only one and a half stories high.  The windows were tinted a dark russet by the last touches of the Sun’s dying rays.  Along the footpath leading up to the house, the marigolds were no longer gold.  Their bright colors tarnished by the twilight.  After a minute of complete silence, the driver turned to the lady, unsure as to whether her petrified figure was still alive.  But just as he was about to comment on the eeriness of it all, she dropped several dollars on her seat, and left.

As the old lady tottered towards the front door of the vacant cabin, the taxi driver called out after her, “Hey, lady!  Are you sure you’ll be alright by yourself in a place like this?”

And it was the lack of response (not even a pause in her step or a glance over her shoulder) that miffed the driver enough to mutter out a “suit yourself” and curtly turn his car around.  The headlights’ glare faded into the darkness.  Only a wall of dust was left in his wake.

The lady walked on slowly, completely detached from the occurrence behind her.  All that mattered stood in front of her.  When she reached the front door, she paused.  And there, she remained.  It was as if opening this unremarkable white-painted door, which was turning more and more gray as time passed, would open up Pandora’s Box.  One minute passed.  Then two... then ten... until a stuffy darkness encroached on the valley.  It was the kind of suffocating, starless night that is completely and utterly devoid of luminosity. And so, she remained still as a scarecrow. 

Perhaps it was a brief moment of moonlight peeking out from behind the cloud covering that led her to pull out a flashlight.  A key was turned softly, a doorknob was pressed lightly, and the door opened slowly - a ghost of a touch, as if to avoid waking the dead.  And as the door opened, she was met with a type of darkness that absorbs light.  The rays of her flashlight could only reach so far before they disappeared.  

The power had long been cut off from this vacant house, which had once been a summertime dwelling for her family.  Her late-husband and their children kept the place bright and bustling.  She had always felt like her presence was an empty shadow lit up by the light of other people’s candles.

Making her way through the foyer with unmatched familiarity, she took a match and lit a candelabra.  It was as if nothing and everything had changed.  Every single item was set in its original place.  Yet, it all looked unrecognizable.  But within this pale shade of light, she could almost discern the brightly lit rooms in which her children used to play.  Children who were long gone to shed their light elsewhere.  Leaving her as a burned out torch in a retirement facility.

----

She continued making her way through the house, drifting into the kitchen.

The same old kettle was still perched on the stovetop, although the fire had gone out long before.  It was the same kettle that once served hot milk for breakfast.  In this all-encompassing sea of darkness, it was only distinguishable as a dull shade of gray.  No longer the shining silver that turned to gold in the rays of dawn.

How many years ago was that?  Thirty?  Forty?  In her mind, the years were jumbled together, mottled like the shadows on the walls.  Existent, but indiscernible; intermixed, entangled, inseparable.

----

When she opened the bathroom door, she was met with a person she had never met.  The deep, strong features of her face became unrecognizable, although she’d spent an entire lifetime memorizing them.

---

A hollow clock-face stared at her; the shadows accentuating its surprisingly intimidating appearance.  But the lady stared back with a mere look of resignation, fear no longer present in her expression.

A pot of dried heather occupied the center of the dining room table.  She wondered what it would feel like to pick up one of the flowers and crumple it between her fingertips.  The only remains of a once regal purple flower would be crumbled to dust.  Dead and dirty.

When she lifted her gaze from her empty fingers, she could almost envision her late husband across the heather, hidden behind the shadows.

“Tempus fugit, my dear.  Tempus fugit,” he would say.  All while donning a tranquil smile and taking a calm puff on his cigarette.  It was as if he had settled a debt with time, long ago.  Resigned to meet the very edge of night, whenever it chose to swallow him up completely.

“And so, you finally let me float through this night alone.  No longer tethered.  What a never-ending night it has been,” she replied to unspoken words.

Eventually, she made her way up a flight of stairs to the small attic.  The ceiling hung low above her head.  Whenever she would come here as a young woman, she suffered bouts of claustrophobia, convinced that the roof would suffocate her at any moment.

But the days of caring about trivial matters such as falling roofs no longer existed.  She laid upon the dusty bed, settling in beneath the covers.

----

She recalled a particularly clear night, when the moon was full and the stars shone vividly.  Her daughter had asked her, “what is the difference between night and day if both are so bright?”

She pondered upon this question for a few seconds.  Surely, the answer was the presence of the Sun.  But moonlight was just reflected sunlight, wasn’t it?  So truly, what was the difference between day and night when darkness was cut through like butter?  

“The entire Milky Way could light up the sky, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s still night,” her husband had said while leisurely looking up at the sky.

----

The night floated on.  And as thunder began to crack and illuminate the room with blinding light, all she could see was darkness.