Ariadne's Plight

Tucked into bed with the blinds closed tight and the night light on, Ariadne Lou Caliver was trying to sleep. 

On all accounts sleep should have come easily, as the door was opened just the right amount to let in the warm hallway light, a glowing runway to her parent’s room next door. The closet was closed, the windows locked tight, and the night light was set at the exact angle needed on the corner of her dresser so that it could light up the entirety of her bed. The room was quiet except for the sound of the crickets chirping outside and the rush of the wind that occasionally blew through the branches of the large linden tree outside her window and made them wave. Her bed was soft, warm, and piled with all her favorite stuffed animals, a protective nest of which she was curled in the center.

Across from the bed was the closet, the place where all the monsters who couldn’t fit under the bed hid. But Ariadne wasn’t afraid of the monsters hiding in the closet or under the bed. She hadn’t been afraid of something as trivial as monsters in a long, long time. 

Ariadne was afraid of the shadows dancing on the walls. 

They always appeared right after dark, swaying and moving across the wall opposite her bed, which held her desk and the closet door. Sometimes they simply walked, other times they danced. Sometimes they ran, sometimes they somersaulted or flipped, did headstands, or teetered across tightropes. 

Most terrifyingly of all, sometimes they’d wave. They would look right at her, empty faces without features, and beckon her to join them. 

Terrified, she would cry out for her mom, her dad, and run out of her room, following the golden light, the streak of safety, into the hallway. 

“The shadows are dancing on the walls again… don’t you see them?” she would whimper as her parents gently pushed her back into her room. 

But her parents never saw anything.

“It’s just the tree outside the window.” They would reassure her. “The street lamp in front of the house is just bright enough to create shadows from the tree branches outside your window. See? See how the wind blows and the light comes in through the blinds? All you are seeing is branches. Go back to bed. We love you. Goodnight.”

Ariadne would try to believe her parents and crawl back into her bed, and try with all her might to believe that the shadows were just a tree. 

But the next night was always the same. As soon as Ariadne climbed into her bed and turned off the light, the shadows would start dancing on the walls. 

“It’s just the tree,” she told herself. “The tree and the street lamp outside the window”. She told herself this over and over, but as her eyes focused on the dancing figures, the more she confirmed they looked less like branches and more like actual figures. Humans. Swirling, waltzing, playing tag. 

If she went to her parents, they would say the same thing. “It’s just the tree, see? You have an overactive imagination.” They didn’t understand. They sent her back to bed.

Some nights, after being sent away from her parent’s room, Ariadne was too scared to go back inside her room. While her parents slept, she stood out in the hallway, where it was light, for an hour, two, three. Eventually she would summon the courage and cautiously make her way back to her bed. She turned the nightlight up to its brightest level, and positioned her pillows so that she sat straight up in bed. 

And she watched the wall. 

The figures became clearer as the night grew darker. They were definitely people. 

Every night Ariadne stayed up, paralyzed with fear, and watched the shadows dance until she finally fell into an exhausted sleep sometime around dawn, when the shadows faded and slipped away. Some nights they twirled and tripped until they dropped out of sight. Other nights they just seemed to be walking, each with a different stride, some faster, some slower, like they were heading off to work, disappearing into a space unknown as the sun rose. 

When her parents asked why she was sleepy, she would hesitate before telling them why. 

“Oh Ariadne,” they would sigh. “You have a very overactive imagination. That tree should not keep you up at night. Try to ignore it.” 

And so Ariadne tried. She tried very hard. She burrowed down into her blankets and threw the corner of one of them over her eyes. The shadows were already silent, now she just had to train herself not to look at them. 

Over time, Ariadne developed a habit of sleeping with a blanket over her eyes. She managed to fall asleep peacefully and continue through the day bright and happy, but she never forgot about the shadows. Her parents would say “See? It was just the tree. There was nothing to be afraid of, just your overactive imagination,” and they’d laugh. And Ariadne would go about her day. 

As the years passed, she began to believe that the shadows dancing on the walls really were just the trees blowing in the wind. 

And so the shadows were ignored.

Until the tree fell down.

But the shadows stayed.

~~~

Ten years passed, and Ariadne Lou Caliver continued to have a hard time with the shadows in the dark. They no longer confined themselves to just dancing along the walls of her bedroom, but along the walls of every building she entered or passed, flickering just outside of her field of vision. They had slithered out of the walls and crevices as Ariadne grew older. Her nightmares grew sneers and learned words, were grimy, brazen, and slick with untethered malice. Some were easy to spot, others hid in plain sight. Best to avoid them all in the middle of the night.

 Actively aware of what lurked around her, Ariadne walked quickly and with false confidence. She squared her shoulders as the shadows lengthened and shortened, watching out of the corners of her eyes as they took turns towering over her or sneaking up from behind. She picked up her pace, keeping her hand on the call button alerting emergency services, or on the hard metal ridges of her keys. 

The sight of her door was a welcome one, and relief flashed through her body as she hurriedly began to unlock it. The stifling thickness of the shadows around her dimmed as Ariadne flicked on the lights of her home, quickly locked the shadows out. They will always come back tomorrow, but for tonight, she was safe. 

Ariadne searched her bag and brought out the one thing that helped keep her mind at bay. She had about a dozen of them now, scattered throughout her house. This one was shaped like a fairy, a reminder of when the shadows played instead of hunted. 

The nightlight’s shone bright against the darkness of the house, sending out warnings to any shadows that dared try to find a way in: We can see you. You are not welcome here. 

Tucked into bed with the blinds closed tight and the night lights on, Ariadne Lou Caliver draped a blanket over her eyes and began to lull herself to sleep.