Children Fear the Dark: The Reaping

                 Walk only in the light. The Darkness takes and does not give back what is taken. We dare not venture without light. Those are our mantras now.

                 Monsters aren’t real, are they? The world had thought so... but they were awake now belying that belief. Now no one is safe when the lights go out.

                 At first... it had all been okay, until they had silenced our electric cities. Blankets of darkness had enveloped the cities, one, by one. Eventually, the countryside was the only place that was safe. Small farms, and cabins had been the only civilization to survive the tragic darkness that had come to consume us whole.  Then the darkness had begun to swallow those self-sufficient homes too one by one. It was as if some children’s horror story or nursery rhyme had come to life...  

                 Except this was not a children’s game. We were being exterminated.

                 It’s funny. When I was a child, I feared the dark, but I was afraid to acknowledge it. I would wait until I thought that my parents were not looking to race through the dark hallway. Too afraid to turn on the light—afraid too of what lurked in the shadows and abyssal darkness shrouded to my eye.

                 This year, Rebecka and I turned forty-seven years old, we should be grown up and have forgotten old childhood fears, but it is impossible. We are no longer afraid of the darkness; now we are terrified of it.

Will it cling will it cloy?

Will it smother the air from our lungs?

Will it grasp us and pull it to its depths?

Does it live, does it breathe? Or is it mindless, as a lump of coal, black and impersonal; stupid.

                 We don’t know.

                 The darkness takes and takes, but still, we do not understand it. What changed? When did it become the Reaping?

                 The Darkness swallows the living flesh that dares it. All are consumed, and where the dark tendrils of darkness dare the living beware.

                 Rebecka and I are the last two living in our neighborhood. Our neighbors have fled or been taken. It has only been three years since the start of the Reaping.

                 “Becca, best check those wicks now.”

                 “I will.” She promised.

                 “I’m gonna go outside and check the boundary.” The boundary is what we had started calling our small property. It was the extent of our world these days. No TV, no radio, and just the two of us to keep ourselves sane. If sane is what we still were...

                 I heard the words: “Be safe now and you know the rule. It’ll be dark in two and half hours.” Ah yes, the rule. It was our rule, and it had kept us safe for the past three years. Don’t risk the dark. It meant that we did nothing outdoors anywhere near sundown.

                 I sighed. My knees had started to ache again. Probably from the barometric pressure, which meant a storm.

                 “It’s always somethen around here.” I mumbled beneath my breath, eying the lunar calendar near the seven deadbolts on the door. I checked to make sure it was still sturdy, noting that the door would need some oil soon. I had reinforced it with the help of Fred, my best friend and next-door neighbor, two years back and it still looked firm.

                 I made my way to my shed, eying the fence line, and shook my head—same as I always do—at Fred’s bright yellow house. I ignored the gaping hole—the maw of unasked questions—and wondered again what had possessed Fred to paint his house bright yellow.

                 From the front the house was pristine, as if Fred and Katie had just stepped out for coffee, until you made it around the corner. The roof was partially collapsed, and missing, and the house was sunken from whatever had befallen it.

                 Ignore it. My thoughts shirked, danced, avoided thinking about it. I tried to think of anything but that shatteringly loud boom that had awoken us that night two years ago.

                 I sat straight up and locked eyes with Becca, the dim candlelight offering us meager protection from the dark—we thought. I still wonder, did they scream when they were taken? Could they see what took them? I imagined creatures in the night, with sharp teeth, and skin roiling as if smoke seethed beneath gnashing their teeth and seizing my best friend and his girlfriend. I tried not to, but my mind just whirled and twirled until it ended back there.

                 The day after the boom in the morning, well after full light, I ventured out. I knew it would be bad, but I was not prepared for the shock of it. I cautiously cowardly unlatched my door and peaked around the corner.

There was nothing obviously wrong, save for the quiet, so I had stepped out of my front door. I knew something was wrong. I felt it. That sixth sense that we all have was screaming at me to run, to close the door, to lock it and never to venture outdoors again. I wished that I had.

Outside, I could have heard a mouse fart such was the level of quiet. Not a bird, nor a cricket chirped, and the air tasted of mud and oil. The air crackled, and was still, electricity coursed through the hairs on the nape of my neck. Cautiously I walked around the side of the house, consciously avoiding eying the things that were missing. I missed it all--from Mr. and Mrs. Sauvage’s empty blue house with the hummingbird feeder, to the angry, annoying, and infinitely rude mullet-haired asshole who lived in his mother’s house. God, I didn’t even know his name, but not a day went by when I did not wish for him back.

                 At first, I did not know what it was that I was looking at—and then I did. When I understood a part of me spiraled into madness. “Fred?” I ventured aloud, clinging to some small shred of hope. I tried again. “Fr-ed?” I did not like the small quaver in my voice, and I could hear the fear.

                 I was afraid. I was afraid that I would turn and see the consumed flesh of my best friend. We had been best friends since the second grade. Ever since we had played foursquare against two girls: Robin and Sarah. ‘Girls are supposed to be nice!’ I had complained when they had beat us, and then taunted us for the third time, and Fred jumped in with a loud ‘Yeah!’ We had been fast friends ever since.

                 Fred loved to cook; he was always in the kitchen marinating a steak or ‘prepping the meat’ for his renowned barbequing skills. His absence hit me with the force of a two-ton truck. I looked at his house and it was wrecked. The patio, back door, and the laundry room off the kitchen were just gone... I imagined his house lifted high in the air and then a giant voracious mouth had bitten it in half as if it was made of gingerbread. Obliterated.

                 “Fred, buddy are you in there?” I yelled out, but my heart wasn’t in it. I knew already that he was gone.

                 Whatever force that brings the darkness to life, whether it is creatures that live in the smoke of night, or it is a primordial force in its own right... once it takes someone they are gone. Mr. and Mrs. Sauvage had owned a Golden Retriever, the poor bastard had rushed out the door one night just as the Sun had set. All that remained to identify him was bones and teeth, cracked and scratched to get to the marrow.

                 My biggest fear was that would be me some day. I steamy pile of discarded bones just like that Golden Retriever, the poor dumb bastard.

                 I checked the locks on my gates and tested the strength on all four doors on the house. I made sure the blackout shades were drawn, and then we settled in for the long night.

                 I stomped my boots, and noted the howling of the wind, it had started as a whistle but was picking up speed and force. “Might be getting a storm tonight.”

                 “Yeah, I hear it too, best doublecheck that all the hinges and shades are proper.” Becca didn’t bat an eye, she was stolid. This whole fucking experience was torturous to me. I love my wife very much, but the thought of being stuck with her, alone for the foreseeable future. It drives me crazy. She’s a fucking saint.

                 I sighed, acknowledging the wisdom in what she said. “I don’t much like the look on this shutter...” I noted. The shutter that covered our bedroom window was loose, and I thought I saw some light tattering of the black out curtain.

                 “Best we take a look at this curtain come the dawn, God willing.”

                 “That damned thing has been on my To-Do list for a month now, but there’s too many other things to do.” I knew what Becca meant. All we had these days was time but there was always something in need of repair, or that needed adjustment.

                 Thankfully, I had enough fuel to supply us in the event of an emergency for at least two or three days—but that didn’t stop the fact that we were on borrowed time.

                 Both of us knew, that it was just a matter of time. There wasn’t enough time in a day to get far and even if we did where would we go? Joe Mullet had loaded him and his mother in his pickup and waved us goodbye. The first, and kindest gesture that we had ever received from him. Hell, he had been shaking so bad that I could see the quaver in his legs all the way across the street. We could hear his engine, as he drove away, for almost an hour, until we couldn’t.

                 Why would you leave so close to Sundown?

                 “We’re not goien see them again.” Becca had said, ducking her head, tears overfilling her eyes. Funny thing was, we had hated those two. The old woman always came over to complain on her son’s behalf. You’re parked in our spot, your dogs bark too loud, you can’t have a cat in this neighborhood it’s against the HOA regulations.

                 I knew what she meant though. They were assholes. When the world had been whole, and before the Reaping they had been our nemeses, and we wanted nothing so much as for them to move—but... when the Darkness turned. Their oddities and belligerence had proven miniscule.

                 We had found out what really mattered.

                 “Do you think tonight is the night?”

                 “Which night?” Becca raised a brow. I stared steadily at her, and then nodded slightly.

                 “Oh. Yeah, maybe, could be. I hope not, but maybe.”

                 It was the same conversation we had every night, after all the doors and windows were secured, and when the light had begun to fade. Our home is cozy, small, but secure. We know what to expect and how to defend it, from the living anyways. Would tonight be the night that the darkness ate us?

                 Becca was ready. She was ready for whatever fate had befallen our friends and neighbors to befall us. She was sick of this constant waiting to die, but she would never admit it. When you’ve been married for as long as we have, you just know the other’s mind. Me. I wasn’t ready. Not yet.

                 Black dreams. Sails of midnight. Jaws of black and opal malachite such were the substance of my dreams.

                 A scritching, scratching sound alerted me to full wakefulness. Sensing danger I sat up in bed. There was an indentation where Becca should be. Oh, no, no, no, no, no.

                 I jumped out of bed before realizing my intent. I didn’t take the time to dress, instead opting to grab the shotgun off the wall and while in my skivvies, I ran to the front door. Boxed into a small piece of my subconsciousness as I ran, I noticed faint tendrils of darkness coagulate near the head of our bed.

                 I ran through the hallway, to the entranceway. There a terrifying sight was my greeting. Becca in a pale nightgown, head hung low, and the French doors were opened wide. A monstrous visage oozed through the doors, held at bay only by the guttering illumination offered by the lanterns on either side of the door. A gaping maw opened and closed, as the darkness betrayed its overwhelming hunger.

                 The face dampened the fading illumination offered by the light. I eyed the diminutive light of the lanterns, and wondered how much longer their light could last. It didn’t matter, not so long as the doors stood wide open.

                 “Becca? Dear. Come here please.”

                 Becca turned at the sound of my voice and though I could see her gray-green eyes, there was no awareness in them. She seemed sound asleep.

                 I studied her chest carefully and noted the telling rise and fall of her exhaling breaths. Shit, not now. I panicked. Becca has been known to sleepwalk, but not now. “Just come over here now.” I coaxed, inching my way towards the doors, and the encroaching tendrils of darkness.

                 My limbs trembled as I grabbed the edges of our oaken French doors. I gently shoved Becca behind me, and then gripped the doors with as much force as I could muster and shoved. I pushed with all my might; however, I strove the doors were held open. I let go and the doors clattered open, creaking at the hinges. They clattered as if buffeted by a great wind, and the gaping maw of darkness gnashed its mouth at my head as I tensed for one... final... push.

                 I felt the chilling presence of ice down the nape of my back, as I shoved the doors shut. My heart galloped as I rushed over to check on Becca. “Becca,” I shouted. “Wake up.” *Snap snap* I snapped my fingers so hard that my knuckles cracked. “Wha?” She said.

                 “What are you doing in the entryway?” Her voice was equal parts confusion and bewilderment.  

                 “The Darkness...” Was all I said.

                 She gasped, clutching her nightgown to her bosom. “It was in the house?”

                 I nodded, worry clutching at me. Did it break in, or did Becca open the door in her sleep?

                 “Is it windy?” Becca asked, as she tilted her head towards our bedroom.

                 I did not have time to understand her words before their meaning was made clear. A booming sound came from overhead. Such that I thought it was the old military jets breaking the sound barrier overhead, and then it happened again, and again.

                 “Get in the bedroom and lock the door.” I told her, as I kissed her lips.

                 Fear and relief both expressions stood out upon her most dear face as she rushed to obey. I did not hear the slamming of our bedroom door over the repeated booms. I looked at the front doors, illogically expecting that the danger would arrive from the same location as before; but I should have looked up sooner, by the time I glanced up the roof was being pealed as if it was made of tin.

                 I do not remember dying, as the darkness consumed me. I simply ceased being me, and soon thereafter I was reunited with my wife as she too ceased to be her.  

                 We became one. A myriad legion of minds and voices reunited into one unspeakable force of nature. Sentient as the ocean’s waves are sentient lapping upon the furthest shores of the earth.

                 Fred and I are--were reunited; however briefly. Fred, Mr. and Mrs. Sauvage, Becca... all of us there I could sense the last vestiges of our individual beings swept away on the tide that was the Reaving. The Darkness—we sought the pulsing, beating hearts of the living as we forgot the light.

                 A small vestige of the Darkness could feel my life, my memories fading into obscurity. The last memory that clung to me was of my young self running through the dark to my bedroom, losing my nerve, and flipping on the light as if it was a lighthouse and I was a lost ship.

                 It was not long before I forgot the light and then there was only Darkness. We were the monster in the Dark.