SHORT STORY
"Aren't you glad you didn't turn on the light?"
****
The silence was eerie.
The intense cold of the night crept upon my shoulders like a sickly wet hand, grasping my body and overwhelming my senses with its icy, venomous chill, sending a shiver plummeting down the shell of my spine.
I looked upon the College campus with wary eyes. Silence was an uncommon entity on a college dormitory block, and I knew from the moment I stepped out of my car that something wasn't right.
Perhaps it was the winter breeze, freezing my tongue to the rear of my chattering teeth, which made me so uneasy. Or perhaps it was the bitter fact that I had the most important exams of my life the following morning. Whatever it was, I shrugged it off and stepped onto the arrogantly harsh pavement before me.
I marveled at the stillness so aptly afforded by the darkness of night. The moon mocked me with its glow, shrouding the path before me in a shadowy silhouette, and I was forced to stumble forwards, near-blind, making violent alterations in my path whenever I felt I came too close to a solid object.
The darkness had always amazed me. The safety afforded from its infinite depth was always intriguing for me. My friends told me I was mad – cinematic horrors and gripping thrillers blaring across the television every weekend; the careless wandering of the streets after midnight; and the unusual comfort I found in having the door unlocked-
'I feel as if I'm locking myself in,' I explain, 'rather than locking somebody else out.'
Fearless is not a word I would use to describe me. I'm edgy and stricken by worry half the time, and definitely not the best source of comfort that you could find in troubled times.
They tell me I'm talented. That I'm promising, auspicious, proficient, capable, accom- Enough! If I'm so anxious all the time, don't they think that maybe it's the expectation to do so well? I mean, sure. It's all academic. Everybody expects me to do so well… But sometimes I feel overcome by all this pressure. Perhaps we could just say I'm only fearful of reality. I don't have time to worry about fictional myths – the darkness welcomes me, rather than negates and withholds my presence.
Nevertheless, I try and meet expectations. Tonight, I'd planned to take a relaxing night in town with my family. Instead I'm back here, plans of studying fresh within my mind.
I sighed, stepping onto the threshold of the dormitory. The silence was unbroken. Not a soul uttered but a syllable, and each step that I took, ascending the spiraling staircase, reverberated throughout the entire room, amplified by the tight enclosure and echoing through my heart.
Reaching the second floor, I crossed to my room. With a look of surprise, I saw that Chelsea had left the door open.
I smiled. She had been expecting me. The depth of darkness that I could glimpse through the gap in the door was complete, and I knew that she had settled in for an early night. She was always very thoughtful.
But she was the superstitious type – always taking extra precautions. Thoughtful or not, it didn't feel right. An odd numbness spread through my fingers as I reached out and became one with the handle, slowly pushing the door open.
I stepped in, ignoring the light switch; I did not want to wake her. I stealthily crept across to the left - my side of the room. Chelsea was a 'clean-freak', in her own right. I think it's safe to say that we're not alike.
By the light of day, the juxtaposition afforded by the gap separating Chelsea's belongings and my own was enormous. Clothes, papers, textbooks, as well as assorted possessions and accessories lay strewn across the floorboards, marking the spatial equality with a perfect line of clean versus unclean across the rooms expanse.
I rummaged around blindly in the darkness, searching for my textbook on the 'Advanced Critical Analysis of English literature.' It was large, and easy enough to locate with my splayed hands. I paused for a moment, breathing in the quiet, mournful absence of livelihood.
Glancing over in the general direction of Chelsea's bed,. I could hear her harsh, quick breathing enveloping the room around me, and the thought crossed my mind that she may not be asleep after all.
'Chelsea?' I whispered.
No answer.
I stood up and moved quietly towards the faint outline of the door, curious about what was going through Chelsea's mind as she slept. The deep breathing of her troubled sleep disturbed me, but I thought little of it.
Descending the staircase and stepping out into the anteroom of our dormitory, I moved into the study, and settled upon a wooden table with my arms outstretched, preparing for the long night that awaited me.
As the silence thwarted my senses, I felt myself become abnormally sensitive to the smallest of sounds. Mice scattered through the walls in search of a quench in hunger; a metallic creak from outside echoed throughout the area; and a clock settled on the far wall of the study – a half-sized Grandfather, ancient in its wisdom and outdated knowledge of time, ticking away throughout the night, it's rhythm like a heartbeat, steadily throbbing.
Tick…
Tock…
Tick.
I poured over the pages of the textbook. The complete works and analysis of Józef Konrad Korzeniowski and Nostromo;- the ageless mystery and gothic macabre works of Edgar Allen Poe;- dialects of Northumbria and the linguistic accomplishments of John Florio – they all poured their knowledge and depth of understanding into my mind, breaking through the tentacles of restraint afforded from the will to sleep.
Tock.
The night was a never ending, continuous cycle of mystery, imagination and ingenuity mortal man could never dream of. Forgotten literature threw itself from the pages of history, insulting our modern intelligence with wisdom and philosophical dominance, and I cowered beneath their might.
Tick.
The darkness wavered before my eyes. I wasn't much of a caffeine person – but I hungered for its wakeful affection. A lack of supplies prevented me from quenching my longing, though, and so I resorted to mortal determination and willpower in its stead.
For a moment, I glanced upwards. I wasn't sure if I'd actually heard anything or not, but the feeling that arose within me was similar to that I felt outside.
Tock.
The luminary seduction of works by Germaine Greer and the intense analysis of her literature bore into my brain like knives carving the knowledge into the rims of my skull. But it was hopeless. The lure of sleep persuaded my senses, tantalizing my temptations into reality, and I could not bare the weight of a wakeful doze.
Tick.
I pleaded with myself desperately to stay awake, but my inhibitions took control and forced my head into a resting position upon my textbook.
Tock
My eyes flickered, the lids that protected my sockets came to rest over them, and time continued its endless cycle.
Tick…
Tock…
Tick…
Tock…
Tick
Dawn invaded the darkness, the sunlight rays piercing the windows of campus, fragments of light beaming onto my closed eyelids.
Tock…
Tick.
I groaned silently and rolled over. My face felt unbalanced, one side numb from such a harsh support. The sun was awake, and it teased me with its gaze.
Tock.
No warmth was offered from its light, and I slowly picked myself up off the table. I looked over at the grandfather clock.
Tick.
It was barely seven a.m. Another half hour and I'd be up anyway.
Tock.
I hoisted myself into an upright position and sat there, but I felt uncomfortable. Awkward, even.
Tick.
I trundled from the room and onto the staircase. Nobody was awake as of yet, or, if they were, they were keeping quiet about it. Not abnormal for seven a.m. on campus.
Tock.
Halfway up the staircase, my senses kicked in. I lifted my head slightly, curious. A sickly smell passed by my nostrils, but I shrugged it off and continued moving.
Tick.
I stepped up onto the second floor platform. And there it was, again - the smell. Slowly I moved towards my room.
Tock.
The door was slightly ajar. Light streamed through its opening. I listened to the sickening creak of it's hinges as the door swung open. Time seemed to move abnormally slow.
Tick.
And then it stopped altogether.
To-
A horrible, gut-wrenching scream bellowed from my insides, rousing the country with it's chilling sorrow, piercing the morning with its mournful terror.
The scene was hideous. I fell to my knees, gasping in horror. A deep, thick, scarlet substance dripped from the bed, mimicking the horrific fiction that often blared through my speakers. Chelsea's body lay there, above the blankets, her expression mixed with sudden terror and a fatal knowledge. The rest of her body was mutilated; it was as if the skin had been peeled from her skeleton, leaving her in complete bone and sinew, blood and acidic mucus dripping from her lifeless form.
I trembled in terror, the trauma of the view overcoming my senses. The blood at my knees became mixed with the yellow-green bile that escaped from my stomach, and I was pulled backwards and into embrace by a fellow student as gasps and screams echoed in unison throughout the ensuing crowd.
I cried and grasped the person who held me, pulling them close. I cared not for the identity – the pain tearing through me was utterly immense. I lost the will for consciousness. My beholder snapped me awake, though, and I blinked through a mixture of sobs and tears streaking down my face.
Supported, I stood up.
I had to leave. I simply couldn't stay here.
I took one last glance at the room-
And my heart skipped a beat.
Tick.
There, upon the wall behind my bed, written completely in the sickening dripping ink afforded from the blood of my roommate, were the words that nobody on campus ever dared speak of again.
"Aren't you glad you didn't turn on the light?"
Tock.
Thanks for reading! =D Hope you enjoyed it.