Nyctophobia by Kat Gregory
The narrow shaft of golden light dwindles, shrinking as a nonexistent breeze coerces the heavy door towards the wall. With an echoing thud, all the radiance and hope of the outside world is cut off, swallowed by the darkness that closes in, thick and suffocating. Swirling tendrils of shadow writhe, winding about the room, gingerly caressing the ashen, pinched face of a preschooler in the deafening silence. James pulls the rough cotton blankets up higher, up to his shoulders, over the neck of his flannel blue onesie, above his chin, until only his pale nose protrudes. Wide, glassy eyes reflect the green glow of a digital clock, flashing methodically and eerily, first casting malevolent shadows across the pale walls then immersing the room in darkness: on and off, on and off…
Pressing his lids together in insistent denial, he tries to calm his rapid breath, choking on the thick darkness. Hazy dots of color dance across the barren landscape of his mind, swirling in sinister, hypnotizing patterns. Floorboards creak nearby. A gust of icy wind swirls the tranquil air, blowing the hair back from his forehead and raising bumps along his arms. Thoroughly disturbed, his eyes flash open again, blinking fast.
The cold breeze sweeps across the playroom, spinning the mobile on the ceiling and scattering reflections across the blocks and trucks dispersed carelessly on the carpet. Feathers from a desecrated Tigger pillow flutter delicately across the thick, colorful rugs bleached black by darkness. His eyes glance at the window, flung wide open and just visible beyond the billowing sheer curtains rippling in the wind. It wasn’t open before he closed his eyes.
Something rustles under the bed, scraping conspiratorially. He can feel the hot gaze of a lurking presence boring into his mind, his soul. Shadows manifest into concealed monsters in the corners of the room. Where once was the peaceful shadow of a gnarled tree, the dreaded Heffalump parades with cold determination and glowing eyes. Where once was an idle chair, a leering witch, whose cackles ring inside James’ head. Where once was an innocent, still fan, a ravenous lion leers down, tongue lolling. Where once was an abandoned doll, a rotting hand coaxing him under the bed, searching for an unsuspecting foot to snatch. Tree’s fingers scrape against the house walls, scrabbling madly as if in a desperate attempt to enter. The closet door rattles too, and through it James can almost see the incensed spirits striving to get out. James’ mind is a giddy whirl of sickening foreboding.
And from the shadowy depths under the bed, a solemn carnival tune punctures the shadowy room. James rolls onto his stomach and slides off the bed, his nerves tingling in panic and his skin crawling unpleasantly. Through the dim light, two glowing eyes stare back at him from above stained lips, parting to reveal gleaming rows of pointed teeth bared in a grimace. He completely abandons any pretense of calmness, and tears to the door. The padded PJ feet making soft thumps as he stumbles over concealed obstacles, little imps grasping at his ankles. Fingers drag desperately on the smooth wall, futilely searching for the switch as the grin looms closer and closer.
There. Light floods the room, chasing shadows mercilessly as they retreat to their gloomy refuges. Curtains flutter innocently. A clown doll smiles sheepishly from under the bed. James releases a shaky breath, drowning his fears in a torrent of grateful relief.
The lights flicker suddenly and extinguish, plunging the room into darkness. A tingle runs through his finger as he flips on the switch, over and over to no effect. Maniacal laughter seems to seep through the floorboards and seep through the closet door, welling up around his trembling pajama feet. Then, as James stares into the black abyss of nothingness his eyes cannot adjust to see, the hair on the back of his neck stiffens, and a clammy finger taps his shoulder.
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