October 14, 2011

• Afraid of the Dark?

   

  “I’m not afraid of the dark; it’s what’s in it that I’m afraid of.”

   

  The shadows creep, ever so slowly, up my wall. As the grow closer, I slink deeper in my covers, further from the dark room, closer to the comfort my bed promised. But it was a false promise, for I felt just as scared with my head beneath my blanket as I did above it. So I just laid there, praying sleep would take me before the darkness would.

  This was the battle I faced most nights of my childhood. In our upstairs, there were two bedrooms: the big one, and the small one. The small one was closest to the stairs, cooler at night, and best of all, the safest. The eldest always occupied it, until they moved out. Then, the next in line inherited it. Being the youngest of five, it was a while before I would have my turn sleeping without fear. The other room, the big room, was the room I got. In the wall opposite the door was a window over-looking the busy street out front. A streetlight shone through it at night, adding to the shadows. A small closet was off to the right of the door. Now that I’m older, it doesn’t seem so big. But then, it was large and intimidating. When I was really young, I shared it with my two older brothers. But the second youngest, Jordan, had to move to facility in a nearby town due to his mental illness. So Justin and I shared the room. It wasn’t so bad with both of us in the room. Although during the day, he was the worst brother in all the world, at night, it was like nothing ever happened. We knew we needed each other. To be safe. To survive.

  We’d try to tell my parents about it. But you know adults: they just roll their eyes, and blame it on bad movies or too much junk food. But my mom had never slept up there; there’s no way she could’ve known. My dad had taken naps up there, and when Jordan came home for a weekend, sometimes my dad would sleep upstairs to keep Jordan from having nightmares. My dad could’ve known; but maybe being an adult keeps you from seeing certain things. Maybe he understood something was wrong, but could quite comprehend what.

  I don’t remember when my oldest sibling, Charity, lived at home. The one who had the small room most of my childhood was the second oldest, Beth. Sometimes, she’d let me stay in her room with her. She understood. She remembered what it was like living in the big room. But I’ll never forget the night both Justin and Beth would be gone, and I would be forced to sleep in the big room all alone. Beth sat me down on my bed just before she left. I expected a pep talk, telling me not to be scared, that it all really was my imagination. She said, “Aaron, we all know something is in this room. But it didn’t get Charity, it didn’t get me, it hasn’t gotten Justin, it hasn’t gotten Jordan, and it probably won’t get you.” Then she left. Not the comforting words I expected. I think I ended up sleeping on the couch in our living room that night.

  Then the day came when Beth moved out. I tried so hard to get her room, telling Justin it was too small for him, telling my parents he didn’t deserve it for being mean, and I did deserve it for doing well in school. But it was all to no avail. I was left alone in the big room. But I was smart. I invented a few rules to help me not be so scared. Rule 1: always close the door. Normally, people sleep with the door open. But not there. Leaving the door open allowed more darkness to seep in. Rule 2: Always, always, ALWAYS cover up. There was something comforting about having a layer over you. Sealing you in bed, so nothing could take you from it. If a foot was left uncovered, there was an instant feeling of panic, lie if you didn’t cover it up, something would grab it and drag you away. Rule 3: always sleep with noise. A fan, a radio, anything. Silence messes with the mind. I always tied a long piece of string to the pull cord that operated the bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. That way, I didn’t have to stand up to click off the light, then rush into bed before the darkness could get to me. I just climb in bed, pull the cord, then roll over, back towards the advancing shadows.

  With these rules, and some smarts, I survived the nights spent in the big room. The day finally came when I inherited the small room, and I slept in peace, for the most part. I still follow my rules. And there are still times I look down the hallway at the old room, and wonder if it really was my imagination. About that time, I’ll see something stir, or a shadow grow, and it’ll remind me of what it was like.

  To this day, I believe, like my sister said, there is something up there. Something that shouldn’t be. I don’t know what, but it’s there. I’m not sure why it didn’t take us, or if it didn’t want to. Maybe it’s sole purpose was to scare us, and that was it. Or maybe, we just all played it smart. Whatever it is, when people ask if I’ve ever been afraid of the dark, I don’t give that snide answer, “No, I’m not afraid of the dark; it’s what’s in it that I’m afraid of.”

  When someone asks me if I’m afraid of the dark, I say “Yes, and all that’s in it, too.”

  If you’re smart, you would be, too.

   

  • 6:13 pm
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