Downfall

This wouldn’t be the last one.

There’d be many more.

Screw that, Jayden thought. It didn’t matter how many times he had done it.

Sweat beads pooled under his eyelids.

Jay’s neck was pinned to the shelf stocked with liquor bottles. His eye was a blueberry ready to pop, and he rubbed at it to clear his vision.

He winced.

Jay toyed with the knife in his hands. The warmth of its glowing orange blade was a beacon in the supermarket’s abyss. When his flashlight flickered, he hit it with his palm, and it croaked back to life.

Why haven’t I asked for something other than this knife?

Right. I don’t have anywhere in the supermarket to store it.

I can’t imagine Mr Ahm would fancy finding a staff in his office, Jayden thought.

The thing’s roar snapped him from his thoughts.

Jay squeezed his eyes shut and blew a breath through his mouth. Why was he staying still? This was what it wanted.

It was winning.

Move and do your job.

Jay’s eyes bulged open. He roared and raised the glowing knife. He charged into the alcohol section to stab the creature.

Nothing.

Jay cocked his head. He held his flashlight in a reverse grip and paced forward with his glowing knife. That had to be the end of it, right?

He pointed his flashlight at the shelves in front, stocked high with liquor as usual.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

The light shot to the ceiling. Nothing. Just the light.

Jay started to fall, but he caught himself. They were over. The night terrors ended. He could take his things and go home. He might have time to wash up before school started.

He turned to Mr Ahm’s office. Giddiness stirred in his chest.

Crash.

Jay jumped and waved the glowing knife at the sound. He dropped it and expelled his breath.

His foot’d knocked into a glass bottle at the bottom shelf. Alcohol spilt from shards like a waterfall.

Another thing to clean up.

Although, since he now had to pay for it, he did own it, right?

Jay hunched over and dipped his fingers into the puddle. He sucked on his hand and licked his lips. Warmth massaged his insides and kneaded itself along his throat.

I needed that.

Jay needed a broom. A mop too.

He puffed his chest and stuffed the flashlight into his pants. He stacked the glass pieces in a pile, isolating the alcohol puddle. Some of it was still dripping from the shelf. Jay wondered how he might take it home.

Shadow legs stood in front of him.

Jay glanced up.

A shadow figure.

No features.

No face.

Only the Void.

He was already feeling the effects.

Jay’s heart pounded in his skull. His arms fused to his sides as chains raised his chin. His knees cramped.

It’s not even one of the special types, Jay forced down the ball in his throat. Just a regular Pitchdark.

You can’t do anything.

I can.

Jay screamed and swung the glowing knife at the shadow. The shadow lurched back. Jay spun and tried to flee. He flapped the glowing knife around his back without looking.

Jay’s shoe slipped into the puddle.

He fell, and shards from the broken bottle pierced his leg.

Jay screamed and grabbed his calf with his free hand. That wasn’t all. Clinks came from inside his pants.

If I’d put the flashlight inside my underwear—

Hands snatched Jay’s neck. He wheezed and clawed at the shadow figure’s wrist, but it persisted.

Its limbs weren’t “ice cubes clinking in a drink” cold.

This was “storing raw meat in the cellar” cold.

Jay’s breath rasped. He exhaled. Frigid vapour left his body.

The thing isn’t of this world.

It needs to be destroyed.

Jay clenched his glowing knife.

It climbed to the shadow figure’s neck like it was hiking Everest’s summit.

Four camps to go.

Jay bolted past the first and second camp. His chest lightened. He still had air.

Keep coming.

He sprinted past the third camp. He knew he was getting complacent, but he didn’t care. This fight was a sprint. No time for a marathon.

The shadow figure’s grip tightened.

Things got dicey at the fourth camp. Jay hunched over and sucked air into his lungs. The air was getting thinner—it rushed from his head. Black spots danced.

Jay’s eyes were nearing the back of his head.

The summit!

Jay ignored his lungs deflating like balloons. This was the last stretch. Either reach the top or die trying.

Jay’s mouth curled into a smile.

He plunged the glowing knife into its neck. The shadow figure shrieked and tore away. Fingers writhed as they struggled to pull the glowing knife out. Its arms flailed and tried to grab onto the shelf. Bottles crashed to the floor. Jay’s arms shot over his eyes to shield them. Each shatter caused his spine to jerk.

The shadow figure slammed onto the floor, jamming the glowing knife further into itself. It screeched. It clawed over to Jay. His head was quivering on his spine.

Jay howled and kicked the glowing knife.

It went fully into its head.

The shadow figure dropped onto Jay’s chest. A chill beyond earthly winters. He shuddered and kicked it away. It slumped over itself like a ragdoll.

The shadow figure glowed crimson and melted away.

Jay’s head hit the vinyl floor.

Although its thin padding cushioned his fall, Jay picked himself up and rubbed his temples. He bent over and took the glowing knife. He pressed a button on its side. A packet half the size of a cigarette box fell into his open palm.

The pack was already frigid to the touch. It let out a hiss as if it were alive.

The Messenger was already waiting for Jay in the strip mall’s parking lot outside. Jay peered through the glass entrance while gripping a bag strap. He swallowed and left the supermarket, only turning around to lock it. Mr Ahm would unlatch the entrance in the morning. At least, in the morning where being awake was justified.

The night sky was a void of stars and possibilities.

Cool air bathed Jay’s skin as he stumbled over—lavender with a hint of lemongrass. Cicadas chirped from nearby grass patches. Flies buzzed and rammed into the street lamp’s bulbs in a loop. His shoes crushed old asphalt to dust, revealing fuchsia fragments below.

The Messenger’s dark coat jutted out as they kept their shoulders back and chest out as if Jay’s earlier efforts were trivial. They strolled over when Jay shuffled over to them.

“What was it this time?” The Messenger’s voice crackled. The voice modulator around their chin masked their identity. Regardless of their gender or accent, their voice always came out as an American male’s.

Jay’s feet shifted. “Just a regular Pitchdark.” He plastered a smile on his face. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

Don’t talk about the bruise.

“Your eye says otherwise.” The Messenger pointed.

Jay ignored them. He tried looking for Dunflur High School. It was merely several miles ahead, but the space between days and nights spanned lifetimes.

Which side was the real Jay?

Jay handed the Messenger the packet from the glowing knife. They reached into their coat and pulled out a brown envelope.

Jay cupped his neck. He shrugged and took it.

“Not going to count your money?”

“I trust you.”

The Messenger watched in silence as Jay tucked the envelope into his bag.

“You need to get more help.”

“I already have it.”

“Gleaming with potential? Absolutely. But if she were reliable—” The Messenger leaned forward. “You wouldn’t have that bruise, would you?”

“I can do it,” Jay’s jaw clenched.

Jay huffed and stomped away, feeling the Messenger eyeing him head to toe.

He clutched his bag strap and descended into the darkness.

Of course I can, Jay thought. Who else do we have?