Chapter One
What is it about the darkness and night that induces such fear in people? Why are we propelled into a run and robbed of our sanity at first sight of twilight? Is it really the darkness, or is it the unknown concealed within it? Questions always arise, what is making the twisted and contorted shadows that creep across our yards and invade our bedroom floors? What is just beyond my line of sight, hidden behind the blanket of the night? Why does it feel as though two eyes are watching my every move from the shadows, but I can not see them?
Many will simply chalk this thinking up to paranoia influenced by anxiety. Is it paranoia, or something else? Do we deny these crazy ideas because they can’t possibly be true, or because we are too scared to accept them? But who knows, maybe some things are just meant to be concealed, meant to be buried 6 feet underground. Maybe all you’re supposed to see is that endless wall of darkness, keeping knowledge in and you out. Maybe there are some things and some people who are supposed to be seen as is.
For example, take a simple box. From the outside a box just looks like a solid and sturdy block, it has nothing else to it. Open the box and you find the depth of the hollow space. You find the darkness and whatever else that box contains inside. The contents of that box can be anything, including things you don’t want to see, things that you should not see and things that you can’t unsee. Should you have opened that box? Was it worth opening the box? Or should you have left that box closed and continued thinking of it as a solid block?
I’m not one to talk though. My curiosity always finds a way to chew its way out like a rabid, caged animal. I can never seem to stop myself from opening that stupid theoretical box because I just have to know what’s inside. It’s hard to say whether or not it’s done me more harm than good because I think it depends on the perspective. Maybe some of these things I stumble upon I was supposed to know all along, even when I wish I didn’t. Who’s to say?
My fingers drummed on my chin as I stared idly out the window, the scenery aiding in my deep thinking. Darkness seeped into daylight as twilight fell over the treetops. The last shards of light cut through the curtains, casting a soft, orange glow on the hardwood floors. There is so much beauty to twilight even though it is just a short-lived stage of the day and night, stuck in-between. Twilight is a moment of light and beauty that slowly and silently melts away into darkness. Twilight has no fear of the dark, in fact, she welcomes it. So why can’t I?
The sound of quiet footsteps and the occasional clink of keys pulled me up from my chair in the living room, and out into the foyer. Just as I leaned against the wall in the hallway my mom walked by me, dressed in her scrubs, pulling up her pin-straight hair into a ponytail. She turned towards the door then paused and closed her eyes, her usual strategy to make sure she hasn’t left anything behind. I stayed silent to make sure to not interrupt her train of thought. My mom furrowed her brows then nodded in satisfaction, she remembered everything.
“Mom?”
She quickly opened her eyes and looked over at me, releasing a little gasp.
“Oh, there you are Clara,” she breathed.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, I just wanted to say goodnight and wish you an uneventful night at work.”
“Yeah right,” mom mumbled under her breath. “Goodnight Clara, thanks for dinner, see you in the morning.” She kissed my forehead and steps back, smiling at me. “Oh and don’t forget to bring the towels in from outside, it’s supposed to storm later.”
“Ok, mom.”
I couldn’t help but smile back at her, a close copy of myself. That is the first thing that people say when they see us, how similar we look. They laugh with shock and look between the both of us, comparing our similar features. I take this comparison as a compliment, mom has been and always will be the most beautiful woman I have ever, and will ever see. From the sandy blonde hair to the dark eyebrows, to the high cheekbones and contained smile. Everything is the same, except for my grey/blue eyes, those are from dad.
I always wanted to grow up to look like my mom and be just like her. Her compassion is unfathomable and her heart is always bigger than her own desires. The way she can just touch a seed and have a beautiful flower grow from it baffles me and fills all of our gardens with bright splashes of colors. She is always fierce and determined in the most graceful way, which once again, leaves me bewildered. The bottom line is the woman that stands before me has been my inspiration for all of my life.
I waved out of the front door as she walked out, got in her car and drove off. Mom always got the graveyard shift at the hospital, a lot of times I thought she asked for it. I guess sleeping in her bed alone was still hard for her. Life after dad was, for lack of a better word, rough. Some days mom acted lost, not sad, just lost and almost just the shell of herself. But then the next day she acted like everything is fine, like nothing ever happened and it’s all ok. I guess today was one of those days. But, my mom was a fragile soul, and every time I’d start poking around and asking questions I could see a little crack appear in her already weakened spirit. So I had to stop with my pointless fixations and focus on something more important, mom and our new home.
Cary, North Carolina was my home for most of my life, it was cozy, safe and happy. We had a happy life there. Or so I thought. When there was nothing left for us there we packed up our stuff and moved to, Dusk Valley, Maine. Even the name sounds dark and cold. Beautiful colors slowly slipping into the abyss of night.
All in all, though, I can’t complain about Maine, a state that also happens to be called the pine tree state. Drive in one direction, you’ll probably hit the mountains. Drive in the other, you’ll hit some body of water, then eventually the ocean. The only thing about it is it has a way of turning on you...specifically, weather-wise. The weather apps have done nothing to assist me in figuring it out. Or maybe it was just me, I know I can sometimes create these high expectations of something, or maybe it’s just being hopeful, either way, I usually end up being let down. I always end up at the decision of facing the harsh reality of something or lingering in a hopeful and naïve state. I still haven’t decided which is easier to deal with. This “middle ground” that people like to refer to, is not real. Reality is reality and as much as we want to change that, we can’t. I had to learn that the hard way, but all while learning it, I had to keep smiling on.
After her taillights disappeared behind the now dark hill I stepped out onto the front porch. My mom had said that this house has only ever held one family. A young couple bought the house when it was first built ages ago and when they had to suddenly move out, it was left uninhabited and forgotten for years. After a little, there were occasional renters, but no one stayed for very long, which to me sounded a little odd. For being barely cared for and practically abandoned, for so many years, the house was still standing strong.
Except for the peeling white paint in a few spots, the gathered dust in the corners, the few leaky sinks and the exceptionally squeaky floorboards, it was in pretty good condition. To be honest, I didn’t really know how mom found the house in the first place, she had already decided on it before we packed up to move, saying it was an “online find” and “one of a kind”. There was a promise of a quiet neighborhood, surroundings woods and “a bit of a fixer-upper”, so I didn’t question it. The only thing was, I think ‘a bit’ was a bit of an understatement, but I decided it would give me something to do this summer.
It took us about two weeks to clean the whole house head to toe, hence why most of our belongings were still in boxes. I don’t know who looked after the house when no one was living in it but it looked as though it was never fully let go. The only thing that made me sad was that she told me there used to be unmarked woods surrounding the house. Now the cul-de-sac is sprinkled with newly made, uninhabited homes. Though it seemed like they stopped construction early because the houses stopped about 150 feet away from ours. I’m glad they did because I enjoyed looking at the woods a lot more than I would at some ugly houses.
I walked over and sat on the porch swing, lightly pushing off with my toes so the swing slightly swayed. The moonlight washed over the grass and the tops of the trees. Tucking my legs under me I closed my eyes, listening to the crickets and the slight rustling of the leaves. The serene sounds of the night always calmed my busy mind. The night was silent, and I was happy. I was happy and satisfied until the leaves began to shake more violently and I remembered the towels.
Grudgingly, I pushed myself up off of the swing and walked over to the railing where the green and blue striped towels were draped across. I grabbed the first towel and ran my hand over the soft, and thankfully dry fabric. They were so completely soaked before, to the point where mom didn’t even want to put them in the dryer. And that was a good time to add a note-to-self when you live in an old house and you start to hear the sink screeching and moaning, turn off the water. Immediately. Don’t wait until the faucet explodes and soaks the whole bathroom, including yourself. That morning I had to use the towels with holes in very inconvenient places and I was not doing that again.
I threw the towels over my arm as the wind started to toss my hair around my face. The trees around me shook with vigor making the leaves clash like cymbals. I didn’t know a storm could pick up that quickly and with such force. I stacked up four of the five towels and started to walk over to the last one. Right as I reached out the wind whipped up onto the porch, grabbing the towel and yanking it across the yard. Quickly tossing the towels on the swing I ran across the porch and stumbled down the steps. The slapping sounds of my converse echoed off the sidewalk as I chased after the bright blue hand towel inching towards the edge of the woods. Every step I took it jumped another foot away from me and a foot closer to the dark woods. I stopped just short of the line of trees as the stupid piece of fabric slipped around a trunk.
I decided I could either be smart and let the towel go, then get an earful from my mom about responsibilities but really she’s upset because those are her favorite towels, or I could be stupid and run into the woods, in the dark, without a flashlight, right before a storm. Well, apparently I forgot to take my smart pill that morning because before I could decide, my legs took me past the line and onto the bed of dead leaves. Spotting the towel wasn’t too hard because it was the only bright thing in the mix of dull greens and browns. Thankfully it wasn’t not moving very fast anymore, all I had to do was catch up to it without colliding hard with a tree trunk or a protruding root. There was something odd about those woods at night, I got this weird feeling that eyes were watching me. Eyes following every step I took. But I knew it’s just in my head, of course.
Finally, the towel stopped, getting caught on a low hanging branch. I let out a sigh of relief and started to jog over to it. My foot suddenly slipped on a log and I began to stumble, creating a chain reaction of stumbling and tripping over everything in my path. I tried to slow myself down but before I could, I felt my foot catch on something and I knew there was no stopping the inevitable fall. Within seconds my face was just inches away from the dead leaves and earth. Pain twisted through my right shin. I’ve felt worse, but it was still not enjoyable.
Coordination and I have never really been very close friends, despite my best efforts, and I had decided that this was the official rejection of my invitation. Groaning, I pushed myself to my knees as a slight breeze brushed past me, pushing strands of hair back from my face. Sighing once more, I stood up and brushed the dirt and pine needles from my legs. I looked up and there, dangling right in front of my face was the towel. I snatched it off the branch, slightly irked, and turned on my heels, starting to limp back in the direction I believed my house to be in. Out of nowhere, another soft breeze carried a low voice from behind me, making me freeze.
“Clara?” The sound was barely as loud as a whisper, yet it ringed loudly in my ears. It sounded like a voice, simultaneously coaxing me towards it and commanding me to freeze where I stood.
I couldn’t be sure that this was indeed what I heard, or if I even heard anything at all. Either way, the sound made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up straight and sent a river of chills down my spine. Slightly stunned, I tried to move my lips to talk but nothing came out. Finally building up enough courage, I slowly turned around, searching for where the voice was coming from. All I could see was more trees cloaked in darkness. Swallowing the big lump in my throat, I attempted to find my voice.
“H-hello?” I stuttered.
All I found in response, was silence. Could I have imagined it? Was it possible that it was just the wind cutting through the trees...and somehow it sounded like my name? Each explanation that popped into my head seemed more futile and naive than the last.
“Hello?” I asked again, suddenly realizing how high and squeaky my voice was.
Once again, nothing, no one, responded. All that could be heard was the low rumble of thunder overhead. I could feel my curiosity stirring within me, but I just didn’t know where to put it. From what I could tell, there was nowhere for it to go, nothing for it to see. Hell, there was barely anything for me to see, the soft light of the moon was quickly swept up into the dark clouds. I was pretty much left in the dark. Another wave of thunder rolled across the sky, this time louder, and closer.
Within seconds the sky opened up and rain poured down on me. Sheets of water immediately drenched me and my clothes. Quickly losing interest in the mystery in the dark I turned and started running, towards my house, weaving in and out of the trees. My left hand was stuck out in front of me for navigation as my right hand tightly clutched the towel. Unfortunately, there was no navigation for my feet so they freely tripped and slipped on everything in my path. Spotting the lights of the house in the distance, I picked up speed, slightly more confident in my sense of direction.
Finally bursting out into my yard I held the towel over my head, giving me little to no coverage. Now, stumbling up the stairs onto the porch my fingers grabbed at my wet hair, clinging to my neck. I breathlessly sat down in the swing and wrang out the towel. The stupid towel. I kicked off my dripping shoes and grabbed the pile of the rest of the towels, at least most of them were dry. I’m about to walk into the house when I took one last look at the woods over my shoulder. Did I just imagine the whole thing? Because that would mean I’m either paranoid or I suddenly acquired a rather large imagination.
The only thing that would be of any comfort to me that night was quickly shutting and locking the door behind me. A small gesture, yes, but it still gave me a slight sense of security and assurance, and that was all I needed. Security and assurance, within myself and with the world around me. I knew though, the second that thought popped into my head, those things were going to be hard to come by. With all of the mysteries, unanswered questions, secrecy, and enigmas of the universe, security will never be easy.
