Despite centuries of genetic encoding telling me I should be afraid of the dark—or rather, of that which dwells in shadowy spaces—I am nevertheless drawn to it.
I have always been wired a little backward. I prefer chilled days over warm; clouded skies over sunny.
I have no explanation for this. I’m just weird.
A favorite form of exercise is going for night walks at the local park. Bathed in the glow of stuttering street lamps and an ever-vigilant Luna, my pace quickens as I listen to the spookiest playlists Spotify can muster.
This is the spell that brings the darkness to life.
Peripheral signposts morph into humanoid shapes. Shadows stare with lidless eyes.
Wooden branches grasp in the darkness; in protection, or in warning? They seem to send two conflicting messages, neither reassuring: “πΆπππ π€ππ‘β π’π ” and “πππ’’ππ πππ‘ π€ππππππ.”
The gooseflesh rises along with my heartbeat.
I am not alone in this place.
I am never alone.
I can hear them whispering.
The Unknown becomes a tangible thing. It waits for me—it waits for you—in spaces eyes cannot see.
The music plays on, weaving its ancient magic upon my soul. I hasten my steps.
I hear them getting closer.
I feel breath on the back of my neck—the prelude to an eternal embrace, but not one from a lover.
Colder.
Darker.
Filled with teeth.
“This is all in my head,” I explain to the night. Remember, I came here for this feeling. My pounding heart reminds me that I am alive.
A quick glance behind confirms what I already know. See? Merely shadows and wind, up to their usual tricks.
“I am perfectly safe.” I laugh to myself as I change the playlist to more upbeat offerings.
I pass beneath a shadow.
The Unknowable smiles.
