The Shadows

Darkness is something I used to like. Or at least, I wasn't afraid to stay in it's depths. Now however, the dark has become something that strikes fear into the hearts of even the most courageous of people. But people don't fear the dark it's self. No, they fear what lurks within it. They fear the unknown that hides behind the black cowls. And they should be afraid, for you're only safe in the light.

"Andrew." The shrill voice of Mother yells at me from inside the house. I stand in the cold night air, at the edge of the porch, where the light of the house starts to fade. So close to the dark abyss of the night. No light comes from the moon, shrouded in cloud, away from sight. Only a few lights dot the distance, other houses, or cars driving down the road. I hear something in the dark, whispers, voices, hisses, I don't know what. Straining my ears to hear, I step ever so closer to dark. "Andrew." Mother's pointed yell from behind me causes me to jump. She stands in the doorway, looking at me with wide eyes. Fear clear in them, swirling deep within the crystal blue. I step closer towards her, into the light, away from the dark. Her shoulders relax and I try to give her a calming smile.

'I am fine.' I sign to her, my hands moving quickly, her gaze remains hard and fearful as she looks past me into the dark. She steps further inside, motioning for me to join her within the safety of our home. I do so, the chill of the night starting to bite more aggressively at my skin. Winter will be upon us soon, the trees hold few leaves, and the air grows colder as each day passes. I rub my hands together to try and warm them, as Mother closes and locks the door. It takes nearly a minute for her to lock all eight of the different securities on the door. She fears more than I of what lurks outside.

"You mustn't go out at night. It's too dangerous." She scolds me in a harsh but caring tone. I go to respond, but she turns away from me and moves out of the entranceway and further into the house. I let out a huff of breath before following after her. Warmth starting to seep into my skin, the house far warmer than outside, as I step into the living room. The fire is lit, and by the smell of Mother's cooking that reaches my nose, the oven is on in the kitchen. Father sits in his arm chair, facing away from me and towards the fire. I see only his right arm, resting on the armrest, pipe in hand. Small clouds of smoke rising each time the hand disappears behind the chair. I leave the living room, moving through the door to the kitchen and adjoined dining room. Mother is moving around in the kitchen humming a tune I can't quite make out. She faces away from me, turning to pull something out of the oven. The smell that had already been wafting through the house grows stronger, the smell of fresh pastry with a tinge of chicken mixing in. "Andrew, get me the trivet and can you place it on the table." Mother asks, I nod despite her still facing away from me. I find the small block of wood on the counter by the oven and take it over to the table. Still humming, Mother moves to place the pie on the block before walking back into the kitchen to retrieve the other dishes of food. "Get your father." Again I nod despite her not looking at me. I leave the room again and enter the living room. Father is still seated in his chair, still smoking, still ignoring me. I walk over to him, and tap his shoulder.

"What do you want?" Father growls at me, a glass of reddish liquid in the hand not holding his pipe. I step back a bit, not wanting him to strike me, I take a breath before pointing towards the door. The man raises his eyebrow, and I point to the door again. "Use your words boy, or do I have to beat some sense into you again?" His harsh words cause me to cower back more.

'Dinner.' I sign, and his glare hardens. I retreat from the room, not wanting to give him the chance to strike. Mother moves around the dining room placing plates and cups at each of the three seats around the table. Father shoves me to the side, far harder than necessary, but nothing I'm not used to. He takes his seat at one end of the small table, Mother taking the seat at the other end, leaving me to my seat at the side.