The Haunting of Darkness

The Swallow of Night

When the moon lifted to its apex in the inky black sky, she knew it was time.

The forest's limbs were like arms stretching out to her even from behind the glass she stood before, beckoning her to come closer, to trap her in their grasp. They wiggled in the wind, tempting. She made it a general rule never to go out at night, to not risk being trapped by the night that howled in the darkness, but tonight's prospective journey was unavoidable. That didn't mean, though, that she had to like traipsing through the malicious forest.

She dressed so that every inch of her skin was covered, from the bareness of her head to the bottoms of her feet. Two shawls pulled over her shoulders, a scarf wound so tightly across her lips that the air had trouble filtering through. Her skirts were long and snagged on the boots she wore, but she didn't risk wearing a shorter one, one that could be lifted with the wind. None of the night could touch her skin. Not even a glimmer of it.

As soon as she opened the door, ever instinct inside her begged her to retreat. To close the door, to sag against the safety of the wood, to stay inside. But she couldn't. Almost as if compelled, she couldn't help but step further into the night.

The darkness swirled in the air like a living thing, a snake in the sky. Distinctive against the moonlight, it almost resembled a disembodied ghost, filtering and weaving through the tree branches. Branches that looked like fingers, reaching out for her.

She shifted under her shawls and skirts, forcing her legs to carry her forward. Each footfall felt heavy and hard, as if there were rocks tied to her ankles. In her mind, she began her affirmations. The thoughts flowed like water as she recited from memory. No darkness will touch my skin, for I am covered and protected. No evil will steal my soul, for I am safe and pure.

Despite her attempt to calm her thoughts, her pace quickened, boots crunching over the grass as it began to harden with the beginnings frost. Eyes peered at her from the darkness; she could feel them tracing her movements. She needed to get through quickly. Desperation propelled her footsteps quicker, and her gait lengthened.

But one of the malevolent tree's roots snaked along ground, breaking from the soil-ridden depths, creating a break in the surface. In the dimness, it was impossible to see the bump in the ground until it was too late. Her foot caught on the upturned root, hooking perfectly over her boot. She toppled to the ground, her covered palms reaching out to catch her fall. Her gloves scraped across the hardness, catching on stones and the hard ground, and she felt it. If she weren't hyperaware, she would've brushed it off. The coolness that kissed her skin like a lover, that tickled her palms like little slivers of glass.

Skin exposed, the mystic night crawled its way in, and there was no stopping it.

In the middle of the forest of fingers, with the moon reaching its apex in the sky, the darkness claimed another soul for its collection.

In the middle of the forest of fingers, with the moon reaching its apex in the sky, the cold earth swallowed her whole, until nothing remained but an echo of a scream.