Nyctophobia

Prologue

IMPORTANT NOTE: This story is a sequel to "Autophobia". If you haven't read it and the explanation of my AU, this story won't make sense. I'm also working on getting a better cover- I don't like using other people's art without their permission so I'm not going to use random fan art. :) With that out of the way... 

Nyctophobia (nyc·​to·​pho·​bia): Noun.

An extreme or irrational fear of the night or of  the darkness. 

                                                                   Prologue

Burn them. Free them. Charlie laid in her illuminated bedroom, watching the short winter days turn into long winter nights. She'd get out of bed every once in a while with the express purpose of making sure every light in the house was on. Aunt Jen had given up on turning them off, even when Charlie was sleeping. She had an intuition- if a light was turned off, she felt it. Even one square foot of darkness meant certain death. Besides checking the lights, Charlie only got up to eat (the bare minimum required to keep Aunt Jen off her back); shower; use the bathroom; and stare mindlessly at the TV.

Michael was her constant companion- he laid with her for hours at a time, watched TV with her, even helped her with her mission to keep the lights on, but they barely spoke a word to each other. One night, he told her he loved her. She hadn't responded- something about that, the prospect of love, a relationship, seemed very wrong. She couldn't deny that she'd fallen for him, but she couldn't bring herself to truly justify her breakup with John. She'd been nothing but impulsive the past few months, and she was starting to chalk it up to that impulsivity.

Still, she allowed Michael to hold her, to kiss her, to stroke her hair. She needed the affection in order to feel... something. She couldn't cry for her father anymore- his funeral was set for the 9th of January and she was certain that she still wouldn't be able to cry. Her friends had come over once or twice to watch funny movies and play games, but her laughter was hollow. She sat on the edge of her bed one winter night, watching the snow fall outside her window.

She didn't even glance behind her when Michael entered the room, instead focusing on the tizzy of snowflakes in front of her. He sat down next to her, carefully balancing a small tray that contained two mugs of hot chocolate.

"Merry Christmas." He said softly, setting the tray down on the bedside table. Charlie gave him a half-hearted smile but said nothing. She couldn't even remember the last time she'd spoken to him. His blue eyes ventured to the window and he sighed deeply.

"I... um, I got you something."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Don't worry, it's nothing crazy." He cleared his throat and stood back up. "Be right back. Your mug has more marshmallows in it. Help yourself."

Charlie just stared at the bedroom door until he returned, bearing a rectangular package adorned with silver wrapping paper. The words "Happy Birthday!" were printed on it.

"This was the only wrapping paper your aunt could find." He said apologetically, placing the rectangle in her lap.

"You... really didn't have to do this." She stammered.

"I know. I just... I think this will help you. I hope." Michael picked Theodore up and played with one of the wires protruding from his ears.

"Help me?"

Her companion let out another sigh but said nothing. She raised an eyebrow again and began to strip off the wrapping paper. She stared blankly at the teal book that was revealed shortly thereafter. It was held shut by a gold lock, which could presumably be opened using the small, oval shaped gold key that was taped to the cover of the book.

"Is this a... journal?"

Michael continued to play with Theodore's wire.

"...Yeah. I just thought... you know, I keep one and it's really helped me. I'd go through several of them within a few months at the hospital. The doctors were always reading them, though. Never saw them again once I'd filled them out completely."

Charlie hadn't kept a journal since the third grade, and she sure wasn't good at writing daily entries. Still, her smile was genuine. It was a truly thoughtful gesture on his part.

"Thanks." She peeled the tape off of the key and tried the lock- it was a bit sticky but it opened. "I- I'm sorry I don't have anything for you. I didn't even get anything for Aunt Jen... or dad."

Michael put a hand on her knee and squeezed it gently.

"It's okay, love."

Love. On the surface it was just some Britishism, but Charlie knew he intended it to mean more. She swallowed hard and looked away.

"You okay?"

Her neck hurt as she nodded.

"Charlotte..." He said gently, reaching out to tuck her hair behind her ear. She flinched and he immediately retracted his hand.

"I..I.. I think... I want to write right now, actually. Alone."

Michael looked stung but nodded.

"Alright. I'll be downstairs if you need me." He stood up and slowly walked out the door, gazing at her the whole time. She rummaged through her bedside table drawer once he was gone, looking for a pen. She found a capless blue one and immediately applied it to the first empty page of the journal. The pen was dry and the words she wrote came out patchy.

Burn them. Free them. She drew patchy little flames by her father's last words. Seeing them on paper caused tears to well up in her eyes for the first time in weeks. He had died in vain with the past- his past- haunting him. Charlie was determined to set things right, but she was weak. So weak that just the prospect of piecing together her father's plan made her eyes water even more. But she had to fight- she had to fight her weakness. She had to fight her fear of the darkness. She slammed the journal shut and looked at its key uncertainly- where was she going to keep it?

She rummaged through the bedside table again and found a gold chain that had previously had a small, heart shaped pendant on it. It had been a gift from Aunt Jen, but Charlie barely wore jewelry. The key glided down the chain effortlessly. She fumbled with the chain's clasp for a few minutes, muttering and cursing under her breath. Once it was secure, she dropped her tired arms with a sigh and continued to stare out the window. The snow was tapering off, but the forecast called for another two inches before morning.

She laid back down on the bed, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling. Many of them didn't glow anymore, even with the lights off. Not that she'd turn the lights off anytime soon. The lights kept the darkness, and the nightmare apparitions she'd become all too familiar with, away. She was safe. That was what she told herself, over and over again. But she wasn't. William was still out there, and he'd get to her with or without light surrounding her.