I embrace the darkness like a lover. It gives me solace in this vast emptiness because it is my darkness.
I don’t know exactly when I decided to claim it. For a very long time, I seemed to wander like a wraith without form or substance in the great void, reaching out with limbs which were no longer present, yet the memory of them still fired in my sentient regions. Like phantom limbs. It took me much longer to realize more than my limbs were missing. I could not count toes or fingers or even a nose or ears. I had become the Great Nothing. And I did not like it one bit. I was bereft. I wanted to sob endlessly, but it was impossible as I had no tear ducts because I had no eyes. Yet how did I manage to see?
I have encountered many times in my existence where things did not quite work out the way I had planned or even hoped. I eventually came to understand that was often the case and it was part of being alive and dealing with whatever fate handed me. I’m not one to knuckle under or allow myself to be taken for a ride, but sometimes, no matter how hard you resist or how long you fight, you just don’t win.
Yes, I’m a fighter. That is probably part of the problem and what might have contributed to why I am here talking to you right now. By the way, are you even listening or am I whispering these words of wisdom to myself?
Ask me if I even care. As far as I’m concerned, you don’t even exist. I can shut you out just as easily as I might allow you in. All of this is entirely under my control.
When I first realized I had changed and I was no longer what I used to be, I had some agonizing spells of rage and absolute panic. I don’t know how long that lasted as time does not really matter here. You might have heard me howling or weeping and gnashing my teeth. I’ve been told that is a normal reaction when you first become aware. I don’t even know who told me that because, as far as I can tell, I am mostly alone.
So, now you are wondering where here is? So many questions. Always the grimy little questions: Turn on this light if you mean yes. Blink the flashlight twice if you mean no. Say your name. Do you remember your name? Are you looking for someone? Your lost son? Are you lost? Do you understand English or shall I try another language? I have a language translator program on my phone.
All these electronic devices. It is quite wearisome. What if I lived during the 1800s and had never even seen anything electronic? Have you given thought to that? Or would you consider me to be ignorant just because you have access to these “new-fangled” things and I might not even know of their existence? I’m not going to rant on and on about this, but it is a sore point with me and one that does not have an answer. I don’t get answers. All I receive are those infernal questions.
I’m getting used to the idea that I cannot point my finger and poke it in your eye if I need to do so (which is really what I wish to do), but I have learned to toss things about. You and the others sigh and ooh and aah and talk about someone called a poltergeist. Believe it or not, I watched television and I know what that is and, if the mood strikes me, I might get into flinging things but if I am going to expend that much energy, I sure as hell will be trying to hit you or someone. Just to get your full attention. It’s only fair. After all, you’re the one who has come here disturbing my peace and my darkness. You ought to pay some price for the inconvenience you are causing me.
It’s not like I’m totally alone here. The truth is, I can choose to be alone or not, but there are others here at various stages of comprehension. Some are very old and having studied history at one point, I find their recall of historical data to be quite fascinating and, obviously, more accurate than the textbooks, though a defender of the swill that is put into some history books might well argue that their memory might be fallible. I’m not one to judge. All that crap left me long ago. Or at least it seems like it was long ago.
I don’t really have any burning issues. I can turn on their little light and I can speak into their voice recorder and I deliberately garble my voice and try not to laugh. They are such freaking fools over this. Sometimes I think they wet themselves when I speak an intelligible word.
Just thinking about what my laughter might sound like, a Vincent Price Wannabee for sure. The thought gives me chills, or it might if I had the ability to feel. I’m working on it. I never give up once I have a goal in mind.
The problem is, I am feeling a bit aggravated. I remember so much and it’s coming back to me stronger with each effort whenever I reach back and try to pull a memory forward. Otherwise, I suppose it would just go all gray and be swallowed up and no longer exist, but I don’t want that. I want to remember. At least, I believe I need to remember some things and some people. Those issues are important to me. Even now.
I can see quite well in this darkness. I don’t even need my old glasses. Yes, I do remember wearing those clunkers and then moving up to contact lenses and feeling almost young again, until I scratched my cornea and injured my eye during one of my fights. Note to others; remove your glasses or your contacts when you’re planning to brawl.
Here they come again. Shh. I like to listen in on their excited chatter and then that guy with the camera who is scared shitless of the dark but won’t admit it and the one who leads the crew doesn’t really believe in any of this but he’s doing it for the views on YouTube.
Damn. That one girl is vomiting. She really is scared. Now the place reeks of puke and no one is happy about that. And yes, in case you care to ask, I can smell if I want to. In this case, I’ll just shut off my hyperosmia.
This is actually kind of cool. I have a lot more control. All of my sensorium has expanded in many ways and I have to say that it is quite entertaining. There’s nothing else to do here in the darkness. There’s no TV or radio. Only the visits from these crews that come through.
Some of them reek of alcohol, and I know they had to booze it up to find the courage to come down here.
I’m getting quite a rep. More and more of these groups come through looking for a cheap thrill so they can run home and tell their mama or their friends about this experience. Or post it on social media for sure.
I admit, I have done a few dramatic things. Just for my own entertainment. Actually, I had them squealing and running like three blind mice. It was disappointing no one gave me a knife to cut off their tails.
If I need a knife, I can find one. I don’t have to wait for others to make decisions or choices for me. I am free in this domain of darkness and I feel the rush of it as it feels me, despite my lack of corporeal substance.
I can even turn the lights on in this dark basement. It’s lots spookier with the flashlight illumination and I can make their lights flicker and go out. That’s when the screaming really begins and they try to trample over each other to get out of here. Even that big guy. He really is a scaredy cat.
It’s been quiet for a while now. I wonder what happened to that group who used to come all the time. I’m not getting bored or anything, but I do like to play a little game whenever they trundle down those stairs.
So many questions. Sometimes the questions hurt.
“How did he die?” One girl asks and her voice is all shivery.
I’m not sure what she is asking and whether I’m the one to answer. I could give her my name if she asked politely, or I could be obstinate and not answer at all.
I am straining to hear the answer to her question, listening with these ears I no longer possess. But the response sounds jumbled or mumbled as though someone or something is deliberately interfering or editing, so I will not hear the answer to that important question.
Now there is only silence and the darkness and the memory of that question. It seemed crucial in so many ways which I cannot explain. I feel as though I’ve been reading a book and some nasty creep tore out the last page, so I might not ever know the answer to that question.
Someone died.
Then I remember I am here nearly alone in the darkness and I have no fingers or toes and yet my brain seems to be working just fine. I try to keep it charged up. It’s not like I am just doing nothing here in this darkness. I am thinking. I am also planning. I don’t want to be here forever. Whatever that means. Even when I try to ask the others, they grow silent. Is there some conspiracy keeping me from knowing?
Thoughts of escape are filling me now. Then I remember running and knowing that I could not escape. I can feel the heat of my breath as I gasp for air and run from my pursuer, but it is not enough.
If I close my sightless eyes, I even see the blood and the axe coming down on my head again and again. And I still do not know why.
And now I remember this is where I met my brutal death. A part of me wishes to be swallowed by this darkness and to forget the horror.
There is a strong memory now and I can see his face, splattered with my life’s blood. I shall never forget that hideous and hateful face. I don’t even know why I had to die.
When I become aware again, I know I am not ready to forgive or to forget, and I am coming up with a plan. I will escape and I shall find that one who held that axe so brutally and bludgeoned my brain into what he thought would be nothingness. But I am here. I am awake. I shall find him, as it doesn’t matter how long it takes. If he does not return to the scene of his crime, then I will grow stronger and shall shroud myself in malevolence and the power of retribution.
I have the time. I have all eternity
