In The Dark

by : epiphanies

You've sat in the motel room for hours. Days. Unmoving. You feel as if you were dead. But you are not.

Pictures. Flashing, beading across the room. Speaking in flared tones that you cannot comprehend, because you do not wish to. And the sound is only comfort. Finally, the man with the deep voice and coat-tails says something that you understand.

"And there is something in the dark!"

You lay on your bed, what should be his bed and inhale his scent and feel deep within your soul that something, indeed, is wrong. You can taste it in your mouth, you can feel it suffocate you. And you pick up the telephone and realize that he doesn't have one. Your eyes fill and you suffocate slightly, cannot breathe because all you see is him. He fills your eyes and your mouth and your soul with him, and it has always been that way, but not anymore. You are a void, and you cannot feel him anywhere and you wonder,

Where has he gone?

You spring off of the bed and lock the motel room, slip the key into your pocket. Your brisk walk turns into a steady jog until you reach his room, twelve over from yours. You knock rampantly, never ceasing. It never opens. You stare through the keyhole and find that you cannot see a thing except an upside-down version of yourself, and you are infuriated. You pound on the door until you collapse, and then the manager comes and says that that patron has checked out. You do not believe him and he lets you in. You stare at the ajar closet, empty. You then look to the bedside and see a note. You rush to it, picking it up and the tears stream.

In a script not his own, written, spiky and black and eternal.

'...and there is something in the dark...."