All This Darkness

3

Everything was gradual; otherwise, it would have taken less time for me to go insane.

The shadow came first, and I don't mean a couple of days before. No. It came much earlier; when the red, wet mass took up its space in the freezer, the shadow had already been with me for some time. You could say we were close, even.

It started as a clump of darkness in the corner of the bedroom, nothing to pay attention to. But little by little, it shifted and morphed. It went from nesting in the corner to dwelling under the bed, and before I even noticed its presence, I could feel its fingers caressing my ankles as I lay down. Its cold, long tongue licked the soles of my feet and wrapped around my toes when I got up in the wee hours of the morning. It crept into the half-open doors of rooms with the lights off, into uncurtained windows and into the reflection of mirrors at night. It's not that it moved from place to place; it's that, unbeknownst to me, it took over everything.

One day, while I was talking to Veronica -the same Vero you never liked-, something knocked on the door. Or, I should say, it scratched it. And not the one to the street, but the bedroom door. It was so loud that even Veronica, on the other side of the line, heard it.

She stopped telling me whatever it was she was saying, and asked, "What was that?".

And I, who had suddenly pulled my knees up to my chest and felt my heart pumping in my throat, didn't know how to answer her. I didn't know, and I told her.

I could have gotten up, but I stayed there, staring at the door. Suddenly I'd had no laughter left, and I was clinging to Veronica's breathing on the line as the only bridge to reality. I'd had a suspicion that as soon as I ignored one of those two senses, I would hear the slow turning of the rusty handle. If I looked down, despite the tiny slit that bordered the tiles, I would see the gleam of an eye peering out from the darkness of the dining room. And that if I'd turned to the window, whose curtains I didn't bother to close, I'd catch a glimpse of something, anything, that wouldn't let me sleep for the rest of my life, if I had any left.

That night was impossibly long. Vero, maybe recognizing the panic in the choked voice that barely made it past the narrow walls of my throat, hung in there with me as long as she could. I don't know if we hit six or seven a.m., but I know it was winter because the sun took too long to peek through the concrete of the next building.

At that moment, I continued without knowing it, but that was the shadow. I don't know whether to say if it was watching as college students do with their test subjects, or as hunters do in the middle of the forest.

And although it was the first manifestation of my faithful companion, the one that unleashed it happened not long after. It was perhaps two o'clock in the afternoon, because the sun was streaming in through the living room window, and I took the opportunity to stand barefoot and warm my feet. Then again, there was another knock on the door. This time not with rodent urgency, but with human patience. Three knocks. Knock, knock, knock. Knuckles. Echo in the living room. I opened the door without thinking, expecting to find Veronica or the only other neighbor on the floor, who occasionally stopped by to see if I could help her change a light bulb or put something in with the drill. It took me two seconds; the hallway was deserted. It was empty, though probably just in my eyes, because that day I let it in, and it didn't leave anymore.

I started telling my friends, my family, and the guys at La Capilla about it. I needed answers, and I thought I could find them that way. At first, I guess people used to think I was joking, but then they saw the seriousness in my face, heard the fear in my voice, and worried about me. They used to ask me if I was sleeping well, if I was taking anything, if I was sober. Yes, I was sober. No, I wasn't taking anything. But I wasn't sleeping well. I hated recognizing that "oh, that's the reason!" look on their faces. I hated that they looked at me like that, like a delirious homeless man, before telling me that was my problem: I needed better sleep. That I looked paler, skinnier, and almost emaciated.