They Are The Darkness

Chapter Three: Afraid of the Dark

            No answer in the morning, just the recording. Steve left another message telling her to call him, this time adding the word ‘please’. He then made a decision to take his mind off of this particular problem for a little while, assuring himself that everything was all right, that he was just worrying himself over nothing. He went into his study and sat down at his writing desk. The old IBM Selectric had been replaced long before by a laptop.

           He sat there in the soft, even glow of the laptop, the bookshelf behind him stocked with his novels, the good ones, the ones about space and strange stars, the planets that revolved around those stars and the beings that inhabited those planets. These were his works of love, the ones he was proud to put his own name on. The sappy romance novels he published under the name Randall St. Claire (the ones Ginny used to call ‘the moneymakers’) were stuffed inside an old brokedown cabinet in the basement. He was not proud of these.

           Steve’s fingers danced across the keyboard, his eyes taking on that glazed, faraway look they sometimes got when he was writing the good stories. He lost all knowledge of time, as he often did during these sessions. Words poured out of his head, making their way through his swift fingers to the computer screen. It was a feeling like no other, the act of creating something out of nothing.

           When he finally quit typing he realized that the only light in the room was the glow from the computer. An entire day had passed by unnoticed. Beyond the glow of the screen there were only shadows. For some reason the inky blackness made him nervous in a way he hadn’t felt since childhood, when he still thought monsters were real. He reached over and flipped the light switch, banishing the shadows and filling the room with electric light. Immediately there was a feeling like a weight being lifted off his chest.

           Steve saved his work and closed the laptop, then moved over to the desk by the window, the one he’d sat at the day before when trying to get through to Sara. Now the repeated the act, dialing her number from memory this time. He got the recording again. He set the receiver down in its cradle, this time without leaving a message. Opening the bottom left drawer of the desk he pulled out his black address book. He sat staring at Sara’s address for some time before making up his mind. Tomorrow he was going to get in his car and drive to her place. A certain dread had settled into his stomach that would not go away until he saw her and spoke to her, until he was sure she was okay.

           That night he slept with all the lights on in the house. There were no dreams; he was grateful for that at least.