I wasn’t always afraid of the dark. Well, maybe as a kid, but I grew out of it. In fact, I learned to love the darkness; the twinkling lights of stars millions of years away, the calm sereness of the night. It was beautiful. It was my happy place. I loved when my imagination took over while walking through parks as shadows flickered by- was it a vampire? A ghost? Armies of the undead? I would always get a good chuckle out of these thoughts, putting my countless hours of television and movie consumption to good use, planning how I would easily thwart any supernatural beast. It was nonsense of course, but it was all part of the charm of walking alone through the darkness. Sure, it was eerie, oftentimes downright creepy. And lonely. But scary? Nah, it was never scary…at least not until she arrived.
Now the darkness lurked everywhere. I felt it on me, breathing down my neck constantly. It didn’t matter what time of day it was, it didn’t matter that every light in the room was on. Around me, there was a constant cloud of darkness. I didn’t know what it was, where it came from, or why it was here…but I knew that sooner or later, it would come for me. And when it did, I wouldn’t know what the fuck to do. For six long months this feeling of despair and dread stalked every moment of my life. I know exactly when it started, down to the minute. I know where I was, what I was doing, what I could see, smell, and hear. What I don’t know is WHY it came for me.
My birthday…6 months ago. I was both excited and having an internal existential crisis from hitting the big 3-0. I had the perfect dress for my party at the perfect venue, with my perfect friends and family. I stepped out of bed, and the lingering ghost of a hangover threatened to take full form. “Not today, boozy brain,” I said to myself, as I grabbed a painkiller to force it away. Nothing was going to ruin my big day.
Shit, was I so, so wrong. It all started with an innocent walk around St James Park. It was my favourite place in London. Something always felt so ethereal about it, like walking through a magical fairy kingdom. It was so peaceful and serene- if you were lucky to be there without the mass of tourists. It was just 6:45 in the morning, and there was still a calm about the air. I could smell the rain lingering on the grass, the sun had just started peering through and I could feel each ray on my skin. There was no loud traffic noise, or screaming children, or gossiping grownups. It was just…quiet. I headed across the bridge to see if I could spot the Pelicans, stopping for my mandatory selfie with the London Eye in the background.
It was then I saw something emerge from below the bridge. Surely that couldn’t be right, my brain was clearly playing tricks on me, punishing me for excessive wine I had the night before…Nothing could possibly be popping up from the bridge… I blinked and opened my eyes again, trying to focus on what I was sure was a hangover hallucination. But there it was. Less than a foot from my face. There was a figure that looked…me…but something was off, as if it weren’t quite in focus. But that was obviously impossible because I was already standing here…right?
She didn’t blink. She didn’t move. Didn’t seem at all surprised that her less horrifying twin was standing on this little bridge. She just stared at me unnervingly. I could feel a chill running up my spine. Every alarm bell in my head was ringing, telling me to turn and run like hell, and I knew that I should have. But in that moment, I couldn’t get my feet to work.
“It won’t help, even if you do.” Her voice carried through air, like it was speaking through the wind. I didn’t even see her mouth move. “Running won’t help you, I’m here now and I won’t be locked away again.”