The Darkness in the Light

Prologue

Out the window was the street, grey and bleak. It stared up at her like a sickened face, dirty, old and dying. The slicing wind blew dust and debris over the cobblestone cracks, pressing the dirt into every nook and cranny it could find. The sky was simply a reflection of the street, greys blurring together into one mass of looming misery. There was silence as she sat in the safety of her home staring down through the aching window. Below she watched her father and brother as they huddled together in the frigid wind.

Her body was frozen and her muscles stiff as she waited for them to walk carefully around the drains. The two drains on the street below glared up at like gaping eyes, scrutinizing her from beyond the safety of the glass. There was mud and blood smeared on the pavement around the drains, the street cleaners never daring to go close enough to clean away the grime. Over the years more and more victims had left their mark.

The two grey figures, one tall and slouched, the other tiny and frail, reached the outline of the grime. The tiny figure pointed at the dark mass, looking up at their father in wonder. The slouched man grew taller, pulling the boy protectively closer. Away from the hole and the horrors it entailed. The father shook his head, edging around the hole as carefully as possible, careful not to go too far and step off the path into the incoming traffic.

They passed the first eye, and for a second everyone seemed to relax. She released a tiny bit of the tension that was holding her up. Below her father took a calming breath, preparing himself for the second drain. Even the little boy, unaware of the danger he was in, sucked in his own deep breath, out of instinct. She watched as he took another, her sharp senses seeing the rise of his shoulders. It was deeper than normal, his lungs filled more than they should. She couldn't help but feel that he was preparing to scream.

The thought both scared and calmed her. If he had time to scream, then the monster wouldn't be bothering to take him. But a part of her feared that maybe the instincts that told such a young child how to survive in this world were telling him now that there was a reason to scream. Maybe his instincts were warning him to get ready, because if he was the one child that managed to scream in time, he might be saved from the fate that awaited him.

Usually, she was pouting and angry that she couldn't leave the house. Usually, she was at the safety of her window, jealous of her naïve little brother as he skipped his way up the street, protected from the dangers by their father, yet given the ability to face those dangers just because of his gender. Today was different. Today her stomach had forced her to the window, her nerves screaming that something wasn't right, that something terrible was about to happen.

When the gaping eye blinked open, it was her lungs that exploded, her chest that forced the air to rip through her throat. The noise came from her, yet she stared on, eyes on the scene that had caused her to use that painful breath. The shadow reached out, dark tendrils of smoke tangling around the child's leg like a whip. The child didn't look down at the demonic being that had hold of him. Instead he looked up at the window, at her window, her safe place. He looked up and met her eyes for a fraction of a second before he was gone.

Time froze as she saw the fear in those eyes. Everything happened so quick that even their father hadn't noticed. He still had hold of the boy by the shoulders, his hand guiding but not grabbing, not yet clinging to his son like his life depended on that grasp. Less than a second had past. A flash of lightning that slowed down before her eyes as adrenaline pumped through her veins. She could still hear the ringing of her scream in my ears. A part of her wondered if this was a dream, if she was yet to wake from her nightmares.

Then someone pressed play, and time continued in fast forwards. Her brother disappeared, a blur of motion as the black whip dragged him down into the depths of the drain. Their father's hand reached out, a million moments to slow, and he almost fell forwards himself. The eye blinked closed, the drain shutting itself to the world. Their father stumbled backwards and her screams abruptly stopped, the echo continuing through the house behind her.

Their father sat then, right between the gaping eyes. That's when she started singing. She started singing the nursery rhyme about the monster that ate anyone who came near his home. She couldn't remember all the words. It was never something that was sung about. It was just a story whispered around a night-time fire, scaring kids from the drain. A story made to keep them safe. A story that became the nightmare that was their life.

It wasn't until her mother and sister started cry behind her that she realized her tongue had captured the moment, her voice reflected the horror and the sorrow and the despair that she saw on their father's face as he looked up at her window. He saw them all as they cried and she sang. Then he stood, brushed himself off, and walked back the way he had been heading. He strode easily passed the eye, the worry of his son no longer with him. In that moment he had little to lose.

He no longer cared if he was taken by the monster.