A child experiences the horrors of the unknown

The dark expanse of the hall loomed outside of their bedroom door. They simply wanted water. Before the move, it was part of their nightly routine, sitting a glass by their bed. Alas they had fought with their mother over dinner, one stupid slip of the tongue when discussing the new house and suddenly she was offended. She sent them up to bed despite dinner hardly being finished. 

        Now they sat on the edge of their bed, curling the blanket tightly around themselves, staring through the crack of their door at the endless expanse of pitch black. Their old house was never this dark.  

         It was hard to swallow now, their throat was parched and scratchy from yelling. Crying certainly hadn’t helped. And neither did the dust from all their half-unpacked boxes strewn about. Hesitantly one foot touched the floor, then the other, nothing but thin socks separating cool wood from skin. They tiptoed to the door, blanket dragging slightly behind them, and touched the handle. It was brass, cold to the touch, and gave them goosebumps. They opened the door further and took a tentative step into the dark; the hall sent a chill up their spine instead.           

        They left the safety of the moonlight cast from their bedroom window and were surrounded by shadows. They couldn’t see an inch in front of them. They should’ve lit a candle, but had yet to put any in their room.    

        The stairs were to the left, and they set out that way. Their hand trailed along the rough wallpaper, feeling fraying beneath. They longed for the smooth walls of their old hallway which were always reliable, here they still didn’t quite know where the walls led or what turn to take down the corridor. Despite their footfalls being gentle, every other step produced a new creak. They cringed at each sound, afraid their mother would hear and fearful the shadows would rush them from behind.  

        For a second it sounded like there were creaks behind them and their breath hitched. The immediate shadows seemed to thicken, so thick it felt alive, felt like they could reach out and touch something solid as rock. Could the shadows hear their heart race? Would they consume them? Drown them in darkness? It was hard to breathe, more difficult to swallow.  

     Their unease grew as their pace did. Feeling like they were being watched, they tightened the blanket around themself so it would protect them. It still smelled like home. Earlier the hallway hadn’t been so long, but now it felt never ending. No matter how far or fast they walked they got nowhere, surrounded by pitch black shadows.  

     Then their mother stirred in the other room. Back along the expanse of wall, the shadows rippled, as if paying attention to the sound, before wrapping around their arms, their legs, tripping them. They felt the blanket slipping, the shadows just brushing their neck, until footsteps echoed from behind.  

     “Sweetheart?” Their mother’s voice cut through the darkness.  

     The cool hold of the shadows loosened when she gently touched their shoulder, and the air finally cleared, allowing them space for their chest to expand again.