You’re scared of the dark.
It’s cool, so is everyone else. But no, yours is more than just an irrational fear. It plagues and haunts your every move. You refuse to be in the dark, god forbid you have to enter a dark room. All lights have to be on in your presence. Most people think you’re just cautious.
You also have a strange way of turning on lights. You never enter a room first. You allow your hand to guide you, flipping the switch before stepping past the threshold. You wait another moment before actually going inside. People watch you do this. You seem methodical and almost robotic. Everyone thinks you’re slightly strange but are amused. They leave you alone to your antics and no one questions it.
You’re always worried that someone will pinpoint the why. But how could they? Everyone’s a little strange.
Turns out you’re a scaredy-cat. A high-functioning one at that.
But there comes a time that you have to face your fears or at least show everyone else that you are. You approach the conference room. No one is in there yet. The lights are off and the door is closed. That never happens.
The door is always open when the conference room is empty. You try not to think about it as you approach the wooden door. You always wondered why the ceilings had to be 12 feet tall other than the aesthetic and the acoustics. There are wonderful echoes in the building when it’s empty. You try not to think about that.
The closed door is starting to creep you out, especially since you have a bigger fear of opening to the darkness. If anything is actually in there, you’re inviting it outside. Or worse – making them think that you want to venture inside.
You absolutely do not.
But you have no choice. You clutch your portfolio closer to your chest, glad that no one is paying attention to you. You twist the doorknob and the door creaks open in ghostly fashion. Great. Chills run down your spine and you take a moment to watch the darkness. It seems to move and shift in shape.
This isn’t helping and your imagination is running wild.
Is it really just your imagination, though?
You can’t be sure but you’re a professional. And you’re at work.
You continue with your methodical act, reaching your hand into the room, feeling for the light switch. You’ve memorized where all the light switches are to avoid looking like an idiot. But this is a new conference room and you haven’t figured things out yet.
You quickly realize that the light switch is not on that side.
It’s a wonder that people haven’t created a light switch on the edge of the door frame or outside. But you’d be the person who would have a fucking show if you had access to the lights. Subjecting others to the darkness? That’d be power in its raw form.
You switch the portfolio to your other arm and begin reaching inside again. You swear that the shapes in the darkness are coming closer but you really need to prep the room. You lean in a little bit, wondering if the light switch was placed even farther inside.
You pause when you realize that you can’t feel your fingers – just the bitter darkness. It’s strange, like your fingers are numb. It’s probably just fear. You retract your arm, terrified. Your eyes reach where your hand used to be. There’s nothing. Your arm just kinda… stops.
There’s no blood, no pain. You can’t scream because you aren’t sure that what you’re seeing is real. You frown as you glance back into the darkness. You’re sure that you see a hand waving back to you. There are smiles surrounding it. You recognize the ring on the finger. That’s your ring.
And the awful realization hits you cold. That’s your hand. You want to charge into the darkness and retrieve what’s rightfully yours but you also know that you have every right to be afraid of what lies beyond.
Do you retrieve your hand? Do you stay there without it?
A coworker strides past you, “Dana, really? Are you daydreaming again?” He flicks on the light switch and settles into one of the seats.
The darkness is gone and you realize that you can move your fingers again. You look down in horror as a hand is now attached to your arm once again. But you noticed something that wasn’t there before – a scar.
And you realize that it’s not your hand.
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