When Darkness Calls

Before I could turn to see who (or what) had spoken, a pair of hands seized me from behind and began to violently shake me.

Terror took hold of me, and I began bucking and flapping my arms wildly to free myself from my assailant. Something must have worked, because their grasp on me weakened.

Seizing my chance, I spun on my heel and swung my arms wide, determined to knock my aggressor off their feet. Though my left arm was met with open air, my right fist made contact.

Before I had a chance to meet my opponent eye to eye, a cold, hard slap whipped my head back. My vision spun, and I felt myself rock back on my heels.

I put my arms out to cushion my fall, but a pair of hands caught me. As I swayed back and forth like a puppet whose strings had been cut, a clear and precise voice cut through my scrambled thoughts.

“Dharma, wake up!”

My body jiggled again.

Relief flooded my body, and I was sure I would burst into tears. “Mom? Mom!” I cried out, and just as I was on the brink of bursting into tears, I blinked and saw my mother’s face.

She cupped my face in her hands. “Yes, it’s me, Dharma. Are you awake now?”

“Awake?” I repeated, blinking away the hot tears that suddenly flooded my vision, causing my mother’s lovely face to blur.

“Yes, baby,” she cooed in a gentle tone. “You were having a nightmare.”

“I was asleep?” I asked, shaking my head in puzzlement.

“You sleepwalked all the way to the basement,” she explained. “Now, let’s get you back up the stairs.”

Suddenly, I was very aware of my feet—my right foot in particular. I gazed down and saw that I was bleeding.

Remaining calm, my mother continued to coddle me. “There are shards of glass everywhere. I think you stepped on a piece and cut your foot. Do you think you can walk up the stairs?”

I nodded, even though I still couldn’t comprehend what was happening. All I knew was that my mother was here, and I was safe now, so I allowed her to slip her arm under mine and lead me up the stairs.

Reality returned as we reached the top. I don’t think I had ever been happier to see a bare living room.

“Let’s get you to the kitchen so we can prop up your foot and inspect the damage,” my mother suggested as she gently maneuvered me down the hall.

I allowed her to lower me into one of the lawn chairs while she rushed to cover the other chair with paper towels so she could prop my foot up.

I sat obediently while she dampened several paper towels and began patting my foot clean. Once she was satisfied, she began to examine my entire foot, even parting my toes in search of wounds.

After a thorough investigation, she seemed satisfied. “The good news is that most of the cuts are superficial, and we won’t have to rush you to the emergency room for a tetanus shot.”

She looked at me expectantly. Doing my best to sound enthusiastic, I managed a weak, “Yay.”

I should have been thrilled to skip a trip to the hospital—I hated going to the doctor—but my recent experience had drained me emotionally, leaving me numb and dull.

“Why don’t I fetch your slippers?” my mother offered. “Then we can talk.”

“I would like that,” I said, forcing the corners of my mouth to turn into what I hoped was a smile.

“Don’t doze off while I’m gone,” she warned as she left the room.

“I don’t think you need to worry about that,” I said truthfully. I was wide awake now, and after what I’d just experienced, I doubted I would sleep again.

I propped up my elbow so I could rest my head on my hand and remained that way until my mother returned with my slippers. I carefully slid my injured foot into the soft fabric, grateful for the comfort.

“Why don’t we clean up your other foot?” my mother suggested. “I wouldn’t want your slippers to get dirty.”

I nodded and allowed her to lift my other foot, observing as she scrubbed black grime off the pad of it.

“I can’t believe the floors are this dirty,” she complained as she reached for more paper towels. “We are going to hire a professional cleaning service to give this house a deep cleaning.”

“Before or after we call the exterminator to rid the attic of black widows?” I queried.

“Damn it,” she cursed. “I had almost forgotten.”

“I wish I could forget,” I muttered as my mother released my foot and lowered it to the ground.

“All clean now.”

“Thank you,” I told her, ensuring that my tone reflected my gratitude.

She hurried to dispose of the dirty towels, then took the empty seat opposite me. “Are you all right?” she asked. “It seems like you had quite a nightmare.”

I was anything but all right. My head was throbbing as a consequence of the sharp slaps I’d received, but I didn’t dare complain. The dream still hovered at the edges of my mind, and the pain was the only thing keeping it at bay.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she pressed.

My first instinct was to shake my head, but I stopped myself and shrugged instead. “There is nothing to talk about,” I lied. “I don’t even remember what I was dreaming about.”

My mother looked slightly relieved. “You don’t know how happy that makes me,” she said, bringing her palm to her chest. “The way you reacted when I attempted to wake you, I was certain that you were experiencing something terrible.”

You don’t know the half of it, I thought. Aloud, I said, “I’m glad too, Mom.”

“You gave me quite a scare,” she continued. “When I first woke up and couldn’t find you, I imagined the worst. I was just as frightened when I found you in the basement, staring at the wall.”

“My eyes were open?” I asked, sitting up with interest.

She nodded. “Your eyes were glazed over, as if you were in a trance. I have never seen you like that.”

“Plenty of people sleepwalk,” I assured her.

“I don’t think you were just sleepwalking,” my mother interjected. “I believe you were having a night terror.”

“What’s the difference?” I asked.

“Well, night terrors are often associated with trauma or PTSD,” she explained, rubbing her forehead—something she did when she was under stress. “I think perhaps moving wasn’t such a good idea. At least, not so soon after your father’s passing.”

I completely agreed with her, but I was not about to admit it. My mother often took things to heart. If I told her that I felt completely devastated by our move, she would never forgive herself.

“Mom, I don’t think it was the move,” I said. “I agreed to come, didn’t I?”

“Only because it was what I wanted,” she countered, bowing her head and pinching the bridge of her nose. “I should have considered your feelings first. I’m sorry, honey. I am so ashamed.”

I leaned forward and clasped my mother’s free hand. “I’m glad you decided to forge a new path,” I said, “because at home, you were dying.” I was only attempting to unburden my mother, but once the words left my lips, I realized I was being honest.

“It wasn’t that bad,” she argued. “I was just in a rut. I would have come out of it, eventually.”

“You can’t be certain of that,” I persisted. “And I do not blame you for being depressed. Daddy was a good man—so good that our entire town would never let you forget it.”

This was true; every time my mother had dared to venture out of the house, some well-meaning neighbor would corner her to reminisce about my father, never giving her a reprieve from her pain.

“I would rather be with you here than risk losing you forever,” I said.

“You remind me of your father when you talk like that,” she remarked, giving my hand a squeeze. “I know you worry about me, but I won’t let myself off the hook that easily. I knew it would be hard on you to part with Haylee, and look how upset you were when you learned that she was dating Payton.”

“I’m not angry at her for dating Payton. I’m mad about how quickly it happened,” I clarified. “I was hardly gone before she replaced me.”

“Oh, honey, you can’t fault Haylee for that,” my mother said, sitting up so she could lean over and drop a kiss on my head. “It’s your fault for not realizing how irreplaceable you are.”

“Oh, don’t give me that baloney,” I complained, playfully pushing her away.

“It’s true,” she persisted. “And Haylee hasn’t forgotten you. I heard your phone ding several times during lunch, and you hardly glanced at it.”

I averted my eyes so my mother wouldn’t see my guilt. Haylee had tried to text me, but I’d only read the previews; she suspected something, even asking me at one point if I was mad at her.

“I don’t want to hear how great her life is without me,” I confessed.

“It’s not been two days,” my mother pointed out. “Besides, doesn’t Haylee deserve a friend she can share her joy with?”

“Ugh.” I grimaced. “Cut it out with the guilt trip. I’ll call her.”

“Good.” She stood. “While you do that, I’m going to order us a pizza for supper. We let time get away from us, and now it’s too late to cook.”

“I completely agree,” I said as I pulled myself to my feet. “I’m going to call Haylee back, and if there is time before the pizza arrives, I might take a bath. My little adventure has left me a bit grimy.”

“Good idea. Don’t fall asleep in the tub,” she advised me as I turned to leave the room.

I waited until I was sure she was out of earshot before muttering, “I don’t plan to sleep again.”

I began to ascend the stairs, pausing when I realized the basement door had been left open. I rushed over to close it, but not without tossing an apprehensive look into the darkness.

Even now I could hear that inhuman voice whisper, “Anything?”

And I couldn’t help but wonder how Dan had responded.