Only in the Dark

I still don’t know why it happened to me. I have no idea when or how I managed to break the unspoken rules of dealing with anything mystical—you know, things like “don’t stare at mirrors for too long,” “always keep your feet under the blanket at night,” and so on. But I really didn’t do anything that could have drawn their attention. I didn’t bring strange objects home, found somewhere or bought on sale, didn’t talk to suspicious strangers, didn’t try divination or dabble in “magical” rituals, not even watch horror movies at night. No one had ever died in my apartment, no one had ever ended their life here…

Shall I tell you how it all started?.. About a week ago, the light in my bathroom started acting up. Nothing major—just that it didn’t turn on immediately. There was a two- or three-second delay between flipping the switch and the bulb lighting up. Why it suddenly started happening—I don’t know, I’m no electrician; my knowledge of this stuff barely goes beyond high school physics. Hitting the switch harder didn’t help, changing the bulb didn’t help either, and there was nothing else I could do. But the darkness made me uneasy, so before entering, I would always hesitate, suspiciously glancing either at the mirror or at the strip of pitch-black shadow under the bathtub, and wait for the light to come on. But I never stayed scared of the same thing for long. And so it happened that one morning I was in a rush and, ignoring everything, stepped into the still-dark room… only to scream and rush back into the hallway immediately.

Someone touched me. From above. I felt a light, careful, yet unmistakable touch on my hair—too real to be imagination. And there were no drafts in the apartment to explain it. At that moment, I didn’t even try to guess what kind of weirdness it could be—I was far too terrified. I avoided the bathroom for the rest of the day, and after that, I never stepped inside it unless the light was on. And it wasn’t about seriously believing that some evil monster was waiting for me; it just made me feel safer that way.

And indeed, that worked—for the next few days. Until the power went out.

It went out briefly, only for a couple of minutes, but that was enough to trigger a small but intense panic. I happened to be brushing my teeth at the time, and I only stayed in the bathroom because I was frozen in shock. When the light came back on, I nearly had a heart attack: right in front of me, at the top of the mirror, was a dirty human handprint. Upside down. As if someone had hung upside down from the ceiling and pressed their hand to the glass.

That’s when I first thought I should find another apartment with a proper bathroom. But I had never encountered anything like this before and probably underestimated the danger. And that was a mistake. Because the third time I saw it…

It happened late in the evening. I was sitting in my bedroom at the computer, reading some online book, unsuspecting. Naturally, I got thirsty, and to get to the kitchen, I had to pass through the hallway by the bathroom. At that time, the route didn’t scare me too much; I thought I just needed to avoid entering that cursed room. I stood up, approached the door, and— I don’t know what saved me that night, but I owe it a huge thanks—somehow I happened to look up at the ceiling. And I froze.

It was sitting on the ceiling near the bathroom door, staring at me with dull, milky eyes. It looked like a huge clump of fur, vaguely human in shape. Instead of legs, it had six long, strangely bent arms attached to its torso. It resembled a spider, a gigantic, furry spider with a human head and arms. Under my stunned gaze, it flattened against the ceiling and then darted quickly into a corner, disappearing.

I stayed in my bedroom until morning, turning on the chandelier, a nightlight, a desk lamp, and almost a pocket flashlight. I was shaking. I desperately wanted to drink, but no force could have made me step into the dark hallway at that point, and to turn on the light there, I would have had to go at least five steps in—an impossible feat for me at the time. From the corridor came rustling and scraping sounds, with a sharp smell vaguely like sour milk. I climbed onto the bed, clutching the blanket, terrified to close my eyes even for a moment. I kept feeling as if the moment I fell asleep, it would crawl out from the corridor, and… I almost felt its rigid fingers sinking into me, dragging me upward, toward those threatening snapping jaws…

Only at dawn could I finally catch my breath.

By now I’ve realized I wasted my time tormenting myself with sleeplessness. Sleeping with the lights on was perfectly safe: wherever they hid at other times, these creatures only appear in the dark. It doesn’t matter whether it’s day or night, whether the victim is awake or asleep—if there is darkness, they come out to hunt. So now, the lights stay on in my apartment 24/7. It seems to help; I haven’t seen them up close again. But I know they are still there: maybe it’s an instinctive sense of prey, but I can feel them watching me, sensing their wild hunger and impatience. The whole apartment reeks of sour milk, and cracks have started appearing on the ceiling in the bathroom and hallway. Each day the cracks spread, forming a web-like pattern.

I am terrified to the point of nausea and cold sweat whenever the power goes out. I want to move, but I’m not sure that will help. The only thing keeping me from losing my mind is hope—perhaps I can last long enough for the creatures to grow bored and leave, looking for easier prey.