Spreading void, ill light Match's neglect waxes high As hollow wick dries
Thick pools of viscous swirled and bounced in front of my vision as I struggled, trying to adjust to the all-encompassing void. I searched in vain to discern shapes the pitch, hungry to pick out anything familiar. I couldn’t see a thing.
The house’s darkness was unyielding, holding tightly to any vestige of light. Deprivation had a lethargic effect on me, bonding with some primitive fear that seemed all too happy to glue my legs in place. This instinct continued its torment by spreading cold goosebumps that crawled over my skin like wildfire. The unpleasant sensation was causing the hairs on my arms to stand at attention.
I stretched out my hands slowly and they soon discovered the hollow door frame I was standing in. The wood’s tactile reassurance offered very little in the way of comfort as it was but an insignificant island in an overwhelming sea of abstract. And yet the dim glitter of hope held me captive. As often an anchor moors against an anxious tide, I too stood hostage, tethered to this hollow refuge.
The sleeping house was still new to me, having only moved in the week before. Most of my belongings were still locked safely in cardboard and smothered in bubble-wrap, strewn about the strange rooms with curious abandon. There was simply no sense of where things were in the dark.
Gradually, ever so slowly quietly, I felt myself calming down, gaining control. Relieved that the tension was finally over, I took a steadying breath, chasing out the last knots of terror from my stomach. I was going to be okay.
As soon as I released my noisy exhale, it echoed back to me from beyond the black. As if waiting for this very moment a savage snarl broke out from down the hallway. Something had heard me. Something alive was with me in this darkness, and now it knew exactly where I was.
Oh dear, I fear this cocky ship’s sinking more each day Abandoned by the oars, I’m following all the same Good intentions won’t long keep these weathered boards afloat Best chances of not drowning were safely staying home Oh curse you waves! Your sharks need little excuse to feed Cruel ocean gnaws at me for sailing carelessly