Bump in the Night Friday 4th of October 2019 03:26:23 AM CDT I've never been afraid of the dark. I learned very early on in life that true horror is found in the yellowy shine of old overhead lights, the fluorescent glare reflecting off the bathroom tiles, and the dying flickers of a cluttered basement. For as long as I can remember, the dark has been my sanctuary. Darkness meant safety, darkness meant silence and sleep, a time to mend your hurts and to cry in peace. God help you if you cried where They could see you. School was a confusing time for me. I never made any friends, and my teachers seemed uncomfortable around me. When I asked a classmate about it during recess, they told me it was because of my "shitty old rags". It didn't make much sense to me, after all, these were all the clothes They said I deserved, and I told him as much. I even took the time to warn him that saying bad words would get him the belt. He stopped talking to me after that. Sometimes I think I can still feel the bruises from the beating They gave me after that. Throughout middle school, I started to wonder why I was so different from the other kids. For their birthdays, they got cake and presents and parties. For mine, I got the year's worst beatings and a night on the cold, hard, basement floor. They had fancy clothes without any holes or tears, shoes with bright colors and straight laces. My clothes were only replaced when I physically couldn't squeeze into them anymore, and my shoes only ever came with velcro. When I asked Them about all these things, They twisted my arm until I cried and told me never to tell anyone else. They never sent me to high school. I had been held back enough to pass the Compulsory Education age limit, or so They said. I was pretty thankful for that, nobody else really understood me like They did. They told me as much, too. I was Their mistake, Their failure, and spending anymore time or money on me than necessary was unfathomable. Things like clothing, books, gas, food... these were expensive, and that money was better spent elsewhere. I would get by on Their scraps. I could do that for Them. Today is my 18th birthday. I'm sitting on the floor of the living room, in my designated corner, far from the couch and the TV. I like it back here, it's dark and safe. I can see the TV screen past Their heads; there's some warning on the news about a dangerous animal on the loose in the area. Pets are going missing, sheds being broken into, sounds of movement at night, tripped proximity alarms... the list goes on. The sound of a glass bottle being set down on the coffee table in front of the couch draws my attention away from the screen. My mind retreats inward; I will be getting my 'present' soon. It starts with His boots. My knees scream at me after the first few kicks, so I draw them up to my chest, but that only exposes my shins and my bare feet. My tattered old jeans don't do much to soak the hits, and He doesn't need to hold back anymore, since I have no one to hide the bruises and cuts from. She stands off to the side, glaring at me with all the hate of a woman denied her life. A life free from all the responsibilities and debts that come from raising a piece of trash like me. Some days She joins in with Her own blows; most of the time, she provides verbal backup instead. Today she is quiet, either too drunk or not drunk enough to muster any spiteful remarks. His belt is in His hand now. I hear Him sneering and growling and spitting at me, but His hate falls on deaf ears. The pain helps me find my center, helps me tune out His verbal abuse. It's the lesser of two evils; my bruises will fade, but I would be lying if I said His words don't cause an aching in my heart. I know I'm trash. I'm a burden, a mistake... but somewhere in the back of my shriveled ego, a voice whispers in my ear, begging, "Why? Why do I have to suffer? And for how long? When will it be over? Will it ever be over?" THUMP Silence. I come crashing back into myself, my eyes fixed on the hallway to my right. I know that They are looking too. It's impossible to mistake the direction of the sound, despite the distance. Something very big and very heavy just fell in the basement. I'm pulled to my aching feet by a calloused hand around my wrist. Both of Them are deadly silent, but I already know what They're thinking. Cruel hands force me down the hall to the basement door, and before I can so much as utter a complaint, I'm sent tumbling down the stairs into the blessed dark. Pain, my old friend. It courses through my body as my wits return to me. I feel a wet line running down from my messy hair, over my nose, and onto my lips. I try my limbs, one at a time. Nothing I can't move. By some miracle (or curse), I'm spared any obvious crippling injury, and so my attention turns to the dark stretching out before me. Isolated in an island of light shining down from the door above, my eyes struggle to adjust to the gloom of the basement. I'm familiar enough with its layout, but the idea of something foreign and dangerous creeping around out of sight sent chills up my spine. On the opposite end of room, just visible over the rows of boxes and old furniture, I can see the stairway leading up to the backyard, lit by moonlight streaming in from the opened double doors. I can hear Him calling down to me, his voice demanding... afraid. Something about that pleases me, but I know better than to try to spook him more. Instead I focus on the shadows ahead of me, straining my eyes, trying to spot an unfamiliar shape, or perhaps a lurching movement. I see nothing, and tell Them as much. They're on me in a flash, His fist striking me across the temple. The world spins, my ass hits the ground hard. He curses me for finding nothing, for surviving the trip down, for surviving the long days without food, the bouts of illness, the beatings... he curses me for existing. The fear spurred something in his alcohol-addled mind, reminded him of his weakness, and he would make me suffer for it. He struck me again, and I crumble to the ground, my cheek pressed against the cold stone floor. I'm cast into darkness by Their combined shadows, and in that darkness, for the first time in my life, I pray. I pray for an end, for relief, for salvation. Anything. The door above me closes, and She's there with him now, her heartless eyes showing no mercy or regret. She reaches out to the wall, Her bony finger flicking the switch. The lightbulb dangling from the ceiling flickers on, then off, then on. It's on its last legs, I suppose. The flashes of light reveal more of the cluttered impromptu storage room, the piles of boxes casting shadows on concrete walls. A boot lands on my chest, knocking the air from me, and I curl into a ball reflexively, a quiet whimper escaping my bloody lips. Through the shield of my arms, I stare into the basement, and in the flickering light, an orphaned shadow stares back at me. My heart jumps in my chest. The light flickers off, then on. The shadow is bigger now. Both of Them are spitting malice down at me, but Their words are distant. Off... on. It's even bigger- no, not bigger, closer. It's standing right behind Them now, looming a full head over Him, casting its own shadow over the sources of my lifelong suffering. They've gone quiet now, their eyes wide with fear. They turn... and the light burns out. Their screams are short, though the muffled sound of struggling continues for a bit longer before dying out. I lie as still as I can on the floor, bathing in the darkness, the only source of light coming from the opened doors at the far end of the room. In the silence I hear rhythmic tapping, the sound of footsteps that must have been drowned out by the angry tirade being hurled in my direction. As my eyes adjust to the gloom, they're met by four pairs of amber orbs, regarding me with... sympathy. Her shape is vaguely feminine, alien yet familiar. Narrow shoulders, a slender torso, two arms, a head... all covered in segments of smooth black chitin. There's a slight swell to her naked chest, though I can't quite make out anything I would call breasts. Her head is smooth, with two of her eyes where they would be on a human, plus three extra eyes forming a semi-circle around each of them. A single dot of red serves as a pupil in those pools of gold, all eight of them focused on me. Her hands sport three fingers and a thumb, each tipped with a sharpened point. Below the waist, things get stranger. Her body is very much like a spider, with her humanoid torso emerging from six powerful jointed legs, each of them tapering into a rounded point. Behind her, a large abdomen is held aloft from the floor. Everything is covered in the same smooth chitin, so dark that it seems to absorb the dim light around her. She towers over me, easily taller than anybody I've ever met, and yet despite her size and her shape, I am not afraid. Her monstrous form is fascinating to me, and in our held gaze I see nothing but concern. Kindness. Her upper half bends forward, her arms hooking under me, lifting me effortlessly. The floor drops away from me, but in her strong arms, I feel safer than I've ever felt. From this closer vantage point, I can see the lower half of her face is a collection of shifting plates and mandibles, forming the facsimile of a mouth and cheeks. They shift upward into something resembling a smile. She coos at me, her 'voice' a soft rustling of shifting plates and clicking of mandibles. I can see the ivory tips of two fangs peaking out from under the uppermost mandible, but my eyes are focused on hers. Gazing into the eyes of my gentle savior, I feel my worries fade away, and with them, my energy. I'm suddenly so very tired, my head coming to rest against her shoulder. It's smooth, soft, and warm. My eyes close as she begins to move, slumber overtaking me as I'm pulled away from my old life, and carried into the unknown by an eight-legged angel cloaked in black.