To Be Afraid of the Dark
　
The ground was cold and wet beneath my feet . The sun shined bright above, briefly overtaking the previous nights clouds , and soaking up the dew that suspended from the grass like leftover icicles from a winter’s day snow . Mother complained about the humidity ruining her hair , almost as much as she whined about me not bothering to fix mine . “ It is our first day moving in , at least TRY to make a good impression on the neighbors.” she had crowed. Anyone smart would be inside in their pajama pants reading or watching television. This was my first time to see the house , the closest neighbors were barely noticeable except for the tip of the roof protruding over a distant hill.
I set the box I had been carrying by the door. The house was big, and Victorian, a shade between dark cream and heavy white. Dark auburn shingles ,and many large windows plotted the house . A vast white-picket fence surrounded the property , a paint-cracked porch swing swayed on the deck. It was a fixer -upper . But it was beautiful.
“ It’s beautiful , isn’t it?” she smiled ,walking up behind me , “ And it is even prettier inside.” she continued. She went to open the door, tripping on my box. Her smile abruptly dropped . She opened her mouth as I braced myself for another lecture. She closed it without a word, kicking the box to the side, and disappeared into the house. I reluctantly picked up the box , and followed.
The wooden floors glistened as the sun filtered through the windows ,
reflecting off the new gloss coat. I set the box down in the kitchen, there was the fridge and wine-cooler Mom had mentioned. “ There is one of those cool fridges with the buttons and a built-in wine-cooler !” she said , trying to make me happy to move. None of us drink wine , I thought, kicking the cooler for good measure. Mother was very picky , but also very easily impressed … fridges… she had reached a new low. Nothing could make me happy to move , two years into high school. Next year everyone would already have formed their stereotype group of friends, and I would be what … new-girl. That’s what.
Outback an old twisted tree stood close to the porch . The rest of the land as far as I could see was plain except for a barn-house and a shed . To think all of this , every acre… was ours. I gazed across the yard , but I always came back to the tree. A tire swing hung from a worn , yellowing rope . Twirling back and forth , spinning and weaving around , then bouncing back the other way , playing tether ball with itself . I tugged on the rope. Though worn and weathered , it seemed sturdy , but even if the rope was reliable , the tree wasn’t . It looked lightning struck , twisted and black , rotting and dead . The grass surrounding it was dead, in contrast to the vibrant , green vegetation that grew everywhere else . The smell of decay grew strong, swirling around me in a thick mist , filling my nose to where I could taste it. “That is the stench of loneliness,” I whispered” I know how you feel , Lonely Tree.” And as I said those words I couldn’t help but wonder, if I smelled that way.
　
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“ Another storm is rolling in . Blackouts are highly predicted in this area and the chances are they are going to last at few days. I called the electric company and they said we might be out for even longer , considering the low amount of transformers and power lines around here. Just thought I would warn you that the house is going to be dark for a few days. Don’t get too scared, we have plenty of flashlights and a Coleman lantern. “ Mom said as she set down another box. “ I know your scared , it’s a new place, and there is no lights. But it will be okay. And just try not to worry. Moving is hard, I know, I have done a fair share of it myself. Here is a flashlight. And I don’t want you outside with this storm rolling in, okay?” I nodded , taking the flashlight.
I stood there frozen for a long time . Petrified. I hated the country and moving even more now. We were fine in our little apartment in New York , where it was never dark . Where I never had to face my fear . “ Honey , look. I know it is a shock. But you haven’t even seen upstairs. Your worrying me just standing there like a statue in the middle of the floor,“ Mom said , I looked around , I was surrounded by mounds of boxes and duffel bags. “ Please. Go take a look around upstairs and get used to the house. It will help. I promise. “ she pleaded. “Fine. “ I replied , and headed upstairs.
The steps creaked underneath me . Screeching at a newly found owner to walk all over them, to bend and break and morph them even more. To test their shiny new coat ,and make it dull again. With every step they held their breath as if trying not to burst out into childish screams of pure agony. As if trying not to let the pain seep in. as if trying to warn me, like in scary movies, that I shouldn’t be going up them, that something was not right.
A long hallway stretched ,never ending , to a small end table and a dusty window. Dead roses and an empty picture frame sat on the table collecting dust , along with a pull-down string that must have led to the attic. The smell of musk, cigarette smoke, and an orangey failed attempt to cover it lingered around me. Tugging at my clothes, seeping into my skin, whispering in my ear. Swirling around me, as if inspecting the smell of my deodorant, my toothpaste, the faint smell of my detangler spray, as if summing me up in one long sniff.
The clunking sound of a nearby generator echoed deep and hard . Pushing through the stench to whisper in my ear. I slowly walked down the hall peeking in each of the rooms. Each one an exact replica of the last, just different sizes.
My room was the one at the very end of the hall. The largest , besides the master, in the house , and the only way to describe it was stuffy and smelly. It smelt like an old grandmother’s room who had closed the door and smoked her life away, only to be found on her bed , eyes shut, with a cigarette in her mouth and an ash tray in her brittle hands. This was perhaps the only room, where you could not smell the thick spraying of orange air freshener . Whether they didn’t bother with this room ,or it just couldn’t compete with the stench of tobacco , I didn’t know, but part of me wished that there was the smell of the cheap drugstore aerosol. So that I wasn’t the odd one out, the weird one, and so that I could at least think that they cared about my nose hairs, too.
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That night we ate early to avoid the dark. There was no clinking of forks on plates , or spoons on the edges of a bowl. Just the scraping of our plastic utensils on the inside of a paper lantern box. The occasional sound of a piece of orange chicken being chewed, or a grain of fried rice sticking to your mouth, but no talking.
That night I went to bed early, to avoid the dark.

A bit longer than my other posts, nothing I really commited to, just something I did when I was bored.