Overthinking the Dark

The night was young. That’s what the partygoers said, anyways. In all reality it had been nearing two AM. The music had turned into a background noise for the terrible singing and loud laughter. Ethan’s company had disappeared a few shots in, the two leaving to go to a hotel. He wondered if they were having fun. He was sitting at the bar while he sipped carefully at a drink he hadn’t wanted. The conversations with him died quickly, like usual. He had gotten stuck staring out the window at the dark sky and light stars and rare car. Finally, after another failed attempt at connection with the bartender, he decided staying was pointless and a little embarrassing. Ethan paid his and his long-gone friends’ tabs and stumbled out the back door.

With the moon in the sky but not shining, the forest was darker than Ethan had ever seen. The trees didn’t cast shadows, though there was no light to shade. Roots stuck out of the ground, nearly invisible. It was unusually quiet, other than the wind and occasional nocturnal creature. Leaves crunched underfoot, another sign that winter was on its way. As if the cold wasn’t enough already. Some people might have been worried, of paranormal things or dangerous animals or people who lurked in the dark. Not him, though. There was no reason to worry of things that didn’t exist or weren’t much threat to him. Ethan couldn’t wait to get home, truly. He could have ordered an Uber. Warm, quick, comfortable seats…

“Oh well,” Ethan sighed, finishing his thought aloud. Walking was better for a person and the environment anyway.

Just as he passed the tree, the one with the branches that seemed to reach much further than made sense for its height, his toe caught on a root he didn’t remember. He tumbled down the slight decline of the familiar hill. He stopped rolling after a moment and regretted every bit of alcohol he had. He stared up at the sky. There were clouds, he could tell by the way the stars kept disappearing. His arms had been scraped slightly while he fell, but he was fine other than that. Ethan pushed himself up with a quiet groan onto his hands and knees. A bush rustled nearby, and an owl called from a neighboring tree.

He stared at the dusty ground once more before he positioned himself to stand. That was when his eye caught the glint of rusted metal beneath his shoe. He got back onto the ground after a second of hesitation, thinking only of how much he wanted to go to bed. He brushed some dust away from the steel, wiping the remains onto his jeans. Whatever it was, it had been much larger than Ethan expected. He chuckled exhaustedly to himself at the absurdity of the situation and continued to dig.

Several minutes later and lots of regret, the surface had been unburied. It had been dented and worn by what Ethan assumed to be dozens of years. The original shine was only visible in some areas, and even those were dull compared to his rings or earrings. A slight design showed in raised sections, but he couldn’t figure out what it could have been. There was a handle.

“Huh…” murmured Ethan. Maybe it was an old bunker. Maybe it was locked. He wanted to get home, but curiosity got the better of him. He grabbed the handle and pulled. It didn’t move at first, but eventually the sound of metal scraping against metal echoed through the otherwise silent forest. It felt like he was lifting something that weighed a hundred pounds, but he knew it was the hinges not the weight.

The hole beneath the hatch was deep. Ethan could not see the bottom. With his phone’s flashlight he lit the vertical tunnel. There was a ladder and more cobwebs than Ethan’s arachnophobia appreciated. Between the alcohol in his body and the curiosity pulsing through him, he began getting ready to go down. He found a stone and dropped it. Just like he had hoped, it caught most of the webs and dragged them to the bottom. The rock hit the ground after a few seconds with a noisy clang! Ethan could have sworn there was a second sound as well from the bottom, but he didn’t think into it too much. He did not overthink often. With most of his biggest issue gone, he swung his legs over and onto the ladder. He didn’t make it all the way in before his wrinkled t-shirt caught on a sharp piece of the steel.

“Great. Just perfect,” Ethan whined, taking the fabric off the snag and observing the hole. He tried to readjust the shirt but stopped abruptly.

“Grr-rea… prrfe…”

The bunker beneath him, dead quiet seconds earlier, seemed to reply to his complaint. Something tried to form the same words he had said. Ethan swore and scrambled quickly off the ladder and onto the dusty ground. He closed the hatch frantically and stood. He really wished he would have just gone to bed.

The next morning, Ethan was in bed, pajamas swallowing him whole beneath the blankets. He had taken work off. The night before continued to repeat. Had he only imagined the non-human voice? Or perhaps he had hit his head when he fell? He replayed the scenario again. No, he hadn’t hit his head. He wasn’t that drunk; he knew for certain as well. Maybe the whole thing was a dream. But the scrapes on his arms said otherwise.

He didn’t like this. Overthinking. It was new for him, and he couldn’t imagine doing it more than once. Too much effort, too much worry. He gave himself a new topic to overthink. Should he see a doctor? Because he was obviously going insane, right? Creatures in holes in the dark that spoke didn’t exist. He rolled over in his bed, groaning while he dropped his face into the pillow.

“Fine!” he finally surrendered to his rushing river of thoughts. He kicked off the covers, grumbling, and threw on his shirt from the day before, the hole another reminder that it was all real.

Ethan was at the hospital for longer than he would normally have accepted. He would have complained, made a fit, but today he was quiet, waiting for his turn. When a short woman with a clipboard called “Ethan?”  relief washed over him.

After several tests and a quick couple of questions about the medical side of things, the doctor found that nothing was wrong with him. So, they began on the mental side. By then, Ethan had brought up the supposed “monster in the bunker” enough that the people working with him could guess what he was going to say just by the tone.

“So, Ethan,” began the doctor, a tall woman with short hair and a raspy voice. There was a name tag on her uniform. Doctor Sylvie, it read. She was staring through her glasses at the list of symptoms. “You’re certain you have not been diagnosed with mental illnesses?”

Ethan nodded.

“And you are not on any prescriptions?” she dragged, clicking her pen.

“No prescriptions,” he replied, adjusting his shirt for the sixth time. Doctor Sylvie sighed and pushed her glasses up. She handed Ethan a card, then a small bag of care supplies.

“Just call if it happens again,” she said, already turned to begin with the next patient. Ethan contemplated making a scene about the service but left instead.

His alarm blared at 6:30, just like always. Ethan found himself thinking again. He hadn’t heard from his friends since the bar. They must’ve been fine, though. Just busy. His pajama tag was bugging him again. It was doing that the day before, wasn’t it? It hadn’t done that before. The sun was too bright. His head hurt. Was his bed always this messy? Did his clothes always smell? He moved his hand up to his face and covered his eyes, fingers twisted into his hair. He looked at the time again. How had it already been an hour? He had to get to work, didn’t he?

A strong trio of knocks hit his front door. He waited a minute, wondering if it was just a delivery. Another few knocks. He reluctantly pulled himself from his bed and wandered through the house. He opened the door with a yawn. He looked out the door only to be met by his front doorstep empty other than a newspaper. Early, and one he had never seen before. At least it had the crossword. He carried it inside, just like always.

             Ethan tried to contact his doctor, who he had figured out was called Doctor Sylvie, and got no response. He didn’t think too hard about it. He also tried to reach out to his friends, who he also had not heard from. Neither replied. The sun started to set, casting pink glows across the clouds, and Ethan began feeling a little confused. He decided to go for a walk to clear his head, maybe stop by his friends’ apartment and check on them. He would take the shortcut through the forest, because there was no reason to be afraid of something that did not exist.

             He walked through the tree, only the faint dusk light casting in the thicket. He paused at the base of the hill he fell down nearly three days ago. The one that had, unfortunately, caused him to overthink more than he had before. The bunker hatch was still unburied but wasn’t closed like Ethan was certain he had left it. There was a scarf keeping the metal from sealing. It felt oddly familiar to the young man, but he couldn’t place it. It was torn it some places and wet in others. Purple and white knit dirtied by the tan dust turned mud. It hadn’t rained recently…

             Ethan crouched down and pulled the hatch open to free the fabric. It was just as dark in the hole as before. He nearly closed it once again but stopped himself. The doctor’s scarf. He looked around, suddenly uncomfortable. There was no more brightness, just the feeling that something was watching his every move. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and a shiver ran though him. A glint of shine in the black had him moving. There was nothing for the object to reflect, and yet here it was. One of his friends had always worn a watch. Gold and very important to them. It was broken and scratched laying in front of Ethan.

             His breath had begun to pick up and the dark didn’t feel like the lack of light but a living thing, pressed into his back and side and arms. Maybe he was scared of the dark a little, but he would never admit that. There was no wind that night, no animals to break the silence and remind him where he was. Until a sharp cry climbed its way from the bunker. He whipped around, eyes wide. With trembling hands, he crawled to the hole again, looking down. For a terrifying minute there was nothing, but Ethan couldn’t make himself move.

             “Hello…?” Ethan finally whispered. There was the sound of movement beneath him, and when he flinched his eyes caught four sets of eyes watching him. He didn’t know why they were there or if he was imagining it. He didn’t have to wonder long. His shoe was left behind when he was pulled under by cold, slimy hands.

             There were several posters glued, nailed, and taped around town. Not for Ethan or his friends, no one really knew them enough to file a missing persons report. But for dozens of other people. Doctor Sylvie was one of them. Ethan’s newspapers were starting to stack up on his doorstep, some warped from weeks of rain, others new that week. How strange that was.