Child of Light, Chapter 4

Beware the Darkness

Previously in Chapter 3: Friend or Foe...

Elswyth is unsettled when the imposing Mr. Fairweather arrives, his cold demeanor and lingering gaze putting her on edge. After Mr. Hawthorne greets him with unusual familiarity, El overhears their tense conversation about something extinct and the mysterious "a'mun sul," leaving her uneasy and questioning the nature of their business.

The rest of the day passed like any other, though the faint creak of Mr. Hawthorne’s back office door never came. Customers filtered in and out, their voices drifting like a low hum through the shelves, mixing with the soft rustle of pages turning. The musty scent of aged paper enveloped me, a comforting blanket that whispered stories long forgotten. Some lingered, chatting about the latest town gossip—who’d just gotten engaged, which neighbor had painted their fence the wrong shade of blue.

Across from the front counter, a little lounge area offered a quiet retreat. Two armchairs, worn but inviting, flanked a small coffee table strewn with half-folded magazines and a few of Mr. Hawthorne's favorite books, their spines cracked from years of love. Above the display, an old German cuckoo clock—dark wood, with delicate carvings of birds, leaves, and acorns—kept time with a steady tick-tock. The birds would spring to life on the hour, though the mechanical sound had grown a little tired, like everything else in the shop.

When the clock struck eight, its tiny doors flew open with a sharp click, the carved birds making their slow, mechanical dance. I stretched, feeling the stiffness in my legs, and wandered toward the front door. With a soft sigh, I flipped the sign to Closed, the satisfying snick of the lock echoing in the quiet. Another day done, the shop now ours again—silent, almost sacred in the dim evening light filtering through the windows.

I hesitated as my hand hovered over the register drawer. I’d avoided disturbing Mr. Hawthorne all day, afraid of what I might see in his eyes—or worse, what he might see in mine. Now, the thought of facing him, alone, after everything… My stomach twisted into tight knots, a dull nausea creeping through me.

I’d done a decent job keeping busy, distracting myself with the mindless flow of customers and dusting every inch of the front displays. But now, with the shop silent and the clock’s tick echoing in the quiet, my thoughts raced, each question louder than the last. Do they know about my dream? Who was that voice? Did they call me a’mun sul? Do they want to kill me? Since when do Mr. Hawthorne and Mr. Fairweather work together?

The more I tried to push them away, the faster they spun, circling relentlessly in my mind. My chest tightened with every unanswered question, but I couldn’t just stand at the front of the shop, frozen in place. With a reluctant sigh, I cashed out the register, the coins clinking in the drawer somehow sounding louder in the stillness.

Each step toward the little office felt heavier than the last, like wading through deep water. The old wooden floor creaked beneath my feet, the familiar sound now unsettling in the thick silence. My pulse thrummed in my ears, matching the quickening pace of my heart as I approached the office door. My fingers trembled slightly as I reached for the knob.

I slowly turned it, the door creaking softly as it swung open, revealing an empty room. The little desk light cast a warm, golden glow in the surrounding darkness, but it did nothing to calm the sudden lurch in my stomach. Where had Mr. Hawthorne gone? I hadn’t seen him leave all day.

I glanced over my shoulder, scanning the rows of shelves in the dim back of the shop. My pulse quickened. Maybe I missed him? But the shop was empty, the soft ticking of the clock the only sound. “Mr. Hawthorne?” I called out, my voice shaky, but the silence that followed was thicker than before. No response.

Relief and fear twisted together inside me, both gnawing at my gut. I didn’t know which unsettled me more—his absence or the fact that I had no idea where he could have gone. All I knew was that for the first time in my life, I wanted to leave the bookshop. Fast.

I stepped behind the desk to count the register, but something caught my eye. Mr. Hawthorne’s brown leather satchel lay beside the desk, slumped on the floor as if he’d just dropped it and vanished. That’s strange… He never left without it. A chill crawled up my spine, prickling the back of my neck.

I sidestepped the bag, almost tiptoeing around it like it was something dangerous—a mud puddle I didn’t want to step in, or something worse. The air felt suddenly heavier, like the room itself was watching, waiting for me to make a move.

I hurriedly sank into the old office chair, its worn leather groaning under my weight, and dragged the account book closer. My fingers fumbled with the pen as I jotted down the day’s numbers, the scratch of ink on paper the only sound breaking the silence. My heart raced as I counted out the till, prepared the next day’s drawer, and quickly stashed the funds into the safe behind the desk.

With a final exhale, I leaned back in the chair, letting my shoulders finally relax. Just as I reached for the account book again, a sudden chill swept across the back of my neck, sharp and biting. It was as though the cold had seeped straight through the walls—though there were no windows in the office for any breeze to enter.

I froze. The air felt charged, thick with something I couldn’t name, and the chill seemed to deepen, making the room feel smaller. In front of me, the door gave a low, mournful creak. Slowly, almost deliberately, it began to swing shut. My breath caught in my throat as I watched, heart pounding. There’s no draft… I tried to rationalize, but the creeping cold wrapping around me said otherwise. The door closed with a soft, final click, leaving the room unnervingly still.

I sat there, frozen in silence. My breath caught in my chest, eyes wide as I darted glances around the dim room. The warmth of the little desk lamp now felt distant, swallowed by the cold that had crept in moments earlier. My mind raced, but I was stuck, unsure of what to do next.

A soft sound stirred in the stillness, barely noticeable at first—like the faintest breath against my ear. It was distant, yet impossibly close, as though someone were whispering right beside me. My heart lurched, and I jolted in my seat, twisting around, but the room remained empty. I’m alone… right?

The whisper returned, clearer this time, creeping into my ears with an urgency that made my skin crawl. A familiar voice, small but insistent, echoed in my mind. “Leave here, a’mun sul! He’s coming! You must leave! Go now!”

Panic surged through me, and I immediately jumped to my feet as fear took hold. I sprinted for the office door, throwing it open to find the shop still quiet, still empty, a heavy silence pressing down on me. Not even stopping to think, I raced to the front of the store, snatched my bag from the counter, and fumbled with the lock, the sound of metal clinking sharp in the stillness.

Just as I was about to dash for my car, a sudden wave of guilt crashed over me, freezing me in place. I can’t leave the store unlocked… The thought cut through my adrenaline, grounding me for a moment. I turned back, my heart pounding as I fumbled with the keys, my fingers trembling.

As I slid the old brass key into the lock, I caught a glimpse out of the corner of my eye—on the right, the street was starting to dim, the shadows lengthening as if darkness were creeping closer. A shiver ran down my spine, but before I could fully process it, a sudden crash echoed from inside the store. My heart raced; I dared not look.

Without a second thought, I yanked the key from the lock and dashed for my car, adrenaline propelling me forward. Every instinct screamed at me to get away, the growing darkness and that ominous sound urging me to flee.

I dashed around the front of Samwise and yanked the door open, relief flooding through me when I remembered I hadn’t locked the doors. Tonight, that small oversight felt like a lifeline. I tossed my bag into the passenger seat, barely registering it as I fumbled for the key and slid it into the ignition before I was even fully seated.

With a roar, Samwise sprang to life, and without hesitation, I threw him into reverse. As I backed up, my gaze was drawn to the corner of Oak Street where the bookstore stood. The darkness there writhed like a thick fog, swirling around a shadowy figure that seemed to materialize from the night itself. My pulse quickened, a primal instinct kicking in.

Without thinking, I floored it, hurtling down the street in reverse until I passed an empty intersection. I switched Samwise into drive and yanked the wheel to the left, veering away from the encroaching darkness and racing toward home, my heart pounding in my ears.

What the hell was that? Was that Mr. Hawthorne? Mr. Fairweather? Or was it the man from my dream? My mind raced as I sped home, ignoring stop signs one after another. Sometimes, living in a sleepy town has its advantages. My eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, searching for any sign of the shadow that haunted me, but the street behind was empty, illuminated only by the faint glow of the streetlights.

I didn’t stop until I pulled into the driveway, relief flooding over me. By the time I parked, the clock on my dash read 9 p.m.

Mom and Dad are already in bed. I hope they’re okay. They were always in bed by 8 p.m. sharp, early to sleep and early to rise. I took a deep breath, the quiet of home a stark contrast to the chaos I’d just fled.

I surveyed my surroundings from inside Samwise, scanning for any sign of trouble, any hint that something was amiss at home. My knuckles were white as chalk, still gripping the wheel tightly. After a moment, I gently released my grasp, feeling the tension seep from my fingers as I caught my breath.

What did I just witness? The question echoed in my mind. Was that even real? The memory of the shadow loomed large, and I struggled to reconcile it with the quiet safety of my home. The stillness outside felt surreal, as if the world had paused, holding its breath alongside me. 

I inhaled deeply, steeling myself before grabbing my bag and opening the door. I paused, heart racing, as if expecting something to leap from the shadows. But all I could hear was the faint sound of crickets, the fireflies twinkling and dancing in the yard. It was a fall evening like any other, yet everything felt charged with an underlying tension.

I stepped out, my legs unsteady from the adrenaline, and made my way to the front door. As I unlocked it and stepped inside, I was met with an enveloping silence, illuminated only by a single hall light glowing softly. My parents had already gone to bed; they always left the hall light on for me if I wasn’t home yet.

Quickly, I locked up all the doors, my movements brisk and mechanical, before heading toward my room. I left the hall light on behind me, unwilling to turn my back on the darkened rooms that lined the hallway.

I paused for a moment at my parents’ bedroom door, straining to listen. From the other side, the faint sound of “I Love Lucy” reruns drifted through, a comforting backdrop to the unsettling night. I let out a relieved sigh; settling in with old TV shows was their nightly routine.

Turning to my door across the hall, I quietly turned the knob. My dark room was illuminated by the glow of my alarm clock on the side table, and I froze for a moment—I left that on the floor this morning. Heart racing, I quickly reached for the light switch, flooding the room with warmth. It was safe and empty, yet an unsettling feeling still clung to me. A round basket full of clean clothes sat at the foot of my bed, a mundane sight that momentarily eased my anxiety.

With a deep sigh, I shook my head and shut the door behind me. Mom must have picked it up when she brought my clothes up for me. Yet, the events of the evening gnawed at me, twisting my mind into knots. Would anyone blame me for feeling this way? Everything felt surreal, as if I were trapped in a dream from which I couldn’t awaken.

Thinking about dreams made me suddenly aware of just how exhausted I felt. How can I be tired after all of that? The thought flitted through my mind, but at that moment, all I wanted was to curl up and sleep for twelve hours straight.

I set the basket of clean clothes aside and flopped face-first onto my unmade bed, the blankets still strewn across it from that morning’s hurried start. Reaching out, I pulled over my plush, honey-colored teddy bear, tucking it under my chin as I sank into the comforting embrace of my bedding. Closing my eyes for just a moment, I let out a long, shaky breath, seeking solace in the familiar warmth of childhood.

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This chapter was featured on Top in Fiction! Thank you to Claudia, Erica, and all of the TiF community!