The Tyranny of Darkness
by Chris
The clock said 4:57 when gunfire woke me from strange dreams. I think it was a revolver, or at least I counted five more shots after the one that woke me.
I lay in the dark, not knowing what happened, who was shot or why, or if the gunman was still outside. I was afraid to turn on the light, to draw attention. Still half-asleep, tangled in the vestigial strands of my dreams, my fear was amplified to an almost paralyzing level. If I moved, if light shone out the window, they would come for me. They would come for Kat, asleep beside me.
So I lay there, trying to go back to sleep. In the dark, the crack of the shots loomed. They became other gunshots, echoing from childhood. My father teaching me to shoot in the mountains of Arkansas. The deafening sounds of the pistol that would eventually take his life reverberating through the foothills while he drilled into my head that someone wanted to hurt me, hurt us, and that I had to be able to defend myself. Shades of the fear I felt when I hid under the bed while he volleyed fire with the men who came to repossess our car added to the fear I already felt.
Six gunshots in the darkness became all of these shattering moments in my head.
Now, in the sunny morning light, I know I should have called the cops. I should have done something. But I was afraid in the dark of my room, where shadows lingered and swelled rational self-preservation into irrational terror.
I understand the villagers of gothic horror so much more, now. As the sun set, they locked their doors, fearful of every crack and thump outside. The sounds of night creatures transmuted into the snarls of werewolves and the howls of vengeful spirits. In the dark, alone, it’s easy for your rational mind to run away and hide.
To wait for sunrise.



Last night, we went to a sneak preview of 9, directed by Shane Acker. Kat and I have been looking forward to this film for about a year, since we saw the first footage. If you’re curious about the backstory, you can hit up the