Flash Fiction Friday 6/9/23: Darkness Distracts — Aimee Pavy • Producer • Project Manager

Flash FICTION Friday / 6.9.23 / darkness distracts

I looked up from my computer.

Scanning the room slowly, I squinted my eyes against the gloom. One of the few significant light sources came from behind the bar, lighting up the rows of liquor and throwing an eerie green light into the room. But even that light was weak and could only travel a few feet before fading, leaving most of the room in darkness. There were also a few lamps, with gentle swooping art nouveau-inspired curves and warm brass, but they too had limited reach. The result was an absolutely relaxing darkness that soothed my spirit after a day of nerve jangling problems to solve, drama to negotiate, pissy clients and anxious colleagues.

I filled my lungs with the comforting dustiness of this old bar, sighing deeply. I could feel a smile creep over my face. But then I remembered, I had been distracted by something. What pulled my attention away from the world of my new story unfolding as I typed away, while occasionally sipping my drink? It made me think of why I might wake up in the middle of the night–an insistent bladder or the sound of a particularly loud passing car. But at this moment, I’d been sitting here in this bar, enjoying the relaxing gloom, sipping my drink and letting the alcohol relax my mind, allowing the story to flow. Why did I feel the need to look up? I might have been annoyed had it been a loud noise or an obnoxious bar patron, but I now noticed, I was completely alone. Where was Robin, my bartender, the reason I frequent this bar on a Tuesday? Where were the usual bar flies who also gravitate to Robin and her skills as a bartender and amateur therapist?

Interesting. Also interesting was the fact that despite all signs pointing to cozy comfort and peace, I could feel the hair on the back of my neck stir. Did I feel a breeze? Did the temperature drop a few degrees? A tendril of annoyance slithered out of my brain. Just like me to try and ruin a perfect moment with whatever anxiety my brain decided to cook up. I can picture my bottle of Ativan sitting on the shelf in my hall closet. I rarely needed this level of chemical assistance, as the occasional cocktail and frequent walks seemed to alleviate the worst of my symptoms. There I go, mind wandering again. What was the issue? Oh yes, in this comforting gloom, I suddenly felt…well…a little tense.

I scanned the room again. My eyes moved over beloved details, until I landed on something. There was a part of the shadow in the corner that seemed…well…it seemed darker than shadow, if that’s possible. Despite my growing unease (that the two cocktails I’d imbibed were somewhat suppressing), I dared myself to stare in the corner. Thinking if I was patient, my eyes would adjust and I would be able to make out the details of the thing in the corner that seemed to be repelling any light. I had just a moment ago been looking at a bright computer screen. My eyes seemed to be working, to let more light in. The dark area in the corner slowly, one edge and texture at a time, resolved like a photograph developing in a bath of chemicals. It was then I realized, I was looking at a person.

I moved my gaze over the figure and came to a stop at the eyes. I was transfixed. I tried to resolve the image further, to see detail in the eyes, but after a few, now obvious, beats of my heart, I realized the darkness of the eyes contained no details: no color, no lashes, no unique physical details, no movement. I was staring into the black eyes of, what I assumed was, a human figure. As I stared, I was vaguely aware, muted like through water, that my heart began to race and a heat swept over my face, while my body began to shiver from the cold.

The space beneath the hollow eyes, near the lower edge of the face, opened. As it stretched wider, I saw the same inky darkness. I cringed and leaned back, stealing myself against the sound that seemed imminent, as the mouth opened to an increasingly unnatural size. As I drew back, sinking into the chair I sat upon, my hand brushed against the cocktail I’d been enjoying. The glass started to fall, drawing my attention away from the gaping mouth. I watched the glass tip and hit the wooden table. After staring at the glass as it rolled slightly to one side, the clanging sound of glass against wood hit my ears, along with the normal ambient sounds that had momentarily disappeared: the distance roar of cars passing just outside the bar, the hum of the refrigerator, the sound of water running somewhere in the distance. I looked back, expecting the dark figure to have lunged closer, but it was gone. The wooden walls in its former corner, now weakly reflected the warm, orange light from the nearby lamp. Loud, rapid footsteps approached from far away, and Robin emerged carrying a bucket. She stepped behind the bar and dumped the ice from the bucket, making a loud racket. I was then distracted by the liquid from my fallen cocktail, as it dripped off the table onto my leg. Looking back up to see Robin vigorously wiping down the bar, the room no longer seemed so dark.