Lucy and the Night
Lucy’s parents always told her not to go out after dark. But, like all children, as she grew older, she grew defiant of her parents. So, one night Lucy decided to go against this advice purely because they had given it to her.
She found a wicker basket her family sometimes brought to the marketplace, and packed it with some things she thought she might need. A cloak would probably be nice. So would a snack of some sort. And, of course, a source of light was a must. Should she bring a knife from the kitchen? No, that was ridiculous.
Lucy took a deep breath. Then, she snuck out of the house and into the evening light. All of the lights in the houses were still lit. Lucy straightened her dress. This would be easy. She would spend the night out here, return home at dawn, and show her parents what they knew.
The night began uneventfully, but soon, any people that were still outside slowly filtered into buildings, retiring to their homes as the sun drooped lower in the sky, staining the horizon blood red. Lucy watched from where she stood, leaning against a tree with her arms crossed smugly.
“They’re all too scared to be out after dark,” she said to herself. “Everyone will be so impressed when they learn I was outside all night! Plus, I bet they will all feel pretty silly when they learn a 12-year-old girl is braver than any of them!”
Lucy almost didn’t notice when more lights went out, and the sun’s warmth and protection melted further below the horizon. The trees’ shadows lengthened into spindly talons. Even the sound of her feet on the ground seemed colder somehow.
“I should light my lantern,” she thought, and she dug through her basket, pulling out the lantern in question as well as some flint and steel.
A rustle in the trees. Lucy froze.
“Hello?” she called, her voice shaking despite her best efforts.
No reply came.
Lucy tried again, her voice a bit weaker still, “Hello…?”
A crow burst from the dark branches, screeching and cawing. Lucy jumped and ended up falling on the ground. The obsidian feathered creature disappeared into the night while she pushed herself back up and brushed off her clothes.
“Oh. Of course, just a crow. Silly, Lucy! Letting yourself get scared by a bird of all things!”
Lucy found the items she was looking for, and lit her lantern. Its light weakly illuminated a small circle around her. She could have sworn it was brighter in the past.
Over time, more lights went out, and the sun fully set below the horizon. The buildings creaked around Lucy, and the stars seemed dimmer than before, like they had somehow lost their twinkling sheen. Lucy shook the feeling off. That was a ridiculous thought. She was not a little kid. Something as simple as the night sky would not scare her. She took out a biscuit she had packed and ate it to distract herself, glaring at the sky in defiance.
The night went on. More lights went out. At some point, Lucy had decided to sit down and play with the grass.
A low growl filled the air, vibrating in Lucy’s bones. Lucy jumped to her feet. She couldn’t see the source of the noise. Her grip tightened on the handle of her basket. The darkness was creeping in around her, seeping over the cobblestones like living shadows, inching closer with each warm, homely light that was blown out for the night.
More time passed. More lights went out. The night was turning chilly. Lucy dug her cloak out of her basket and put it on. Then, she opened the door of her lantern and warmed her hands by the tiny, sputtering flame. It was not low on oil. Lucy had made sure of that, but the flame was still cold and pitiful. She considered kicking the lantern in frustration, but after a few deep breaths, decided that would do more harm than good in the end.
“You’re halfway done!” the shivering Lucy told herself when she was sure midnight must have come. Though, she couldn’t be totally certain, as the church bells weren’t rung at night, and there was no moon in the sky. There was only one more lit house in the village.
Another growl. This time it was close enough Lucy could feel it in her chattering teeth. She gasped and took a step back. Her foot landed with a splash. Lucy’s eyes darted to the ground. Inky blackness bled over the cobblestones. It dripped from her shoe when she lifted her foot, dark and viscous and smelling of something foul.
The growling came again, louder, harsher, like sandpaper or clouds of smoke. And despite the darkness, Lucy saw it: a silhouette framed against the night sky, liquid, yet sharp, yet shadowy and formless, and overall inhuman. It was like a pile of spilled ink or rows of shark teeth or a soft, suffocating miasma.
The flame in Lucy’s lantern was extinguished. She startled and dropped it. It shattered as it hit the ground, jagged pieces of glass reflecting no light back up at her.
Lucy ran. She ran as fast as she could to the last house with light. She didn’t dare look behind her. Reaching the house, she pounded on the door. Tears streamed down her face. She called for help.
After a moment that felt like years, a face appeared in the window, moving aside the curtains to see who was outside. The person looked at her, then their gaze caught on something beyond her. Their face paled, and the lights went out.
THE END
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About the Author
Katy Kennedy is a 20 year old creative writing student at Arapahoe Community College in Colorado. She is an aroace autistic woman who enjoys horror and fantasy stories, and uses art and writing as a way to express herself, understand her internal and external worlds, and share something with the people around her. She lives in Colorado, where she was born and raised, with her family, three cats, and dog.