Nyctophilia – a psychological condition that makes you feel comfort or love for the night and darkness.

The moonlight casts a tall, dark shadow over me. Despite the cold night, I’m in a short black dress with lace short sleeves and black boots that go up to my knees. The chill of the dark forest welcomes me as my feet lead me further into the darkness. The trees tower over me, the branches point every which way like skeletal hands and the path is covered with dirt and rocks. I plunge myself deeper into the mysterious dark until the moonlight plucks my eyes and pierces them onto the rusted gates of an abandoned cemetery. I run down the path to the cemetery gates and stare in awe. Although the gates are old and rusted, the cold steel makes my palms shiver. I look past the gates and at the gravestones. 

My ears pick up hushed whispers stumbling on top of one another; I can’t decipher a single word. However, I feel it in my bones that they are calling for me as if I am being called to come home. The gate screeches as I slowly push the gates open. On top of an array of tombstones, a murder of crows take flight above the cemetery and into the moonlight. As I step closer into the cemetery, two large trees rustle loudly as if they are announcing my arrival. I take a deep breath, cold air filtering out of my mouth. 

Out of nowhere, a figure in a black suit and hat is standing in between two tombstones, their hands clutching onto the stony tops to hold them there. I silently approach the figure, not sure whether or not I should keep walking towards them. 

When I see their face, I look into their eyes. Under the black hat, I could see nothing. However, the figure’s face slowly forms into a woman. Her skin is pale and her hair is dark auburn. Her lips are black as night and her eyes are alluring emeralds. She is beautiful as well as mysterious and my heart is telling me to stay close to her. She moves one of her pale hands off of the gravestone and offers me her hand. I reluctantly hold her hand and immediately feel my body freeze up. Am I dying? If this is what death feels like then I do not fear it. Her hand is gentle and soft. 

She stares deeply into my eyes and says, “You are enamored with me.” 

“What do you mean?” I ask. 

“I am the embodiment of the dark. I take the shape of the many forms of the dark that human beings feel. Most often, I take the shape of monsters. However, you see me and do not fear me.” 

“I’ve never really been like most people.” 

“I see. I crawled into your mind as I offered you my hand. You embrace the monsters that most people fear with open arms. You feel outcasted in the light and seek out the darkness in comfort. You are in love with me.” 

“I suppose that’s one way of saying it…” I say, looking away from her for a moment. 

“You seek escape from the light, yes?” the woman asks. 

“In some ways, yes. I’m not afraid of dying and there are people in the light that I care about, but the dark is where I feel the most like myself. I feel more comfortable here than anywhere else in the world.”

“Your time will come soon, same with all of the people in the light. I understand seeking escape from the light. The light is terrifying. However, admiration for the darkness from afar shall make it bearable for you, as it is now. I only hope that it will continue to do so for you.” 

The woman walked up to me and embraced me in her icy body. 

“You will see me again,” she whispers. 

I blink and I am gone from the cemetery, the forest, and the night. I am covered in my blankets and laying in bed. My alarm clock reads “7:15 a.m.” My body struggles to leave my bed. Unfortunately, my time in the grueling daylight awaits.