The Dark

Dr. Richard Burns sat at his desk under the window, idly twiddling his thumbs over an open notebook; at its top lay the name of his next patient, the final patient of the day. Sydney Bergen, aged 15. He had called the office to book a meeting himself, without the knowledge of his parents. This was information he had given to Dr. Burns’s secretary of his own accord and seemed unconcerned about it. The elderly secretary had later mentioned that the boy’s tone, upon booking his appointment, had seemed almost one of mockery. Since then, both the psychologist Dr. Burns and the secretary had been curious to see what oddness Sydney Bergen would bring to the office later that week.

And at last, it was Friday. Dr. Burns sat twiddling his thumbs while a sheet of rain battered the large window behind his desk. Waiting for his young patient to arrive, in the semi-darkness that was his workplace, Richard felt more than a little uneasy. What could the teenager possibly want with an adult psychologist? Dr. Burns scoffed to himself. This could be interesting, he thought.

There were still 3 minutes left until his appointment. Sydney would already be in the waiting room, no doubt, sprawled out on the couch. Dressed in long baggy jeans and an offensive jacket. Maybe this was his idea of a joke. A dare, even.

On the other hand, he could be a nerd and be dressed in neat clothes, have combed hair and clean skin.

Either way, the question still remained: what did he want?

There was a sharp jolt of lightning and the small office was momentarily black and white; the door swung open and the secretary presented herself.

“He’s here, Dr. Burns,” she said, her face expressionless. Sally the secretary had been employed in Richard’s office since he had begun working. Apparently, she had been the department’s secretary since the late 80s, when the building was built.

“Excellent,” Dr. Burns sat up in his chair. “Tell him to come in then, Sally.”

“Ok,” Sally said, withdrawing her lean figure.

“Oh, and Sally,” Dr. Burns called her back. “Why don’t you leave early tonight? It’s raining and I bet the roads will be a hell.”

“Thank you, Dr. Burns,” and she smiled.

The doorway was empty for a moment. Richard Burns cleared his throat and sat up straight. This was it.

Sydney Bergen strolled into the office and stopped on the carpeted floor. Dr. Burns noticed a quick flash of the eyes as he inspected the room; books, objects, everything he owned was visually, and almost instantly, devoured by the boy who stood before him.

Sydney was strangely hard to describe. He had brownish hair that fell over his forehead and made the color of his eyes hard to distinguish. He was dressed in regular and uninteresting clothes, as if he wanted to unobtrusively blend in with the modern fashion.

Dr. Burns opened his mouth to speak, but his throat was dry. Sydney spotted his delay and took the opportunity to say, “Hello.” His voice was dry and somewhat deep for a boy his age. His lips barely moved when he spoke.

“So you’re the mysterious Sydney Bergen,” Dr. Burns observed after taking a quick sip of water from a personal bottle. “Sally and I have been wondering why exactly you are here. I treat adults, young Bergen.”

“Good for you,” Sydney remarked, and there it was; a faintly detectable disdain that Dr. Burns did not like one bit. “But I don’t need treatment.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. May I take a seat?”

“Well…” Dr. Burns paused. “Of course, but… I still want an explanation as to why you are here and not out in a video arcade with your friends.”

“First of all,” Sydney replied, seating himself across from Dr. Burns at his desk, “I have no friends. And second… because I need to speak with you.”

The office was quiet for a moment.

“Listen, kid. Has it occurred to you that I might not be the person you want to speak with?”

“Yes,” Sydney observed. “Please do not take me for an ignorant and childish teenager. I am not one.”

“Then what are you?” Dr. Burns asked politely.

“I am… me,” Sydney echoed. He was extremely fluent while speaking and showed virtually no hesitation before uttering a phrase or signs of choosing his words.

Lightning crackled outside as Dr. Burns collected his thoughts; a teenage boy with an obviously above-average intelligence and self-awareness was sitting at that moment in his office of his own free will. This wasn’t, however, what struck him as odd.

“Now let’s start making sense out of this meeting,” Dr. Burns suggested. “You said you wished to speak with me. If so… please tell me what of.”

“Whatever you wish, Dr. Burns,” Sydney grinned. “I’m here to talk with you about the Dark.”

The psychologist frowned. “The dark?”

“Yes.”

“Ok then. But… why not tell your parents you were coming here?”

Sydney flinched, but only slightly and was instantly himself. “They… wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh. Why do you say that?”

“I have answered your question, Dr. Burns,” Sydney replied. “I have no desire of being analyzed. Like I said… I am here to talk about the Dark.”

“As you wish.”

“Thank you,” Sydney breathed. “You must understand… my parents think I’m mentally ill and have attempted to institutionalize me numerous times.”

“I see,” Dr. Burns muttered. He sensed an unpleasant energy flowing from Sydney’s controlled narrative; he was talking of serious matters as if discussing a television program.

“Except I am, of course, NOT mentally ill,” he declared matter-of-factly.

“And exactly what led your parents to think you mentally ill?” the psychologist insisted; it was a common mental disorder for certain people to deny a condition when most others were certain they suffered from it.

“The Dark. I tried one day to tell them all about it, but ever since then they’ve never trusted me.”

“And what IS the dark, Sydney?”

Lightning, once more; and in that moment, Sydney disappeared. In his chair sat an unsightly bulk that appeared to ooze blood from its every pore and grinned slaughter.

Or maybe not.

“I have caught your attention, then?” Sydney beamed and the apparation was gone.

A pause. “Naturally,” Dr. Burns indulged in his convoluted yarn.

“Ok. For me to tell you about the Dark, you will have to believe everything I say. Not once may you challenge what I am about to say. I assure you beforehand, it is all true.”

“Very well.”

Sydney paused to take a short breath and shoot Dr. Burns with a hovering stare that caused serious inner agitation in the peaceful doctor’s mind; Sydney’s eyes, perfectly clear and normal, hinted at an underlying evil that lurked in the boy’s consciousness, attempting to escape and wreak havoc upon the human plain.

Dr. Burns willingly dismissed these thoughts, however, as soon as they entered his brain and tried to concentrate on the Sydney’s story.

“It all began when I was very young,” he began. “I saw… shadows. They were everywhere. In the street, my house, my school, and yet somehow I thought everyone could see them.”

“Visions?”

“No, doctor, not visions. What I saw… and see… were real living moving shadows,” Sydney replied ominously. “The contours of indescribable beings that move about the human world unnoticed by most people.”

“So you’re saying that these… shadows reside in this world but only you can see them?”

Sydney sighed impatiently, as if speaking to a child. “I asked you to cast away all skepticisms at the beginning of our conversation. Why, then, are you asking such questions?”

“Sorry,” Dr. Burns leaned back in his chair. “Do continue.”

Impossibly, the rain outside seemed to fall harder now against the window, creating a stentorian atmosphere in the office and causing the pair to raise their voices when talking. The dim lights on Dr. Burns’s desk flickered periodically; soon enough, no doubt, the power would be cut due to the storm.

Sydney continued.

“I quickly became aware that only I could see these abnormal shadows. They, of course, were not able to sense my acute observation and ignored me like they ignored all others.”

“Is that so?” Richard attempted to sound engrossed and attentive but decided Sydney’s tale was nothing more than a standard schizophrenic’s behavioral pattern.

“Yes. Except… except in the Dark.”

A moment of silence.

“So what’s so important about the dark, Sydney?”

Sydney’s face remained eerily expressionless. “People just don’t appreciate the eternal qualities of the Dark anymore. In the old days… everyone knew about the Dark and its impenetrable power. They simply knew of the shadows without actually knowing of them. They knew… and I know now… all is doomed within the reaches of Darkness.”

Dr. Burns was forced to reflect upon Sydney’s latest statement; it was true, History tells us that certain rituals and beliefs centered around the concept of the dark as an entity, and unexplained deaths linked to these cults. In other words… a long time ago, people were actually afraid of the dark and avoided it at all costs.

“Dr. Burns?”

“Yes,” he said, jumping slightly in his chair. “Yes, Sydney, go ahead. I’m sorry, once more. I was thinking. Listen, so what exactly are you getting at?”

“I needed to see a serious doctor of some sort. Someone I could tell my story to and have it analyzed from a scientific point of view,” Sydney explained. “My parents, on the other hand, were quick to dismiss my feelings as paranoid.”

“You made a wise choice, but…” Dr. Burns sighed helplessly. “You’re asking me to acknowledge a lot of information I honestly don’t want to set free in my mind. You DO realize what you’re saying, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Are you… are you seeing the shadows now, Sydney?”

No answer.

“Look, this should come to you as no surprise, but I cannot admit the fact that living shadows lurk in-”

“So you’re just like them,” Sydney said, and Richard Burns was forced to stop and listen closely; the voice he had just heard was not Sydney’s.

“Do you know what happens in the Dark?” Sydney asked, his voice normal again. Dr. Burns relaxed, but not much; he was anxious to end this meeting and never see or talk to Sydney Bergen again.

“No.”

“The shadows become flesh, Dr. Burns. Don’t forget that.”

And, quick as the flash of lightning that lit the room, Sydney was out the door and Richard Burns was alone in his office. “Finally,” he thought to himself, wiping a trail of sweat from his forehead with a cold handkerchief. But… was that a low breathing he could hear above the rain?

Thunder clapped outside. The lights went out. The Dark pressed forward.