The Blinding Dark

There was a dark place on the edge of the marsh.

No one could quite describe precisely how it was dark. It wasn’t that there was a persistent shadow, and it had nothing to do with the underbrush. One couldn’t really call it a thicket. Every aspect of it could be seen clearly: every branch and leaf and blade of reed grass. Nor did the fog tend to gather there in excess. If anything, it wasn’t necessarily a visual darkness, but rather a feeling.

Such a feeling belonged to all the residents of Hazelton, and it had existed in their hearts since the town’s founding. The first settlers of the village had set up their dwellings on the far side of the marsh, opposite the inexplicable area of darkness, almost as if they wanted to keep an eye on it yet maintain a safe distance. As the town grew and spread, they never crossed around to the other side of the wetland, not even beyond the halfway point. And as a general, unspoken rule, the Hazeltonians kept a wary distance from that not-quite-shadowy spot.

Most of them.

Some accounts were too buried by time to be reasonably accurate—stories dating back to the first weeks and months of Hazelton’s establishment—but there had been an incident in the Eighties… and two in the Nineties… and another few in the last couple decades. For curiosity is a powerful motivator, and often an anti-venom for fear, and few have curiouser minds than children.

Andy McGarretty went on record as missing in 1985. D’arcy Smith and Rory Tatum disappeared in 1992 and 1997 respectively. Laura Banford vanished in 2006, and Peter Fairhaven in 2011. Danika Lanighan’s case was the last to go unsolved in 2019. All were under the age of fifteen.

Every case had a similar story leading up to their disappearances; the last time they were seen was walking around to the wrong side of the slough. Oftentimes, their schoolmates corroborated that Andy and D’arcy and Rory and Laura and Peter and Danika were all determined to figure out what was going on in that odd, dark spot.

Those who had lived in Hazelton for a long time knew these children were far from the first… and they wouldn’t be the last.

And that was what bothered Emily the most.

“They never come back,” she said.

Emily sat with her friends in the cafeteria. It was lunchtime at their middle school. They had all just attended a civics class where they had finally heard the full story about the darkness, or at least what their young minds figured was the full story. In actuality, the teacher had gently let the children know why the dark spot was avoided, citing the children who had gone missing. She had used it as a warning to them to stay away. Then as a launching point to educate them on what an urban legend was. Then as a distraction by asking them to think of other, more famous urban legends they had heard of.

“Where do you think they go?” Emily asked. She stated it like it was the question everyone was thinking—which it was—but to her it felt imperative. Under her conversational manner, her whole body ached to know.

“Somebody probably stole them,” said Will around a modest mouthful of his lunch, the portrait of nonchalance.

“Will!” scolded Anabel.

“Dude, so not chill,” Pete complained.

“What?” Will replied. “The kids went missing. Usually that means someone stole them.”

“But that doesn’t make sense,” said Emily. “Wouldn’t someone have seen something if a person was taking the kids?”

“Like what?” asked Pete.

“Like footprints,” Anabel suggested. “Or tire tracks. Or even just a car parked there.”

“Yeah,” agreed Emily. “Why would people only see the kids walking out into the marsh, but never any adults?”

“And the same person for decades?” added Anabel.

“Centuries!” Emily corrected. “Ms. Park told us about the most recent kids, but she said it goes all the way back to when the town was started.”

“That’s right!” Anabel exclaimed. She rounded on Will where he sat next to her. “How does a person steal kids for a hundred and fifty years, huh?”

“Okay, fine,” relented Will. “Geez….”

“Then maybe it’s not a person,” said Pete, a somewhat evil grin growing on his face. “Maybe it’s a monster!”

Will just snorted.

“Or an animal,” Emily suggested. “Maybe it’s a den that’s been home to the same wolves or badgers for years and years and years.”

“That makes sense why the kids would have disappeared,” said Pete. “Because they would have been eaten.”

Will shrugged a little at the comment and countered; “That… actually would have left a lot of evidence. Most animals don’t eat… clothes or bones. Or backpacks or shoes.”

Anabel snuffed a laugh. “Tell that to my dog.”

Pete laughed loudly—more loudly than was called for—while Will just gave a smile as he concentrated on his food. Emily sat silently. She was still stuck on the “bones” part of Will’s explanation. She didn’t quite have the full sense of horror an adult might at the idea, but she still cringed to think of a child’s bones lying somewhere in the woods.

“Well, if it’s not Ana’s dog,” joked Pete, “then that would make the case for a monster. Monster would eat a kid whole!”

“I mean,” added Anabel, “my aunt came to visit once and she saw the dark spot from the park, and she immediately said there was a bruja living in there.”

Pete looked absolutely perplexed.

“What’s a brew-haw?” he asked.

“It’s a witch, dude,” said Will without looking up from his meal.

“Oh,” said Pete.

“If it was a witch, how would it be kidnapping kids?” asked Emily.

“I’u’know,” Anabel shrugged. “Ask my aunt. She’s the one who got the vibe. Though, she’s also a little batty, so she gets vibes everywhere. She said we had a ghost in our attic, too. Turned out it was the cat.”

“How did your cat get in your attic?” Pete asked, laughing.

“They’re liquid,” replied Anabel. “I’ve seen my cat crawl into an open air vent just for funsies. That was a day.”

She huffed and looked into the middle distance, seemingly reminiscing on the anxiety, frustration, and futility of trying to coax her adventurous cat out of a floor register for a seemingly interminable amount of time.

“What if it’s a hole?” Emily hypothesized, picturing Anabel’s cat squeezing through the tiny opening.

“Like Alice in Wonderland?” he asked.

“I mean… sure… but also like just a literal hole,” said Emily. “So small and so deep and so dark that if a kid fell down it, they couldn’t be seen or heard. And the entrance is so small only kids fit through and no one can really see it.”

“I don’t know,” said Pete. “I feel like someone would have found a hole. My dad has me out in the pasture filling gopher holes all the time. If you’re looking for them, you can find some pretty small ones.”

“I mean, I guess,” grumbled Emily. Nevertheless, she shook her head to counter with, “But if bruja is on the table, I think a hole to wonderland should be, too. Then maybe it looks like a rabbit hole to everyone except the people who want to look inside it. Then it appears, or it gets bigger because they’re looking for it or something.”

“Well, if we’re talking holes to other worlds,” Will put in, “then it could be an actual portal to another dimension. Like a tiny wormhole.”

“What, like aliens?” asked Anabel.

“Not necessarily aliens,” said Will. “Wormholes can just happen in Space. Theoretically.”

“But not on Earth,” Anabel pointed out.

“Is Earth in Space?” asked Will.

Anabel narrowed her eyes at him irritably. “Yes.”

“Then they can happen on Earth,” said Will.

“Okay, but nobody’s found a wormhole on Earth yet, right?” Anabel protested.

“Hey, we’ve been talking witches and wonderland as other options; I think wormholes can be consider just as likely,” said Will.

“Then we should add aliens, too,” said Pete.

“A lot of weird stories of people disappearing are about aliens,” said Emily. “Maybe the darkness is a hot spot for alien abduction.”

“‘Alien abduction’?”

All four of the middle-schoolers perked up and turned to look at who had spoken. Emily had to twist in her chair to see him. He was tall, and stood with a laden cafeteria tray. His hair and dress gave an air of being rather well-mannered, but also short on time to throw the look together before bolting out the door. They recognized him after a few moments’ pause as the college student who was visiting from the neighboring town to get experience teaching. His name was Michael and he had joined their art class this morning to teach them about photography.

Emily instantly flashed back to a part of that class. The student had shown them the three main types of lenses; standard, wide angle, and telephoto… the latter being the kind of lens that could see things very well from very far away.

“What brought up that topic?” asked Michael.

“We were talking about the dark spot,” replied Anabel.

“‘The dark spot’?” Michael parroted.

“The place across the marsh everyone stays away from,” said Pete.

“People go there and they go missing. Kids do,” said Emily, somewhat wistfully. She was distracted as she was trying to think of the most convincing and least embarrassing way to ask the favor she was desperately in need of.

“Kids go missing when they go to this dark spot?” said Michael. “That’s terrible. How long has that been going on?”

“Since the town started,” said Pete.

“Do you want to sit down?” Anabel invited him.

“Oh, no, that’s okay,” said Michael. “I have to do some homework so I’m just going to pick a quiet corner and jam my nose in a book and this food in my mouth.”

Emily, in her distraction, uttered an awkward laugh at the word play. She blushed, having startled herself by her own foolish behavior, but no one else seemed to be bothered.

“Why are you eating in the lunch room at all?” asked Will.

“Oh,” Michael gave a small, self-conscious chuckle, “I was in a bit of a rush getting going today, so I forgot to pack a lunch. Figured I’d just eat here.

“I better leave you to your extraterrestrial deliberations. But I’ll see you next week for another art class!”

Next week? For Emily, that was most certainly too long.

“Do you have your telephoto lens?” she called out just as he made his first step to leave.

“Hey, good vocab!” he encouraged her. “I do, actually. Why?”

“I…,” she tried to figure out the phrasing she hadn’t had time to completely compose. “What would happen if you took a photo of the dark spot with a telephoto lens?”

Michael thought for a second, perplexed at her curiosity.

“Well, we’d see it bigger,” he said. “It would capture a lot of detail in the right lighting. And then we could zoom in on that image, too, on a computer, and see even more detail.”

That was the right answer for Emily.

“Could we go take a picture?” she asked.

Michael shrugged. “Sure. After school, maybe?”

“Yeah, after school!” said Emily. “I’ll meet you down at Lakeside Park!”

Michael nodded. “All right, Lakeside Park. Sounds like an adventure.”

~

The camera was jet black but for the symbols on its buttons. In contrast, his computer gleamed in the obtuse afternoon sunlight. The awkwardly-kinked cord connecting them, however, as well as the probably-was-garbage milk crate the laptop sat on, and the spindly, mechanical tripod steadying the camera, all halved the perceived value of the set up with their gangly countenances. Not to mention the bedraggled tree-hugger stickers plastered across the lid of the computer.

All together, to Emily it appeared… cool.

“Can you see it with the camera?” she asked.

“Yeah…,” said Michael, his eye to the viewfinder. “It’s definitely got a… shading to it, but… I can’t quite tell how or why.”

“Even up close?” Emily asked.

“Well, it’s a little hard through the eyepiece,” he said. “It’s way easier to see all the details after you actually take the photo.”

Then Emily heard the shutter click. It wasn’t your typical camera sound effect either: it was low-toned and heavy, like it would have hurt to get your finger caught in it.

“That must be an expensive camera,” said Emily.

Michael scoffed a laugh. “It better be; my tuition is high enough.”

He looked over to see her reaction, and was met only by confusion. He blushed a little at his failed jest before he elaborated.

“It’s my school’s camera. But it is a full sensor. I think they’re around two grand new,” he said.

“Wow,” said Emily.

“Yeah,” said Michael. Then he leaned toward his computer and added, “Which means the photo I just got… whoa.”

“What?” asked Emily.

“It’s… fried,” he said.

Emily leaned in close over his shoulder to look at the screen. She immediately understood what he meant by ‘fried’. The picture was absolutely pristine, picking up nearly every detail of every twig and leaf at the edge of the marsh in beautiful full color… except for a huge portion of the center of the image, which was washed out in a bright white flash.

“Weird,” Michael breathed. “It’s like it got way over-exposed right where the dark spot is.”

“It didn’t look like that when you took the picture?” Emily asked, her breath quickening.

“No,” he said. “It was just fine through the viewfinder.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” piped Emily. “How could it be dark out there—,” she pointed to the marsh, “—and in there—,” she stabbed at the camera, “—but it’s bright in there?” She gestured to the computer. “I don’t understand! Why would it do that?!”

“Whoa, hey, Emily, calm down,” said Michael, shocked at her sudden distress.

“No!” Emily shouted. “It’s taking us! What is it?! Where do we go?!”

Michael took her by the shoulders, worried she might take off or start hurting herself.

“Hey,” he said firmly. “Look at me.”

Emily obliged reluctantly.

“Emily, this is not your problem to solve,” he said. “You have to leave this up to someone with expertise in this kind of thing, okay? You don’t have to worry about it.”

“You have to show this to an expert!” said Emily, tears running down her cheeks.

“I will,” Michael promised.

“Take it to the police!” she added insistently.

“Okay, I’ll take it to the police,” he agreed. “But only if you promise me you’ll stop worrying about it. I don’t even want you to think about it. And definitely do not do anything. Okay?”

Emily struggled to agree. It ate at her insides. She had to know. She had to know so she could fix it. If she didn’t fix it, would the police fix it?

“Okay?” Michael prompted her more strongly.

“Okay,” Emily finally relented.

Michael sighed relief. Emily tried to feel that same relief….

~

…but she laid awake in her bed that night, staring at the ceiling, wondering. Had he shared the photo? What would the police do? Was it even something the police could handle? And now that she’d seen it, the spot called to her. If she could just get closer, really see what it was, figure out what happened when those children disappeared….

~

…“Emily? Are you listening?”

“Yes, Ms. Park,” she’d say. Or, “Yes, Mr. Polaski.”

But she was lying. She stared into empty space, remembering the blown out photo. Or when she was in Polaski’s classroom, she could stare out the window and see the dark spot from her desk.

And it called to her. It became so strong and so insistent, it was almost like a voice, and yet she heard no words. It was more like a ringing in her ears, if it was even a sound….

~

Michael had taken the photo to the Hazelton police, but also to his professor. He had watched the gooseflesh rise on both of their arms at the image, just as disturbed and intrigued and determined to solve the problem as Emily. He made it a goal to inform her they were working on it the next day he was student teaching in the hopes it would calm her. He felt he might be overthinking it. She might have even forgotten about it already. But the memory of the fear in her eyes haunted him as much as the dark place haunted Emily.

Michael’s class was after recess. While he was setting up, he heard the rising murmur of the children playing outside. Their joyful chatter had shifted to anxious yelling, and he peered out the window to see what the commotion was. And then he saw her…

… nearly all the way to the other side of the marsh lake.

Michael hadn’t understood why he had joined the cross-country team in college. He had won so many titles with his fellow runners, outstripped so many other teams at meets, worked tirelessly to beat his own times day after day, all the while never really knowing what his motivation actually was. Today he found out. In all the time he had trained and competed, he had never run the way he ran now around the edge of the marsh.

Because after all he had heard about the darkness—the local legends, and the reactions from his professor and the policeman and, most of all, Emily—he knew that whatever thing was treacherously dark to the naked eye and blindingly bright to a computer chip would swallow that young girl up and never let her go.

I do not believe writing is a one-sided creature. Where do YOU think the children go? Comment below.

Thank you for reading.