The Darkest Night

[TheArcaneWeirdo]

696

Eresmus was lying under the dining table. The boy chose this location because it was the one piece of floor in the house that wasn't covered in thick carpets, and carpets made it harder to draw. Human bodies liked softness, but paper sheets need hard surfaces to be pressed against, else the pencil will leave its mark on them in holes rather than colours. The desk in the boy's bedroom could serve this purpose perfectly, and it occured to him, but he felt more creative on the floor. He was mindless of the cold, as well as of the purplish hue that tainted his fingertips. The world around him was secondary to that in his drawing: A little ship sailing an indigo sea, with a white-haired maiden standing at the prow and looking at... What? The sunset? It would look nicer at the backgrond. Another ship? Boring. A Kraken, maybe? Dad's friend, Anton, told him about krakens during his last visit. Dad assured him the creatures aren't real, but how could he know? 80% Of the ocean has yet to be explored! He probably just didn't want him to be scared. But Eresmus wasn't scared in the first place! He loved hearing about strange creatures and places - Tentacled monsters that could read your mind, and witches that flew on broomsticks at night instead of locking themselves indoors once three stars had risen, and far-off islands surrounded by nothing but mists! One day, he'd board a ship like the one he just drew, and go on an ad-ven-ture, and see for himself if they're all real. But that would scare Dad, probably. It's something they'd have to talk about.
"So here's the little gremlin." Mom chuckled. "Should've guessed."
She kneeled next to him, looking at the drawing.
"That's beautiful! Are you finished?"
"No!" He shook his head, golden tresses swinging wildly. "I still have a kraken to add!""
She raised an eyebrow, and Dad shrugged.
"I'm certain this is vitally important!" Dad joined them under the table. "No picture is complete without a kraken! But can you stop now and draw it tommorrow, perchance?"
"What? Is it already bedtime?" Eresmus crawled out of the table to look at the clock. "It's only four in the afternoon!"
"Right," He nodded, "But we have to turn off the lights. Tonight is The Darkest Night, and the sun had already set!"
"Isn't that when you need to turn on the lights?" The child pointed out.
"Usually, yes." Mom explained. "But on The Darkest Night, there must be no light in the house. Tonight the moon doesn't shine, and the Gray Realm is closer than ever. The dead seek their way back to the living world, and even the smallest candlelight can lead them to us."
Krakens aren't real, but the waking dead are? Eresmus pondered about this for a little, then asked a far more important question - one that can only be be asked by a child who learns for the first time what adults had already taken for granted.
"And that's... Bad?"

Ingrid and Rudolph exchanged confused looks. The Van Richtens were the sort of parents that encouraged questions, but even they weren't prepared for this one.
"I mean, wouldn't it be nice to have grandma here again? I could show her my paintings!"
"Ugh..." Ingrid fidgeted with the purple pencil, that was left on the floor. "Why don't you clean up your stuff, and then Daddy will explain?"
Eresmus did as requested, and the weary couple finally got up.
"So," Rudolph cleared his throat. "The problem is, that the dead are very angry."
"For what?" Eresmus asked. "It's not like we killed them!"
"For us being alive while they aren't." He explained, as if he was an expert on matters of the undead. "We've stolen this world from them, and they want it back."
The boy's nouth opened wide at that, and Rudolph preceeded to tell the myth of Darkonos, and how he stole from Death the spark of life.
He wished he didn't have to.
He wished he could tell the boy that this world is rightfully theirs, and that he - Eresmus - deserves all the good in it. He wished he could tell him to live free and happy, knowing that the gods at least try to act on his best interests. What a terrible thing is it to believe in, that life is stolen property and we're all thieves! But he told (what he thought to be) the grim truth, as sensitively as possible but with no sugarcoating. He felt like a criminal, and as if making his son a partner-in-crime.
Eresmus was bothered by other questions.
"Can't we talk to Death and apologise?"
"That's what the priests are trying to do." He shrugged. "They pray and make sacrifices to appease him. But he isn't very communicative, so it's best to stay on the safe side..."
"What's 'co-mmu-ni-ca-tive'?"
"Someone who communicates - who talks to others, or otherwise lets them know what he or she thinks." Ingrid volunteered.
"Is it related to 'community'?" The kid's eyes narrowed, and his parents stared in astonishment.
"Darling, I think we're raising a linguist in the house!" Ingrid smiled - and in response to her son's confused look, added: "A linguist - a scholar who studies languages."
"I don't wanna study languages!" Eresmus protested. "I wanna study krakens!"
"A marine biologist, then?"

Leaving the discussion in the same drawer as the pencils, they began the annual ritual. They went through every room, making sure that not a single lantern was lit, turning off the few who were, and chanting prayers of warding. When the day's last sun rays disappeared, Eresmus could barely see his own fingers. As his eyes adjusted, he could make out shapes - but no colours.
"Is this how the dead see?" He asked, his voice piercing the darkness.
The question went unanswered.
"Are you scared?" Dad asked.
"No - well, maybe a little."
"It's okay if you are." He held his hand - one solid thing in that realm of shadows. "Everyone is afraid sometimes - the question is how you deal with it. I'm scared of the dark too."
"And all the talk of death and vengeful gods isn't helping either." Mom added. "How about we change the subject, and talk about our favourite things?"
"Like krakens?" Eresmus grinned.
"Somewhen," Ingrid turned to her husband. "You'd have to explain to me how that kraken thing started."







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Afterword:
Fantasy religions are one of my favourite parts of worldbuilding - and I especially like to examine their consequences on the average person's life. So when I read about The Darkest Night, I thought 'hey, that's a cool horror concept, but let's be realistic. It's clearly one of the tactics Azalin is using to intimidate the Darkonian population into submission - but people can't just live in fear forever, they'd try to normalise it. So how do they pass it? How does a young couple explain it to their 4yo?
This is also part of my attempts to give Eresmus more backstory, as preparation for the next chapters of A Ghost Story.
This is going to have more chapters, so stay tuned if you want your heart to be completely crushed.