It was a dark space. Enclosed. Maybe an alley. Maybe a room. Big enough to contain something, if you could see beyond the inky darkness. Not something you'd want to walk into without knowing what was there. If anything.
The darkness had substance. Texture. Volume. You couldn't see into it. But I could feel it pressing back out at me as I stood at the entrance. Shifting inside the space, like a vapor. No temperature, no smell, not a hint of anything. Just the insistent presence of . . . well, of dark.
Unable to move forward without certainty of what it contained, I paused. Then yelled. Screamed. Incoherently. Just sounds. I don't know why. Maybe I thought it would echo back. Like the sonar of a bat. Give me some sense of what lurked in the black. Only it didn't echo. It just absorbed my voice. I yelled louder.
Until Dr. Chako elbowed me and told me to stop yelling at 4 a.m.
I gotta lay off the migraine drugs . . .