DITD Chapter 5
Drawn in the Dark
Grayson and I leaned against a tree at recess. We’d been playing Minecraft in real life, building safe towers with invisible blocks.
I was describing an incoming monster attack when Grayson suddenly remembered something.
“Hey! Did you draw those nightmares out like I suggested?”
I gave him a sideways glance but kept stacking pretend blocks. Quietly, I muttered, “Yeah. Kind of. I at least got started.”
“Can I see?”
I hesitated, feeling my heart hammer, then dug into my pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. Passing it over, I watched as Grayson turned it this way and that, lips puckered like an art critic.
“Hmmm…”
“It’s not much,” I said, peeking closer.
“I can see that. I’m just trying to figure this out… so, the monsters in your nightmares are all ghosts?”
Rolling my eyes, I snatched the paper back and stuffed it into my pocket without folding it. “No. I started to draw them, but I left out the details. I didn’t like remembering their faces.”
“Huh.”
“Huh?” I shot back. “Only huh?”
Grayson shrugged. “You make up monsters all the time. Do those scare you?”
“No. I made them up. They’re fake.”
“Okay, then.” He tapped an imaginary block into place. “What’s so different about these? Your brain made the nightmares while you were asleep. Your monsters come from the same brain, only while you’re awake. Drawing them doesn’t make them real. You don’t believe your usual sketches come to life, do you?”
“Of course not. They’re for our games. Hopefully, I’ll make an app out of them one day.”
We sat in silence for a moment. Grayson kept stacking blocks. I crossed my arms, still.
Gradually, my thoughts dragged, dread curling in my chest as I pictured one of the nightmare monsters—the shadow in the snow from the daydream that landed me in the hall earlier.
In my mind’s eye, the shadow flickered in the warm breeze of the day, uneasy and insistent, not fully solid. It loomed just behind Grayson, who kept building the tower as if nothing was wrong. My heart pounded as the shadow and I watched each other.
I took a step toward it. It didn’t move.
“Do you see it?” Grayson asked.
I blinked. The shadow vanished.
“I did,” I admitted.
“But it’s gone now?”
“Yeah. Because it was fake to begin with. Just my imagination.”
He grinned. “Exactly. That’s how you take the power from it. Now go home and draw them for real tonight.”
**
Sigh.
Another day had passed. I stared at the unfinished outlines I’d drawn a few evenings ago, resisting the urge to think about them.
The sheet was a crumpled mess—outlines of invisible men. Mannequins half-sketched. A puppet slumped over.
I’m going to have to redraw these again.
I smiled, thinking of a line from one of Mom’s favorite movies. “Roll the map!”
Maybe I’d remember that for next time. Or just keep it in my sketchbook.
My pencil slid across the paper, retracing shapes from the last attempt. Embarrassment pricked at me. How had I let something from my imagination scare me so much?
Cartoons also came from imagination. Why did mine hold so much power over me?
The invisible man was easiest. He was invisible, after all. Just an outline with wavy lines. I imagined staring hard enough at him to notice how the world behind him bent and warped.
Next came the puppet. Hair parted on the left, shaded dark. His large eyes stared at me, mischievous.
I hesitated at the mouth. Did I want to draw it? No mouth meant no words, no chance to speak—a silence that relieved me.
Ridiculous.
I gave him a slight smile, softening the creep factor. My body sketches weren’t great, so I set him in a T-shirt and shorts, hands hidden in the pockets.
The mannequin came last. It looked like the little wooden figure from art class, only life-size. Wooden knobs, rods for joints. Faceless.
In the dreams, there were so many of them. They couldn’t speak. Couldn’t hear. Couldn’t see.
My brain spun a story for them. A video game idea:
No mouths, no ears, no eyes.
They couldn’t express themselves.
Couldn’t hear comfort.
Couldn’t see the good.
They felt every presence around them, raw and unfiltered. And without guidance, they lashed out in emotion they didn’t understand.
“Carter.”
I froze, eyes wide, the pencil still in my hand.
Where did that come from?
Were they talking to me?
“Carter.” Louder this time.
Then, something cold brushed against me…