Drawn in the Dark
Chapter 1
Her house was quieter than usual.
Darkness swallowed the room. A single lamp beside my grandmother’s chair glowed softly, its yellow bulb humming into silence.
From the dining room, I stared at the glow. It held me in a trance.
I should feel peaceful here.
The lamp was always on when she was awake. Now the chair sat empty—only a dent in the cushion showed she had once sat there. Her Bible lay open on the table. The familiar scent of vanilla perfume had vanished.
I tried to move but couldn’t. Panic flooded me as my legs froze to the bench, my arms heavy and useless. Only my head twitched side to side in helpless fear.
Not that it mattered. Darkness pressed in on every side, as deep as the night sky.
What is happening?
The thought echoed in my mind. There were no ropes. No enemy hands pinning me down. I was simply paralyzed.
A whimper rose in my throat. My lips parted, but no sound came. The lamp’s hum grew louder. My chest heaved in short, silent rasps. Tears blurred my vision, freezing on my cheeks.
And then… Something shifted.
A figure stood by her chair. My heart jumped.
Is it her? Has she come to save me?
I tried to call out, but the sound was little more than a grunt. My fingers twitched beneath the table, hidden from sight. I needed her to see me.
The figure moved slowly, like a curtain swaying in the wind. It remained silent, as still as the room around it.
An icy chill brushed across my face. Goosebumps spread down my neck and arms. My stomach twisted, ready to turn.
The stillness didn’t feel strange anymore. It felt like survival.
That’s when I knew.
It wasn’t her.
***
My cheeks were wet when I sat up, eyes stinging from tears I’d cried in my sleep.
Light filtered through the window—a welcome sight compared to the night I had just endured. Again.
I rubbed my face, still shaken. My grandmother’s house—one of my favorite places—always felt welcoming. She kept snacks ready when we visited. We knew right where to find her.
Her home had always felt safe.
Last night was different, though. Dark. Lonely. The lamp glowed, but she wasn’t there. The figure in her house didn’t belong. It was out of place in the room where we gathered.
What does it mean?
Nothing. It doesn’t mean anything. Just forget about it.
I sniffled and swung my legs over the side of the bed. Throwing on shorts and a t-shirt, I stumbled to the bathroom. My short brown hair stuck out in every direction. A quick comb didn’t help much. That cowlick in the back never stayed down. I can already hear Mom now saying how typical that is for a boy’s hair.
She’s going to make me cut it soon.
I groaned at the thought.
Down the hall, the smell of bacon pulled me toward the kitchen in our small apartment. Mom stood at the stove. Music played softly while she scrambled eggs.
She tried to cook every morning, though sometimes Attie and I beat her there and poured cereal. On those days, Mom looked relieved. She even sat down for a bowl with us, listening while we planned the day.
“Good morning, Carter!” she said, noticing me.
“Morning,” I replied, standing next to the table.
“How’d you sleep last night?”
“Fine. I had a bad dream, but I can’t really remember it.”
“I hate those,” she said, sliding the bacon onto a plate, “If you do remember it, I’m here if you want to talk. I used to have them a lot.”
“Do you still?” I shifted in my spot.
“Sometimes. I usually tell your dad when he’s here.”
Her shoulders stiffened. She turned away, taking a deep breath.
We all missed him. Dad had left weeks ago for basic training with the Air Force. We’d never been apart this long. Not talking to him made it worse.
I hated that he was gone, but I knew he was doing it for us.
That didn’t make it easier.
After he left, Mom cried all the time. She used to hide it—behind closed doors, in the shower—but now her tears crashed down in sudden storms. Sometimes she barely made it down the hall before sobbing.
They’d never been apart this long since I can remember. It would have helped if we could have talked to him while he was away, but they didn’t allow that often. We never knew when he’d be able to call or even for how long.
It hurt to watch. I’d tell her, We’ll all be together again soon. I said it to comfort her, but I needed to hear it too. I didn’t like feeling helpless. Nothing would change the fact that he wasn’t here right now anyway.
Mom reminded us often that we could talk to her if we needed to. She asked how Attie and I were doing and tried to check in. I didn’t like talking about it, but I admitted that I missed him. Better to say a little than spill everything.
Like I had countless times before, I went over and hugged her. She smiled, hugged me back, then turned to the stove.
I slipped out to the living room.
Attie was curled on the couch, unicorn blanket pulled up to her chin. Her long red hair—a tangled mess—spilled across her face. She hated anyone touching it, especially brushing.
Her eyes opened slightly as I entered the room. A small smile played on her lips as she closed them again.
I sat at the end of the couch near her feet and picked up my Minecraft Builder’s book. Breakfast will be ready soon.
I let out a slow breath, glancing at the clock.
Only one more hour until Mom drops us off at prison.
Or school.
Whatever you want to call it.