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The Monster and the Dark
Fiction: All he could feel was his fear.
Hans Frei had it good.
As he approached his home on the cold October night, he pondered how luck had kept him company over the past few years. Fortune flew with the black ash in the sky above him; with it he was never lonely, despite not yet having found a partner to share his life with. Time, he mused, would deliver that too. Indeed, his thought train chugged, good things come to those who wait!
He was returning from the latest Club meeting. Hans was beginning to enjoy even these, after begrudgingly joining in order to improve his standing in the world. Now, since his bosses had so generously relocated him, he had never felt happier. For he had been assigned to do what he did best. To exterminate. And boy, was he good.
He was a pest controller by profession, but he didn’t like to think low of himself simply because he had a job to do. He just followed orders; did what he was told. His bosses didn’t like to be questioned, nor did he like to pry. Hans was a handyman, and he was rewarded profusely for it.
So as he stepped upon the path leading to his house that night, Hans was in a merry mood. Why shouldn’t he be? He had his world at his feet and a song in his heart. In his opinion, his life was a one way trip along the straight and narrow. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to fear.
But, my, wasn’t it cold. Leaves blew around his feet in a silent dance, the fog sparkling under the cold gaze of the half moon. Though the wind blew, nothing could be heard in the night. Hans shivered and blinked away the moonlight as he reached out to open the gate in front of his house. It was already open.
“Odd.” he murmured to himself, in an effort to interrupt the voice of the silence. “Must be the wind.” Now he dismissed his confusion, as he accepted what his eternally rational mind informed him.
Ambling up his garden path he tried to whistle. Nothing came out; the tune was drowned out by the silent chill. The leaves danced in the cold autumn air. It was always cold here, Hans thought. The pest controller reached his white and wooden front door and let himself in. Expecting at least some relief from the icy grip of the night, he was left disappointed. The temperature seemed to plummet as he stumbled inside and his cold breath scorched his face as it left his lungs.
Christ it was cold! His hand pierced the night in an attempt to turn on the light. Pulling the switch, Hans was greeted by a dim nothing. Damn! He had forgotten. For some reason, the lights in his home had been fading more and more over the past few weeks. “Hellfire!” he swore aloud, yet again he could not hear his own voice. The silence dominated the night.
As his mood darkened with the cold corridors of his home, Hans pushed on into his house and settled into his living room. His optimism, he promised himself, would not be tarnished. Especially after such a good night at the Club meeting, for he was able to announce that his pest extermination rate was at its highest rate yet, and pushing on to record levels. True, sometimes he did feel guilty about his work, but what did it matter in the grand scheme of things? The world would not miss one rat. Or two. Or three. After all, they were only vermin.
As he complemented his lack of guilt, Hans set about lighting up his fireplace. With every stroke he attempted to set the wood alight but in chilling silence the icy breeze undid his efforts. Eventually, after extreme effort and against all the odds, he persevered and a tongue of flame tickled the first wood in the fireplace, before gorging itself upon the rest. Awfully pleased with himself, Hans pulled up a chair and lay back to enjoy his new-found warmth. In his opinion, it was the least he deserved.
As Hans Frei drifted off to rest in the comfort of his armchair, he forgot the cold. He forgot the dark. The night raged outside his window in a mute storm. The black spots of the sky descended. The moonlight fled the battlefield. All that was left was Hans. And the dark. Yet he knew nothing of this. He knew nothing of fear. He knew not, moreover, that he was being watched.
Hans was awoken from his slumber by the chill. It had never left. The fire that Hans had so proudly built for himself was desecrated; all that remained of it were the few flakes of ash that drifted like leaves in the breeze. Yet the silence still reigned. Shivering once more, Hans felt he had had enough. There was much work to be done. His new blend of rat poison had to be tested the following day, and that required much preparation. Thus he gathered himself groggily together and got up to make his way, through the shadows, into his bedroom. A few paces from his welcoming bed, however, his dreamy march was interrupted by a crash. It finally shattered the silence in an emphatic fashion. Roused from his semi-conscious state, Hans almost jumped with fright, before he recognised the source of the sound.
“Bloody gate…bloody wind…” he muttered under his breath. The crash was repeated, and again, each time more thunderous than the last. In the split second that separates one moment from the next, Hans made the choice that he could not bear the disturbance any longer. Even the perpetual silence was better than this rumpus.
Throwing on a coat this time, he hastily strode down the hallway and opened his front door. His bare feet sending icy lightning bolts up his spine and through his body, as well as cracking leaves and twigs on the ground, Hans absorbed the darkness around him as it began to shape his mood and mind. Growling in sheer annoyance, he firmly locked the steel gate so that peace could be restored. At this, he turned, satisfied, and made his way up the path to his white wooden door.
Halfway up this dirty path, as Hans was already anticipating the sweet prospect of a good night’s sleep, the silence was pierced again.
A footstep.
Hans froze.
The silence.
Now all he could hear was his breath. Gaining pace. Gaining momentum.
His heartbeat.
Gaining pace. Gaining momentum.
Another footstep.
All he could feel was his fear.
Gaining pace. Gaining momentum.
Another footstep.
Quicker this time.
Gaining pace. Gaining momentum.
The pest controller had two choices. He could run, scared like a child, and hide himself within the four walls in which he called home. He could, alternatively, turn to face the night.
To face whoever was in the night,
The prospect terrified him. The choice terrified him.
Another footstep.
The choice was there. The choice was made. He summoned up all his courage and spun to face the father of the footsteps.
There was nothing.
Nothing! Hans stared down his path at his gate, sealed firmly shut. He stared into the night. The night seemed to stare back at him. No one was there. Relief spewed from his mouth and was trapped and crystallised in the black air. How could he have been so stupid, so childish? Chastising himself yet again, he began to walk back up the path.
Another footstep.
No.
Hans was left with one choice; to flee. He ran, stricken and horrified up the path to his door. Breathing heavily, he fumbled with the latch and opened the white wooden entrance.
And was greeted with he who had been watching him.
Han’s jaw dropped in terror. His wide eyes bulged and tears began to stream down his cheeks.
“No, please. No…”
For Hans Frei was staring at himself.
His own bulky form, dressed in stripes of white and blue, stood smiling down at him. Whilst the image was terrifying enough, it was the eyes of the figure that stabbed at Hans’ heart.
They were utterly black. There were no pupils.
It was as if all the darkness in the world had been poured into them. Hans’ could not help but stare into the raven fires of the eyes. They drew him in with all his fear. They drew him closer to the night. Closer to the black spots. Closer to the death inside. To the guilt and truth that had always been there.
“But they were only vermin…” Hans sobbed.
The silence was broken one last time, as the distorted reflection curled its lips.
The darkness laughed. It took him.
Hans’ screamed.
And he truly knew who had been watching him that night.
It was I.
I am the night and the dark and the shadow. And I took Hans Frei.
For as I looked into his eyes and he looked back into my emptiness, I saw that he was like me. He was of black heart and wicked soul.
I was content.
There was one monster in the cold that night. And it was not I.
So I took my kin and we danced amongst the black ash, above the Polish sky. I, the Dark, danced with the Exterminator of Auschwitz.
By: Jonathan Guckian
