It’s one of those Twilight Zone afternoons. The fog is thick enough, beyond the trees, to make me question the existence of a world beyond. (Am I removed from space and time, trapped in a finite universe, away from all that once was?) Quiet and eerie, the air casts a violet haze over all I see. Even the Christmas lights seem out of place, their cheer failing to reach beyond the gloom.
Darkness comes early these days; quick enough that you can watch it fall if you’re patient. I can’t watch, though. I’m uncomfortable with this moment. All I can do is glance up now and again, sometimes to be pulled into the heaviness.
On nights like this, dusk has a soul and it isn’t peaceful. Eerie gives way to sinister as dusk approaches. It comes, creeping, slithering down our streets and onto lawns, searching for… what, I do not know. Shade with no sunlight, it travels on the wheels of fear and desolation.
The heaviness thickens, coagulating into a sickening sense of terror and despair – the screaming wail that waits just below the breastbone for one more second.
Then, as dusk deepens past twilight, the air loses its menace. The street light pours out an amber glow over the neighbourhood and - just like that – it’s simply night time.
