This Present Darkness
It began as a feeling, a prickling sensation that sent goosebumps up his arm, as if something lurked just outside his field of vision. Cooper whirled around, hoping to catch a glimpse of the intruder, but it melted into the shadows.
Probably only Voodoo, he thought as he puttered around the apartment he shared with his boyfriend. Their black cat often crept up on people unawares. And if there was truly an intruder, how likely was it they could vanish into mid air? Or that they would do nothing but watch him folding laundry?
These logical explanations did nothing to ease his sense of being watched. Something was in the apartment with him, something more malevolent than his cat. An invisible presence biding its time for some sinister yet unclear purpose.
And yet—why would he be targeted out of all the people in the world? Wasn’t it a bit self-centered to imagine he would be that important to anything?
Or was he being targeted? What if it wasn’t only him at risk? What if Spencer was being watched, too?
Ice cold dread seized him at this thought. Ordinarily he didn’t worry about Spencer. But the question echoed in his mind as if the presence was taunting him using his own inner voice.
Is Spencer safe? Are you sure? How do you know?
In the end, anxiety over Spencer’s well-being won out against anxiety over being too needy.
*hey hope work is treating you well today :) be careful on the way home love you*
He chose not to mention the unease that prompted his text; The last thing he wanted was for Spencer to call and ask if everything was all right. Those were difficult conversations even when Cooper had a clear sense of what was wrong. When it was nothing more than a sense that danger lay all around? He knew how that would go. Spencer would question his decision to go off meds, as if they hadn’t gone over his reasons a million times: Anxiety wasn’t the only emotion his meds had dulled, and Cooper was tired of living life in neutral.
As he waited for a reply he paced the small living room, surveying it with suspicion, searching for any clue to what was causing this sense of wrongness.
But the apartment was just how it always was: the sofa with stuffing spilling out from where Voodoo had clawed; The old table lamp Spencer picked up from the curb where another resident left it; The stacks of books with their covers falling apart from many readings. And yet the feeling of an unseen presence lingered.
Cooper glanced at his phone. Why hasn’t he answered yet?
The obvious answer was that Spencer was at work and probably hadn’t even seen the text yet. The obvious answer did nothing to assuage Cooper’s fears of some worse reason behind the silence.
He resisted the urge to send another text. He didn’t need reassurance; anxiety was nothing new. Perhaps this was more intense than he usually experienced, but that was to be expected when he’d slept so poorly the past month. The people in the apartment above them were always clattering about, talking and shouting no matter the time. Spencer could sleep under those circumstances, but Cooper couldn’t.
Pacing the living room provided no respite from his thoughts. He needed to do something to cut off the rumination before he drove himself out of his mind. Reading had been a helpful distraction when anxiety overwhelmed him in the past, so Cooper grabbed a book off the shelf and settled onto the sofa.
The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis–He hadn’t read this book since high school; At the time he’d found it equal parts fascinating and frightening. But now–he hoped–he would find it all absurd, and laugh at how ridiculous he’d been back then. Besides, poking holes in Lewis’s logic might help him settle his anxiety, and serve as a reminder this was all fiction. There was nothing to be afraid of.
He found neither reassurance nor distraction. Each word he read clawed at his defenses of rationality and logic until only his childhood fear and uncertainty remained, bleeding and exposed.
When the humans disbelieve in our existence we lose all the pleasing results of direct terrorism and we make no magicians. On the other hand, when they believe in us, we cannot make them materialists and sceptics. At least, not yet.
Dread swelled within him. His unbelief, once a shield against despair, now anchored him to the horrors he’d been so keen to escape.
Cooper was overcome with an irrational belief that Wormwood and Screwtape would materialize from the pages and pull him into their dark world, devouring him whole. He hurled the book away from him. It crashed against the wall, its pages fluttering like a wounded bird.
He fled to the bedroom and fumbled with the lock, clumsy in his haste. A half-formed thought the book would chase him across the apartment lent him urgency.
Locks couldn’t keep out real demons—creatures of the spiritual realm—they were as immaterial as the soul Cooper had once feared would endure eternal torment—but the act of securing the door brought a modicum of much needed comfort.
It’s just a book. Get a grip. He closed his eyes, counting to ten as he inhaled. He released the breath, but calm skittered out of reach and instead of the relaxation he was reaching for, a picture bloomed in his mind, a grotesque figure with long, twig-like fingers and a skinless face with eyes that burned.
He inhaled again, but when he reluctantly forced his eyes open there was nobody else in the room. Cooper’s gaze darted over the dresser and chest, but there was nobody hiding behind the furniture. Much like the living room, the bedroom stubbornly refused to reveal anything out of the ordinary no matter how much his instincts screamed at him there must be some visible sign of the wrongness that had invaded.
Inaudible voices whispered from the shadows, their tone aggressive, threatening but their source remained invisible. “The neighbors,” he muttered aloud. “ It’s just the neighbors.”
A constant stream of noise was part of the apartment experience; No need to assume anything out of the ordinary. And yet he knew with terrifying certainty that there was nothing ordinary about any of these noises. The creaking of floorboards above him, the vehement muttering coming from someone in the stairwell, the dog barking down the hall all felt uniquely sinister.
“Demons aren’t real. Demons aren’t real.” He whispered, willing himself to believe his own reassurance.
Demons weren’t real and life wasn’t a Frank Peretti novel.
He swept the comforter from the bed and pulled it around his shoulders. Despite the name, the comfort he derived was minimal. The empty apartment, normally his haven, closed in on him. He found himself wishing he wasn’t alone.
Texting Spencer again was out of the question; Cooper wanted certainty that his boyfriend was safe, but he also knew how irrational his fears would sound if he confessed them to anyone but his parents.
And he couldn’t call them. Broaching the topic of demons with his mother would invite her to comment on all the ways he’d strayed from the path of righteousness as an adult.
Ways like living with Spencer.
Neither of Cooper’s parents were ever anything but polite to Spencer and they never discussed their disapproval to his face. His mother had told him exactly once, when they had moved in together, that it was his decision to turn his back on God, and she couldn’t force him to do the right thing.
But if he mentioned demons, he knew that would remove the only barrier he had against those criticisms. Besides, she and Dad already believed in demons. They expected demonic activity. They’d be fine.
But his sister, Vicky, wouldn’t be so fine. She didn’t believe in demons any more than Cooper did, even though she attended church as religiously as their parents.
He and Vicky weren’t close, precisely–she was busy with motherhood, and neither he nor she had ever been reliable about keeping in touch with other people–but on the rare occasion they spoke with one another they got along. And he owed it to her to warn her.
He sighed in audible relief when she picked up.
“Hey, Coop. What’s up?”
“I know this sounds crazy,” he told her, “But…” And he launched into a rambling monologue, the words tumbling out so fast they almost didn’t bother stopping at his brain on their way to his mouth.
She interrupted him with a laugh. “Have you been talking to Mom again?”
Cooper tried to suppress his annoyance. “This has nothing to do with Mom.”
“Oh, yeah? Remember Easter?” Vicky asked.
Last Easter had been a particularly horrible affair. Cooper’s mother told everyone that seven-year-old Easton had a meltdown that morning before church, and that this meltdown was a sign of spiritual warfare–demons wanted to prevent Vicky and Easton from attending Church. Vicky had snapped that Easton was Autistic, just like his Uncle Cooper. That had led to his mother tearfully asking him if she’d neglected his attempts to tell her about demons haunting him in childhood.
Cooper groaned. “I know demons don’t cause Autism. Mom is ridiculous sometimes. But…” he hesitated, then pressed on. His sister’s safety was more important than facing her ridicule. “Please be careful, okay?”
“Be careful? What, you want me to keep an eye out for demons? Little guys with horns and pitchforks? They don’t exist, Coop.”
“I’m telling you the truth.” As he spoke, he cast a glance toward the window, as if he expected the blinds to have opened of their own accord to reveal hellfire licking up the sides of the apartment. Of course they were still closed, just like he’d left them.
“You should never have gone off Anafranil,” Vicky said. “Your anxiety is getting the better of you again.”
This isn’t anxiety,” he snapped. “I’m not afraid demons exist. I know they exist.”
The distinction was important. Anxiety was fear of uncertainty, of the unpredictable and uncontrollable. Fearing something concrete and real was a different, more rational emotion.
“You know the same way Mom knows.” He could almost feel her rolling her eyes. “Look, it’s time for me to pick up Easton from school. Try calling your therapist next, okay? Bye.”
Cooper dropped his phone onto the bed beside him. He hoped Vicky wouldn’t realize the severity of the demon infestation too late. But if she refused to believe him there wasn’t anything he could do about it. He could only take care of his own safety.
The question was: How? Neither he nor Spencer were into guns; in fact, Cooper had never handled a gun in his entire life unless he counted water guns in childhood. Somehow he doubted those would be effective at killing demons even if he happened to have one in the apartment.
The only potential weapons he could think of were the steak knives in the kitchen. With the greatest reluctance he tiptoed across the floor and cautiously opened the door. When nothing attacked he crept the two steps it took to get to the kitchen. His heart hammered as he peered around the refrigerator. The cramped kitchen was empty.
Just as he grabbed a steak knife there was a familiar creak from the front of the apartment. Cooper crept out of the kitchen with the knife held at arm’s length.
The door was closed.
Cooper’s eyes darted around the foyer. “Spence?” His voice wavered. “Are you home already?”
Nobody answered.
Cooper swallowed. He knew he’d heard the front door open, but it wasn’t like Spencer not to announce his return from work. It definitely wasn’t like him not to answer when Cooper spoke to him. He sent another text: Where are you? Spencer’s reply was immediate: Still at work.
Cooper inhaled deeply. You’re hearing things, he told himself. It was the apartment across the hall. Or the one next door. Or maybe it was his mind playing tricks on him; that happened now and then, as much as he hated to admit it.
Even as he thought this, he heard more sounds–footsteps, squeaking floorboards. He couldn’t tell which direction they came from. Not in the immediate vicinity, and yet he could have sworn they were in his apartment.
His hands trembled as he investigated the tiny apartment. The intruder continued to be elusive.
Cooper retreated to his bedroom and locked the door again. He crouched on the floor, gripping the knife so hard his hands cramped.
He waited for the inevitable assault by the unseen intruder. Maybe the door would shudder. Or splinters would cascade onto his head as man-sized claws shredded through the wood. Or maybe a black miasma would seep between the door and the doorjamb only to materialize into a towering entity with a cruel smile and curling rams horns.
The door remained resolutely still and silent.
Scratch, scratch, scratch.
He pointed the knife at the door with trembling hands. “Go away.”
“Prrow?”
Cooper lowered the knife as his heart rate slowed. It was only Voodoo. He opened the door a fraction, just enough to allow his cat to slip through, and then settled back into watchfulness.
Voodoo headbutted his free hand with another, “Prrow?”
“You’re so bossy,” Cooper said as he petted her.
With each stroke his anxiety diminished. His belief in demons refused to fade with it, but he could cope with their existence. After all, they predated humans, didn’t they? There had been plenty of opportunity for them to attack before today if they’d wanted to. But why would they want to? That wasn’t how demons worked; they never showed themselves unless a stronger spiritual force compelled them.
There was no reason to believe they would drag him to hell while he was still living.
He stood abruptly, causing Voodoo to leap away with a startled hiss. He marched over to the windows and swept open the blinds, wanting to reassure himself there was really nothing out there.
No demons. Only his elderly neighbor walking her dog. A scarf and hat obscured her face.
He let go of the blinds and ducked.
Rather than quelling his residual anxiety he’d managed to rekindle it, the very act of looking for evidence of un-truth reinforcing the idea that there was a reason to look for evidence in the first place.
Voodoo licked his hand, the roughness of her tongue distracting him from his thoughts. But only for a moment; they sprang back to life the moment she stalked off to stare at nothing on the ceiling.
Nothing? Or something seen only by her?
“Are you protecting me, Voo?”
The only answer she gave was a flick of her whiskers.
He took that as a yes. If cats were witches’ familiars, why couldn’t they also protect against the supernatural?
That thought made him feel marginally better. Not better enough to get off the floor, but better.
The routine sounds of a weekday evening drifted through the window: a car engine revving. A school bus squeaking to a stop, followed by the chatter and laughter of children.
No screams of fear. No squeals of pain. If the demons had eaten the children they’d done so in terrifying silence.
Cooper had no concept of how much time had passed when footsteps echoed from the hall, and the doorknob twisted. There was a thump as whatever was on the other side pulled the door, trying to get in.
He snatched up his knife. His hands were so clammy it almost slipped out of his grasp. He watched in horror as the door shook from the effort of something yanking on the doorknob.
“Cooper?” Spencer’s voice asked in confused frustration. “Why did you lock the door?”
Cooper inched forward, trepidation and hope tangling together. “Spencer? Is that you?”
“Who else would it be?” The doorknob jiggled again as Spencer tried unsuccessfully to open the door. “Are you going to let me in? I need to pee.”
“You’re not a demon, are you?”
Spencer sighed in exasperation. “Demons aren’t scientifically possible.”
That sounded like something Spencer would say. But how would a demon answer?
Probably laugh and burn down the door, Cooper decided.
“Wait just a sec.” He unlocked the door, then hurriedly took a step back, wielding the knife just in case it was a demon wearing his boyfriend’s face and form.
The door swung open. Spencer’s gaze immediately settled on the knife. “So wanna tell me why you’re hiding in the bedroom with a knife?”
Cooper searched Spencer’s face for signs of possession. Was this human-Spencer, trying to be rational, or was it a demon trying to get him off his guard? “How am I supposed to defend myself against demons if I’m not armed?” he asked at last.
“Your parents really did a number on you,” Spencer grunted, loosening his tie.
“Why are you dragging my parents into this? There are demons hiding in the shadows right now, ready to leap out and devour unsuspecting people, or haul them down to Hell, and you want to talk about my parents?”
“They had one job,” Spencer said. “and they failed.”
“They didn’t fail.” Cooper hunched his shoulders defensively.
“They failed you,” Spencer said, stalking across the room and throwing open the blinds.
Cooper fought down a desire to lunge at him. His breathing quickened. Spencer was exposing their bedroom to the demon hoards as if he had no concern at all for their safety!
Spencer pointed. “See? There are no demons out there.”
Cooper’s grip on the carving knife was white knuckled. “That’s because they’re hiding.”
Spencer apparently had no argument against such airtight logic, because instead of answering he said, “Put the knife down before you hurt yourself.”
“But–”
“I’ll protect you.”
Cooper grudgingly handed him the knife. He no longer believed in an omniscient God, but his belief in Spencer’s ability to do anything he promised was near enough.
Spencer disappeared into the bathroom. When he emerged again he fixed his boyfriend with one of those looks that always gave Cooper the impression he had x-ray eyes.
After a moment of tense silence Spencer asked, “Have you eaten anything today?”
“...no.” Cooper braced himself for criticism.
“Why don’t we walk down to Mexican?” Spencer suggested.
“Walk?” Cooper stole an involuntary glance at the window, which continued to mock him with its false view of normality. “Outside?”
“Outside is the only way to get there.” Spencer held out a hand. “I promise I won’t let the demons get you.”
Cooper gripped Spencer’s hand with the same desperation he’d held the knife.
“See?” Spencer said soothingly. “We’re safe.”
Their favorite Mexican restaurant was nestled in the heart of a bustling shopping center. A group of teens sat along the walled bushes in the square, tossing fries to pigeons. A father paced the sidewalk with a sobbing toddler. A pair of elderly women squinted at the closing times listed in the window of the nearby Thai restaurant.
Surrounded by signs of ordinary life, Cooper found it easier to convince himself his thoughts of demons were paranoia.
But that night, as they got ready for bed, aggressive whispers drifted through the walls. Cooper turned a sleepy glare toward the ceiling. “I wish they’d take their arguments somewhere else. Or be quieter about them.”
Spencer slid beneath the comforter next to Cooper. “Are you sure you’re not imagining things?”
Cooper pushed himself up on one elbow to better aim his glare at Spencer. “No! How do you not hear them? It’s been all week, just hiss hiss hiss at one another.”
Spencer glanced toward the ceiling for only a moment before shaking his head. “I don’t hear anything.”
Cooper settled back against his pillow, but the heated whisperings kept him awake. As he lay there listening to the voices, Cooper’s paranoia was rekindled. Every shadow hid sinister forces waiting for him to drift into slumber. He shifted restlessly. He debated waking Spencer, but decided against it; it would only irritate his boyfriend. If the demons decided to attack, Spencer would have no choice but to wake up. At least one of them would be rested. Maybe that would make the difference.
By the time Spencer’s alarm went off the next morning, Cooper’s sleepless night had worn down any impulse control he had.
“Don’t leave me home alone,” he begged as Spencer padded toward the bathroom. “Please. I don’t want to die.”
“You’re not going to die just because I’m at work,” Spencer said, and he shut the bathroom door behind him.
Cooper dropped back against his pillow. How was he supposed to survive without Spencer? How was Spencer going to survive if he willingly traveled out into the demon infested world beyond the apartment door?
As Spencer left for work, Cooper huddled in bed with his eyes shut tight, willing the demons to vanish from his consciousness. His days grew increasingly fraught until even Spencer’s presence provided no relief. Isolation was safer; in his self-imposed isolation, there was nobody to scoff at the fears that plagued him.
Spencer refused to allow him that small amount of peace.
“I’m worried about you,” he said one evening when he came home to Cooper once again huddled between the coats in the bedroom closet. “You need to call your therapist. If you can’t do it for yourself, do it for me. Please. I don’t know how to help you.”
Cooper pressed himself against the wall, his face turned away. “Are you calling me stupid?”
“I’m saying you need help,” Spencer reiterated. “We can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep doing this.”
Those words sliced through Cooper’s heart with the ferocity of the demonic claws he feared. He lowered his chin onto his knees. “Yeah. Fine.”
The next day, he reluctantly called his therapist. His words tumbled out in a rush as he explained the demons that stalked him, how they followed him with their taunting whispers that his boyfriend couldn’t hear, how he was only calling because his boyfriend had issued an ultimatum.
His therapist gave him the name of a mental health clinic that offered emergency services and urged him to go immediately.
Cooper huddled in bed for hours after his phone call, obsessively dreading admitting to Spencer that his therapist suggested emergency mental health services–and dreading the mental health services, too.
What if they lock me up forever? He wondered as he lay in bed listening to the mocking laughter of the demons.
He’d made up his mind not to say anything to Spencer, but his resolve crumbled the moment his boyfriend walked through the door.
“Did you call your therapist?”
“Yeah,” Cooper admitted. “I guess she thinks I’m crazy or something.”
The drive to the clinic was tense and silent. Only after they’d filled out the patient paperwork did Spencer turn on Cooper, fussing at him for not texting sooner.
“I would have come home immediately,” he fretted. “Why did you wait?”
Cooper picked at the hem of his shirt. “I’m fine,” he insisted, but even as he spoke his eyes darted around the waiting room, picking out all the possible demon hiding spots, sizing up the staff for any hint they weren’t human.
The evaluation was a blur of anxiety and confusion that exploded into full blown panic when the doctor gently suggested he was experiencing psychosis.
Cooper hunched his shoulders defensively. “I’m not crazy!”
“Nobody said anything about ‘crazy’,” the doctor said patiently. “But right now your mind is sick.”
“So, crazy,” Cooper reiterated.
The doctor closed his eyes momentarily before continuing as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “We’re prescribing an antipsychotic and keep you here for evaluation. Just to make sure it works for you.”
“You can’t do that,” Cooper said. He turned to Spencer with a pleading expression. “You can’t let them do that.”
“Coop, I want you to get better,” Spencer said.
“You’re going to leave me here?” Cooper asked. Had the demons turned Spencer against him? Or did Spencer hate him because he thought Cooper was crazy?
Spencer squeezed Cooper’s shoulder. “I’ll visit you every day until you’re discharged. Okay?”
Cooper grabbed for Spencer’s hand, but his boyfriend was already at the door. “I love you. Get well soon.”
The door swung shut. Hopelessness settled around Cooper like shackles. It was impossible to believe he’d see Spencer again.
But as the antipsychotics took effect, the intensity of his delusions waned. And each evening that Spencer kept his promise to visit reinforced his faith in his boyfriend just a little more. The demons were never completely banished from his mind. There were times that familiar sensation of malice sent goosebumps down his arms, times he had to turn to Spencer for confirmation he was hearing things.
But their power over him had weakened. Now, he laughed at his own fears.
“Those darn demons,” he’d tell Spencer. “You’d think they could find someone more interesting to spy on.”
And he’d smile to show he knew they weren’t real, even if his brain wanted to convince him otherwise.
In a way, he had been possessed. The demons had dragged him to hell just like he’d feared they would.
Spencer had rescued him from the darkness. Spencer, and his loving insistence that Cooper get help even when Cooper resisted.
It turned out demons weren’t the only heritage from his childhood religion still influencing his life. There were other influences, too.
The greatest of these was love.