A Dare in the Dark

By Jesse Eric Whitehead

I turn the doorknob on the closed door, afraid to see what might be on the other side. The door creaks on its ancient hinges. I take a step forward into the inky blackness, illuminated only by my flashlight.

I’m here on a dare from a friend. A bet. I win $100 if I stay the night by myself. I’m not here only for the money, though. I’m here for myself. I’m here to face my fear of the dark that haunts me.

It’s an old farmhouse, abandoned for more years than I am old. Haunted, some people say. Creepy. There are tales of those who entered and never returned. Tales of those who entered and returned stark raving mad. I’ve always thought they were nothing more than urban legends, ghost stories meant to scare children and gullible folk. I guess I’ll find out tonight. 

I edge slowly into the gloom, looking, listening. The weak glow of my flashlight reveals little more than dust-covered furniture. Debris on the floor. Blankets of cobwebs. An empty bookcase. The musty smell of loneliness. 

And my fear, always lurking in the shadows, ready to pounce at any time. A fear–that I must conquer–just as David conquered Goliath. All I have to do is stay the night until eight o’clock tomorrow morning.

I unroll my sleeping bag on the dusty hardwood floor. Long dormant particles rise through the air, swirling around me in a dance of despair. This will be a long night.

I was abused as a child. Locked up in my room all alone with no light for days at a time. Given less food than a growing boy needs. Punished for no reason but being alive in the wrong place and wrong time.

Years later, I am still terrified of being alone in the dark. A fear that holds me back. Mocks me. Says I’m not good enough. Says I’m a failure. Keeps me a prisoner in my mind.

I’m here to change that. End the torment. I will confront Goliath head-on and slay it dead. Before it slays me.

I get into my sleeping bag and zip it tightly around me. It warms and comforts me. I settle in and wait.

It’s quiet. I listen, straining my ears for the smallest sounds, but I hear nothing. No mouse running across the floor. No moaning ghost lurking in the dark. No whispering voices of residents long gone.  

I hear something. It sounds like a beating drum, slowly getting louder. I hear other sounds, swooshing, rushing, gurgling. Is someone in the house? What is it? 

I wait in silence, in dread, fearing the worst. The sounds grow louder, the beating drum incessant, pounding my ears, invading every part of me from head to toe, filling me with terror. I want to run, but fear has paralyzed me. I try to scream, but silence constricts my throat.

The sounds reach a terrifying crescendo, and I hold my breath. Suddenly, I know what it is. It’s my heartbeat! Blood flows through my veins. My stomach gurgles, protesting its last meal. Air enters and leaves my lungs. All parts of my body work together in harmony, the rhythm of life.

I exhale my bated breath, and the sounds fade into the distance. I’m relieved. Calm settles; my eyes flutter and grow heavy. Sleep carries me away to a distant land of fluffy clouds and warm sunlight. I float through the air, enjoying the peaceful sensations, disembodied but not alone. 

I hear a voice. An angel? God? No, it sounds a lot like me.

“You are good enough, brave enough, strong enough. Embrace your strength; find healing in the power of forgiveness. Forgive your abuser. Forgive yourself. You are the victor, not the victim.”  

For the first time in my life, it’s clear, and I understand. I alone have the power over my life and no one else. My former abuser has no hold on me. Cannot control me, terrorize me, victimize me. 

“I forgive you,” I say. Warm hands pick me up and cradle me‌ softly, lovingly, as a mother cradles her newborn baby. I bask in the warmth of acceptance, forgiveness, and peace. I want to stay here forever. 

A jangle in the distance interrupts my pleasant dreams, threatening to drag me back into the realm of consciousness. I don’t want to go. I don’t want to leave this heavenly place.

I awaken to the sound of my phone’s alarm. It’s eight o’clock. I survived the night. I made it!

I get out of my sleeping bag and roll it up. I think back to my dream, so pleasant and ethereal. I realize I was my own worst enemy all along. I created that Goliath in my own mind. I met Goliath and vanquished it. 

The light peaking through the windows is cheery and bright, dispelling the gloom of night. A new day of sunshine, radiating the promise of opportunity and hope. There are no limits but what I place on myself. It’s time to live my best life now. 

And collect my $100 bet.