Dare in the Darkness

In the immediate stillness that followed the ritual's climax, Wade's initial shock gave way to a creeping sense of urgency. The tall figure in the black robe, who seemed to command the others, sheathed his obsidian shard and turned to address the group. His voice, authoritative and chilling, cut through the eerie silence. "Search the perimeter. The boy couldn't have come alone."

Wade's heart pounded in his chest as the reality of his situation sank in. They were looking for him, for any witnesses to what had just transpired. Panic set in, a stark, visceral fear that rooted him to the spot for a precious few seconds before survival instincts took over.

He knew he had to move, and fast. The dense woods that had led him to this nightmare now offered the only cover, the only chance of escape. Without a second thought, Wade turned and bolted, pushing his body to its limits as he darted between trees and leaped over underbrush. The sounds of the ritual site faded into the background, replaced by the thumping of his own heartbeat and the ragged breaths tearing from his lungs.

Every snapped twig or rustled leaf sent waves of fear coursing through him, each sound a potential harbinger of his discovery. But he couldn't afford to slow down, to give in to the fatigue that clawed at his muscles and clouded his thoughts. Dexter's fate, whatever it may have been, was a constant reminder of what could await him if he were caught.

As the distance between him and the clearing grew, Wade allowed himself to hope, to believe he might actually escape unnoticed. The woods seemed endless, a labyrinth of nature that he navigated with desperate intuition.

Finally, the density of the forest began to lessen, the sounds of the observatory crowd reached his ears, a beacon of normalcy in the madness he was fleeing. Emerging from the tree line, Wade did his best to compose himself, to blend into the crowd and mask the fear and exertion that no doubt painted his face. 'Just another face in the crowd,' he willed himself, 'invisible, unremarkable.'

He weaved through the throng of people, each stride distanced Wade from the nightmarish scene he'd fled, drawing him towards the comforting presence of Mr. Raven. Amidst his racing thoughts, a pang of realization hit him — he should've skirted along the river's edge, where his footsteps could betray his path in the snow. An anxious hope flickered within him, silently pleading that they would depart swiftly before any pursuers could trace his hurried escape.

Mr. Raven's concerned voice broke through his tumultuous thoughts. "There you are! I was starting to worry. Where have you been? Its been four hours?!"

Wade's mind reeled at Mr. Raven's words. "Four hours?" he echoed, disbelief lacing his voice. The cogs in his mind whirred, trying to piece together the timeline. 'But... it felt like less than an hour.' The mismatch of time gnawed at him, a puzzle he couldn't quite solve as he struggled to reconcile his perception with reality.

Wade forced a nod, the lies already forming on his lips. "Yeah, got caught up in a game with Dexter and a couple of other guys." 'Caught up in a game? Is that the best I can do?'

Mr. Raven's initial relief at seeing Wade safe quickly morphed into a stern, disapproving frown. "A game for four hours?! We were supposed to watch the eclipse together." 

Wade started, "I... I know, I'm sorry. It's just that—"

"These moments, they don't come around often." Mr. Raven interjected.

Wade fumbled for words, "I didn't mean to miss it, really. Things just got... out of hand?"

Mr. Raven let out a weary sigh, placing a hand on Wade's shoulder. "Let's just get home."

As they prepared to leave, Wade couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, of not being entirely free from the reach of the figures in the clearing.

The drive home was a blur, Wade's mind replaying the day's events in a loop of disbelief and fear. The need to understand what he had witnessed and what had become of Dexter consumed him. 'What was that ritual? Who were those people?' Wade's mind churned, grappling with the impossible and the improbable, seeking explanations where none seemed to fit—first this new life and now that horror show. But for now, survival meant keeping the truth buried.

Mr. Raven's expression softened as they drove silently, the weight of his earlier frustration slowly lifting. He stole a glance at Wade, noticing the subtle tension in his shoulders and the way he stared blankly ahead.

A few miles into their journey, the silence in the car grew heavy, laden with unspoken words and the day's events. Mr. Raven finally broke the quiet, his voice carrying a mix of hesitation and reflection. "You know, Wade, I think I came on a bit strong earlier," he admitted, not quite apologizing but acknowledging his overreaction. "It was just an eclipse, and there'll be others. Just... next time, give me a heads up if you're planning to disappear like that, okay?" His tone softened, hinting at understanding and a desire to move past the moment's tension.

Wade offered a nod, the warmth of appreciation seeping through him. "Thanks, Dad," he managed to say, the term 'Dad' feeling strange and distant on his lips. A poignant thought crossed his mind, 'He looks at me and sees a son, yet he's blind to who I truly am.'

- - - 

Arriving home, the sight of the house did little to ease Wade's disquiet. They stepped out of the truck, and with a gentle tousle of Wade's hair, Mr. Raven ushered, "Let's head in."

Shoes were shed at the doorstep, and jackets found their place on hooks. Mr. Raven seemed to gravitate automatically towards the living room, sinking into his usual spot on the couch with a deep sigh. He flicked on the TV, the screen coming to life with an unfamiliar TV drama. The TV was an ancient relic nestled within a wooden cupboard. Its bulky frame and the warm hue of the wood gave it a certain charm. It was different from the modern devices Wade was accustomed to. One had to approach the set and manually twist the dials to change the channel.

 "Care to join me for a bit?" he called out to Wade, patting the space beside him.

Wade hesitated for a moment before joining him on the couch. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity for his 'father.' The man's reaction to the missed eclipse painted a picture of a lonely man. Wade would have to sit with the sad man briefly and then retreat to his room. Mr. Raven smiled. Do you mind turning the channel, Chris?

Wade got up and turned the dials. The click of the mechanism echoed softly in the quiet room. When the TV screen played a space show, Mr. Raven stopped him there.

As the episode ended and Mr. Raven made offhand comments about the storyline, Wade nodded and murmured the appropriate responses. Still, his thoughts were miles away, tangled in the memories of the day's horrors. 'How can I just sit here and pretend everything's normal after seeing...that?'

Wade's stomach growled. Mr. Raven glanced at him, "Missed lunch with all that running around, huh?" he observed.

"Yeah, I guess I am," Wade responded.

"Great. I'll order us some pizza. Does that sound good?" he suggested, getting up from the couch to a wall phone in the kitchen. Wade nodded. 

Mr. Raven chatted with the person on the other end of the line, confirming their usual order with the ease of routine. Wade found himself listening to the mundane details of toppings and delivery times. When the call ended, Mr. Raven returned to Wade, "Pepperoni and mushroom, your favorite, on its way. Should be here in about thirty minutes," he announced. Wade was okay with the selection, but cheese was far better. 

As they waited for the pizza, the TV buzzed. Wade, his mind still a whirlwind of images and emotions from the day, found unexpected comfort in the routine, in waiting for something as simple as dinner.

When the doorbell finally rang, signaling the arrival of their meal, it was as if a small piece of the world had righted itself. Mr. Raven got up to answer it, and Wade followed, the movement a welcome distraction.

Mr. Raven turned off the TV.

They settled at the kitchen table, the aroma of hot pizza wafting between them, anchoring Wade to the present. He allowed himself to be immersed in the simplicity of savoring each slice, engaging in light-hearted debates over the merits of various toppings. Every mouthful felt like a gentle nudge towards normality, a reminder that amidst chaos, some slices of life stayed deliciously constant.

'Food. Comfort. Normalcy. A nice break.,' Wade pondered as they finished their meal. "I think I'm ready for bed. Its been a crazy day..." Wade said, some truth slipping. 

"Alright, champ. Make sure you hit the bathroom before you hit the hay," Mr. Raven responded, an affectionate dismissal in his gesture. Wade ascended the stairs with a quickened pace, the sanctuary of his room calling to him. Wade flicked the switch, bathing the room in a soft glow. Outside, dusk was drawing its curtain, the last rays of the sun dipping below the horizon. Wade perched on the edge of his bed. Fleeing was not the immediate option; it was the last resort. Trapped in the body of a child, where could he possibly run that wouldn't eventually lead back to this point?

Compelled by resignation and pragmatism, he rose and began to sift through his belongings. His hands found a canvas backpack, and methodically, he filled it with essentials like clothing, a makeshift bug-out bag of sorts. It was a small gesture, perhaps futile, but it offered a sliver of control over an otherwise unpredictable existence.

As he packed, his mind replayed the day's events, each detail etched with vivid clarity. One concern loomed more significant than the rest: Dexter. Their association, brief as it had been, now tied them together. Mr. Raven and anyone else at the observatory could easily link him to Dexter. The immediate challenge was the police investigation that would inevitably arise from Dexter's disappearance. He knew he needed a story consistent with what he'd told Mr. Raven but also plausible enough to withstand police scrutiny.

With the backpack prepared, Wade took a moment to sit back down, the weight of his situation pressing heavily on his shoulders. The room around him felt familiar and alien, a constant reminder of the life he'd entered. The last light of day faded outside his window. Wade's gaze lingered on the backpack. Crossing the room, he reached out and clicked the lock on his door decisively. Wade's planning was abruptly interrupted by the sound of the front door closing, followed by the muffled cadence of voices drifting up the stairs. It was his sister coming home.

Lying still, he listened, trying to discern the mood from the tones and pitches of the conversation below. The sound of footsteps and continued conversation indicated his sister was making her way through the house, perhaps heading to the kitchen or the living room. He remembered the robes Skye's friend Melissa slipped up about earlier today. He realizes his sister was one of the robed people. The recollection hit Wade like a jolt of electricity. Earlier that day, Skye's friend Melissa had made an offhand remark about robes, a comment that had slipped through the cracks of his attention until now. Wade needed to observe her closely. 

But for now, he had to wait. The house was still awake. Hours seemed to stretch into an eternity as Wade waited for the house to quiet down. Last light beneath his door flickered out. The house settled into its nighttime quiet. Wade knew he had to act carefully. Direct confrontation about the night's events was out of the question; it would only raise suspicion and possibly put him in danger. Instead, he needed to be subtle. As the clock ticked past midnight, Wade slipped out of bed. He moved silently across the room, pausing at the door to listen for any signs of movement in the house. Satisfied that everyone else was asleep, he gently opened the door and stepped out into the dimly lit hallway.

The soft carpet muffled his footsteps as he made his way towards Skye's room. The door was ajar, and he could hear the faint sound of her breathing, steady and deep in sleep. He hesitated, contemplating whether to risk entering her room.Wade pushed the door open slightly, enough to peer inside. Skye was sprawled on her bed, oblivious to the world around her. There was nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to suggest her involvement with the mysterious group, except the bag she had earlier lying haphazardly at the foot of the bed. With painstaking care, he nudged the door wider, just enough to slip through, his eyes fixed on the ominous sliver of fabric. The room felt different at night, shadows clinging to the corners, turning familiar objects into specters of doubt.

Wade inched closer to the bed, his movements deliberate, breaths shallow to avoid any sound that might betray his presence. Footsteps muffled by the yellow shag carpet. His focus was singular. The bag. He carefully and quietly rummaged it with his hand but it was completely empty. He gave the room another look over and saw something perculiar. A piece of fabric peeked out from under her bed. It was dark, almost black, and Wade's heart skipped a beat at the sight. Could it be part of a robe?

Wade's fingers, tense with anticipation and dread, grasped the edge of the fabric peeking out from beneath Skye's bed. The late hour, coupled with the silence of the house, amplified the pounding of his heart, each beat. With a cautious pull the fabric slid across the floor. The dark fabric he'd imagined to be part of some sinister robe was nothing more than a pair of Skye's black panties. Caught between his past maturity and his current guise as a younger brother, Wade felt a mix of embarrassment and self-reproach. 

Skye's eyes snapped open, wide with shock and disbelief, as she caught sight of Wade holding the delicate fabric. Instantly, sleep's hold on her vanished, replaced by a surge of anger and confusion. "What the hell, Chris?!" she exclaimed, her voice slicing through the night's silence with razor-sharp clarity. Wade's mind raced, scrambling for an exit from the volatile situation. A flash of inspiration struck him—a risky but potentially effective diversion. "It was a dare!" he blurted out, a mischievous glint in his eyes attempting to mask his underlying fear. "You know, the guys and I were talking about who could pull off the silliest prank tonight, and... and this was it. Stupid, right?"

Before Skye could process the sudden shift in narrative or question the authenticity of his claim, Wade turned on his heel, the fabric of her garment still clutched in his hand, now a forgotten prop in his desperate bid for escape. "Gotta run—can't let them think I chickened out!" he added with feigned bravado, darting towards the door in a mock-heroic dash.

His heart thudded against his ribcage, each step away from Skye's room a blend of relief and lingering dread. The darkness of the hallway offered a temporary sanctuary, a shadowy maze through which he could navigate back to the safety of his own room. The distance seemed to stretch infinitely, each footfall echoing like a drumbeat of his hastened retreat, until at last, he crossed the threshold into his own space, the door clicking shut behind him with a finality that offered a meager sense of security.