Superstition’s Night by Kit Campbell

“…and they reached the safety of the light, and all was well.” Amara turned off her comp-pad’s screen and placed the device on the side of Braedon’s berth. She stood, straightening his blankets, before bending to press a kiss to his forehead. “Good night. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She retrieved the comp-pad and headed toward the corridor. 

“Mom?” Braedon called. There was a little tremor to his voice that gave her immediate pause. 

She returned to his berth, sinking onto the blankets beside him. “What is it?”

“The story–why were they so afraid of the dark? What was in it?”

Amara chuckled lightly, tucking the blankets tighter around her child. “Oh, dearest, there’s nothing in the dark. There never was. But this is an old story, one your grandfather used to tell me his grandfather told him, back when they were still on Earth. They didn’t know any better, back then. The dark was scary merely because they couldn’t see what was there, not because anything was.” She paused, gazing out the porthole at the stars beyond, the edges of the asteroid they inhabited just barely visible from this angle. “Besides, it’s never dark here. Not when the light of the universe surrounds us.”

Braedon nodded slightly, smiling up at her. “Thanks, Mom.” He rolled onto his side, and Amara took her leave.

Poor child. Maybe the story had been too scary for him. But it was good to look at older stories, to see what humanity had once believed and how far they’d come since then.

Amara pressed a button to close the door to Braedon’s room behind her. Blue running lights lined the corridor. It really was never dark. There were always hints of the station around them, lights here and there, denoting panels or indicating passageways. And there were the stars, though most of the asteroid station was contained inside the rock. 

Safer that way. Protected from micrometeorites and solar radiation. Amara stepped into the main section of the living quarters, got herself a glass of water from the food recirculator, and took it and her comp-pad to a chair. She would need to sleep soon herself, so she could get Braedon to school and herself to her shift in the morning, but a little downtime first would help.

She turned off most of the lights in the room, leaving a single one lit by which to read. 

At some point she must have dozed off. Amara snapped awake—or thought she had, at least, but maybe not, as she could see nothing of her surroundings. Not even the running lights, which were always on, lining the ceiling in every room of the station. There was a weight in her lap. Her comp-pad. Amara picked it up, instinctively turning the screen on.

It came to life, still set to the story where she must have left it. Not a dream, then. Her heart lurched, but Amara fought it down. There was nothing to be afraid of. It was just dark. And she knew these living quarters intimately. Keeping the comp-pad in one hand, she crossed to the intercom, pressing the power button.

Nothing. She was disappointed, but not surprised. A full station power outage? Maybe the rocky outer shell wasn’t as much protection as they’d thought, or maybe something big had made it through undetected. Or maybe it was just their section. Amara crossed to the door, intending to peek out into the corridor. But the door did not work either, and she knew from experience that finding the manual override was a pain. The engineers would be on the issue, and it would be fixed as quickly as possible.

In fact, it sounded like they might be working on it already. Out in the corridor beyond the door, she could hear the clicking of something against the metal flooring. It moved slowly, wending its way down the corridor, growing steadily nearer.

Smelling, her brain supplied, but Amara shook her head. Smelling, really. What would engineers need to smell?

The sound stopped outside her door, and though she knew it must be the engineers—maybe only their quarters had been affected—her heart hitched and she took a step back from the door. 

She should call out. Ask for help opening the door, ask about the status of the power, ask when she could expect the lights back. At least greet them, for politeness’s sake. But her voice would not leave her throat. Her muscles would not move. Even her breath hitched, unwilling to leave the safety of her lungs.

There was another sound, like the heavy rush of air. It trailed along the edges of the door, uneven and wet. Some engineering tool, surely. Nothing to justify the way every nerve in her body urged her to alertness. Nothing to justify the way every muscle tightened.

The air sound disappeared, but that did not seem to help. Amara stayed as still as she could manage, her eyes on where the door was, its image burned into the back of her mind.

She should…she should leave them to their work. There was nothing she could do to help, and her presence would only be distracting to them, if for some reason they needed to come into Amara’s quarters. Slowly, very slowly, she brought her comp-pad up to her chest, dampening some of its light. Even slower, she took one small step backward.

Outside the door, there was a noise that sounded like nothing she’d ever heard before, and—this was crazy—she was aware of something shifting its focus, staring through the door as if it weren’t even there. Staring at her.

It was her imagination. Leave them to their work.

Something crashed up against the door. Amara jumped, the comp-pad sliding from her fingers and slamming into the flooring. Another crash, and that noise again, low and inhuman and wet

She had to move. She needed to move. But her body stayed still, as if it knew better than her brain. As if it knew that moving would be the worst thing she could possibly do, like she could draw whatever was out there’s attention more than she already had.

It’s nothing. Just the engineers. Working on turning the power back on.

Something clicked against the flooring again, and Amara knew why people were afraid of the dark.

It slammed into the door again, and through the low light that seeped from the upside down comp-pad on the floor, Amara saw the door cave, ever so slightly, inward.

Her body’s hold broke, and she fled, bouncing off the table in her haste to get to the back of the quarters. She fumbled at the door to Braedon’s room—the inner doors had manual handles, so people would be able to reach food and water in a situation like this one—managed to get it open, and slammed it shut behind her. She hit the lock button, though it would not work, not without power, and sank to the floor beside her sleeping son, all her attention on the door and, beyond that, the noises still echoing from the outer corridor beyond.

She wasn’t sure how long she stayed like that. She must have fallen asleep at some point, exhaustion overpowering everything else, because the next thing she knew, Braedon was prodding her in the arm, concern written on his features. The lights, Amara noted, were back on, though the clock showed it was still early. The night shift would still be on.

“Mom?” Braedon asked. “Why are you sleeping on my floor?”

She had no real answer she could give him, nothing that would reassure him or make any sense. “Guess I was more tired than I thought,” she murmured, rubbing her shoulder where the side of Braedon’s berth had pressed into it.

Everything looked as it should. Relief ran through her, followed by annoyance. Look at her, jumping at nothing. Scaring herself with imagined things. Acting no better than those old, silly people who had never flown among the stars. It was pathetic.

Amara stood, brushing at her clothing to straighten it out. “Get ready for school, will you? I’ll get breakfast going.” Without waiting for an answer, she walked to the door—of course the door was locked now, with the power on, but thankfully Braedon didn’t ask why she’d locked it—and out in the main living area. 

Nothing strange here either. The comp-pad was where she’d left it on the floor. The door to the corridor beyond was closed and whole.

Imagination. A blessing and a curse, she guessed. It gave you monsters in the dark along with the dreams to travel the stars. 

Crossing to the door, she slid it open, wondering if it would be obvious what the engineers had done to make such noises. Amara stepped into the corridor, let the door slid shut behind her. Turned.

In the door, deep into the metal, were long, uneven scars. The metal had not been cut, no, but torn. And, as she glanced down the corridor, she could see further scars, on other doors and even the bulkheads, and, down near the edge of her view, something dark and red pooled on the floor.

She ducked back inside, locked the door. Made plans to transfer to a planetside position somewhere.

Because while it would not always be light, there, at least there was some place to run.

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