An Irrational Fear

• Nyctophobia, Achluophobia, Lygophobia, Scotophobia – fear of darkness.

I reach out, through the nothingness, trembling, searching for the wall. A sound, a whisper of fabric, and I'm scrambling back to my bed, diving under the covers, eyes clamped shut, whimpers catching in my throat.
Afraid of the air itself, a breeze is enough to reduce me to a cowering ball of nerves. Dignity? I have none; it ran away as the dark descended, replaced with paranoia and sheer, blind terror.
I pray for sleep, but it evades me, mocking my weakness.
Without an escape, my mind turns on me, conjuring illusions of horror. Monsters prowl around me, demons above, their leathery wings beating hard to keep tortured heavy bodies in the air.
At the slam of a closing door, my eyes fly open, darting, searching wildly for the creature that is surely approaching. But there is none; it remains in the shadows, lurking unseen.
I survey my prison, this room of horrors and illusions, and the gloom sneers. Eyes blink for a second, obscuring my view, and the shadows rush forwards, eager to claim me. Eyelids open again, and they retreat, sighing and groaning in frustration.
The curtains bulge, a shape emerges from the formless frame. A decaying, mottled hand reaches out around the cloth to draw it back. Unbridled panic courses through me, destroying what little common sense I have, crushing the logic, the facts, that my mind clings to so desperately.
A stronger wind blows, and takes the dreadful apparition with it, and I release a breath I wasn't even aware of holding.
Flinching away from the shadowy tendrils caressing my hair, I retreat back into the warm cocoon of my sheets, the safest place in my imagination.
And in that comforting shelter of duvets and doonas, I wait for the light, hands wrapped over my head to protect myself from the nightmares I have created.