THE DARK PART OF ME

Life was beautiful, or so I thought before the night of Eve—before it turned into a haunting nightmare that lingered throughout my existence. The streets buzzed with laughter and music, neon lights flickering like fireflies in the dark. The scent of roasted corn and damp earth mixed in the air, a familiar comfort of home. I felt light, free—until a hand, soft and sweet-scented, covered my eyes. “Derek! Derek!” A voice called just before the darkness fell over my vision. From behind, a whisper slid into my ear, its tone playful yet eerily hollow. “I have no eyes, but I can help you see. I have no heart, but I make you feel. What am I?” I exhaled slowly, a small smile forming. “Love.” The hand slipped away, and as I turned, I found myself face to face with my best friend, Caleb. We hugged, performing our usual friendship gesture—our own little handshake sequence, perfected over the years. A tap on the wrist, a fist bump, then a snap of the fingers. “How do you always know it’s me?” he asked, his grin teasing but warm. I smiled, my voice lowering into a rhythmic verse: "Their scent is not perfume or spice, But the air feels soft and nice. Their body, not just flesh and bone, But a shelter when you feel alone.” Caleb sighed, shaking his head. “You and your poems.” I laughed. “You love them.” “No, I tolerate them,” he said with a smirk. I nudged him playfully, and he nudged me back, just like we always did. Our friendship had been built on these small moments—the kind that seemed insignificant but meant everything. We had known each other since we were kids, back when our biggest problems were scraped knees and stolen lunches. I still remember the first time we met. I was seven, sitting alone behind the school building, crying because some older boys had taken my snacks. Caleb had appeared out of nowhere, hands in his pockets, his school uniform untucked. “Why are you crying?” he had asked. “They took my food,” I muttered, wiping my nose on my sleeve. Without hesitation, he sat beside me and pulled out his own sandwich. “Take mine, then.” I hesitated, but he shoved it into my hands. “Hurry up before I change my mind,” he added with a fake scowl. From that day on, we were inseparable. Caleb had always been the kind of person who acted tough but cared more than he let on. He was the one who stood up for me in fights, who convinced me to sneak into the library at night just to prove we weren’t scared, and who always found a way to make me laugh even when I didn’t want to. Tonight was no different. “So,” he said, draping an arm over my shoulder. “Are you finally ready to have some real fun?” I rolled my eyes. “Your version of fun usually gets us into trouble.” He smirked. “The best kind of fun.” We walked through the crowd, the festival lights casting strange, shifting shadows on the walls. People moved past us, their faces glowing with excitement, their laughter filling the air. But even as I laughed, something gnawed at me, a small unease I couldn’t place. It was subtle, like the lingering presence of a dream you can’t quite remember. Then, the laughter died. Not ours—ours faded naturally—but the entire festival. One by one, voices disappeared, swallowed by an unnatural silence. Caleb and I turned, our smiles faltering. The streets that had been alive with people were now empty, as if the world had paused. A cold wind swept through the air, carrying a whisper. It was the same riddle, spoken by a voice that was not Caleb’s. “I have no eyes, but I can help you see. I have no heart, but I make you feel.” My breath hitched. Something was very, very wrong.