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Jeremy Collins had been afraid of the dark when he was six, and never got over it. But he had good reason. Even hiding under the covers, he knew something was out there, lurking, smelling him, sizing him up, ready to grind his bones to make their bread, so to speak. Even at that age, he never really thought the other children had the same... apprehensions he did about that shadowy supply room at school and dares to go in. They didn't take the shadows seriously.

By the time he was eight, he had made the discovery that a quiet, heartfelt song under his breath helped when he could hear the sharp snorts and hot bursts of air through the sheet from what his mother kept insisting was just his wild imagination.

Well, it was far too wild for him, thank you.

He could feel it's hot breath, how could that be his imagination, there had to be something there, but if he looked, if he looked it would eat him, that's how it worked with monsters under your bed, right? Right? Just don't think about it and it'll go away. Just relax.

But the sensation of being breathed on was soon replaced by the sensation of something crawling along his bed. Slithering? Stepping? He couldn't tell, and the fact he needed to figure it out at all sent alarms ringing in the back of his head. Just... just the cat? Only one way to tell.

Slowly, carefully, cautiously, he lowered his sheet.

It was not the cat.

He never really remembered what happened next, and even by the time he was eighteen, he was convinced the debilitating panic attacks were a self defense mechanism his brain had concocted to keep him from completely losing his mind. And besides, they had medications that helped by then. The world was feeling pretty bright.

He wrote his Masters thesis on Musical Therapy. And then came the big day for his first real job.

St. Lawrence was an institute for the very rich and learning impaired. It was amazing what a young man could do with a guitar or a drum kit that they couldn't seem to do with a book. Overall, it was very nice. Brightly lit with warm decor. They called him Mr. Collins and it gave him thrills every time. There had been a lot of trouble makers, and he was fairly certain he wasn't a favorite teacher, but it was more fun in music class than algebra. Still, boys would be boys, and occasionally a rubber rat or fake severed body part would find its way into his desk or tucked carefully behind the chalkboard eraser to spring out at him. After the first time someone had startled Mr. Collins until he seemed to shut down like a fainting goat, the children couldn't get enough of this young new teacher.

About a month in, Jeremy was becoming immune to their attacks, thankfully. It was very good for his nerves, honestly, and perhaps they were starting to come to like him, or at least had gotten bored when their attacks had less effect. They were just pranks, though, he figured. Where was the harm in that?

Still, a part of him was always on edge when he reached for his desk drawer, just in case.

They had a guest speaker that day, a professional flutist who had come in to talk to the kids about a career in music. She had fair hair and lovely blue eyes and her name was Jennifer. Jenny. The world seemed to move in slow motion when she approached him in her nice two-piece skirt suit and she offered her hand out to him.

"Mr. Collins, right? I'm the guest speaker," She had said, and it took him a few moments to find his voice.

"Er- Right! Right, wonderful to meet you! Call me Jerry," He beamed, flushing as he took her hand.

She giggled, eyeing him with a carefully lipsticked smile. "What do you play, Jerry?"

"A bit of this and that, but you know what they say, 'those who can't, teach'," He laughed again, a bit too enthusiastically. He had expected this flutist to be... well, older he supposed. Less leggy and chesty, for certain. "I was part of the choir in school, though. Always liked singing even if I'm rubbish at it."

They chatted for a while, waiting for the children to fill the seats, about music and teaching, and possible trips for coffee after class.

Overall, he felt things were looking bright.

The presentation had begun, and he hung onto her every word even as the boys in the class glazed over, much happier to day dream about running their fingers through her hair than about what she could do with a flute. And then she moved to switch off the lights.

Jeremy never turned off the lights in class. He didn't show movies, never showed slide shows, every assignment done in the bright lights of the classroom, safe and cheery. But she wanted to show a quick video of her in concert. It was educational. It was necessary. Jeremy sat at his desk stiffly, a leg trembling underneath and his fingers nervously drumming on top. It wasn't that dark, shafts of sunlight still leaked through the parted curtains of the high windows in the classroom, but it was dark enough for the Shadows.

He had taken his anxiety pills that morning, right? He couldn't remember. Probably. He usually did. He was feeling okay. Just a bit on edge. It was just the dark. Grown men weren't supposed to be afraid of the dark.

Even so, as the music drifted from the television, something was shifting in the shadows. He could hear it. Or was it the rustling of the two boys in the back passing notes? Probably. Most likely. His eyes drifted down to his desk drawer, which was ajar a crack. He had left it closed. Oh, no, they weren't going to try to embarrass him in front of Miss Jennifer, that much he knew. He steeled his courage. Nothing to be afraid of. Rubber rats in the dark. It was silly.

The blood curdling scream that escaped his throat once he opened the drawer to quietly investigate, though, that was not silly. Something had sprung- and it wasn't a spring powered snake. It wasn't a rubber mouse. It wasn't a novelty prank of any sort, that much he knew. "GET BACK!" He shouted to the boys at the desks who all stared at him in the dark in baffled amazement as he suddenly grabbed his chair, eyes wide as he faced the unfurling shadows erupting upward like a black burst of smoke.

"Mr. Collins?" Jennifer blinked from her seat next to the television cart.

The smoke was taking shape, glowing eyes twisting around from Jeremy to the children, bright sharp teeth spreading hungrily. The teacher gave a wild yell, suddenly throwing the chair and it clattered noisily against the wall on the other side. "THE LIGHTS! THE LIGHTS GET THE LIGHTS! PLEASE!" He screamed, this time snagging his pointer to take a swing as the beast formed clawed hands.

"Jerry!" Jennifer shouted this time, rising to her feet to slowly approach him, "Just calm down! What's wrong?"

"NO! Stay where you are!" He managed to bark, eyes locked on the monstrosity as he felt the panic seize his chest, making the words difficult. "You can't have them!"

She glanced to the students who still sat gaping in horror as their professor proceeded to attack something that wasn't there.

How could you attack a shadow? Lights! Lights of course! There was a flashlight in his drawer, he knew that much, but the thing had come from there, what if there was more of them? The creature landed heavily on the ground, snarling as he closed in on him and lunged-

Jeremy folded to the floor with a strangled cry, eyes rolling back in his head as teeth closed in on him- and the creature promptly vanished as Jenny switched on the light.

Class was dismissed.

He came to some time later, the Dean and Jenny both at his side. He was laying on the floor, covered in sweat, his tie undone so he could breath easier. They were discussing him.

And he was dismissed. Some time off to calm his nerves, let him get over whatever this phobia was. They had him pack his bags. It wasn't time off, he knew. It was a polite way of firing him. A teacher prone to panic attacks and chair throwing apparently was frowned upon at St. Lawrence.

He saw Jenny one more time, on her way out at the end of the day as he finished loading his things into his car. In his mind, she stopped and asked if he was alright. Asked if he still wanted to go get that cup of coffee. Told him he had been very brave against that monster.

But the monster didn't exist. And she walked by him to her own car without making eye contact.

Jeremy wasn't a big drinker, really. But that night he felt he deserved it.

"When you feel sad, patapapa-pata-pata, or under a curse, patapapa-pata-pata," He sang quietly as he wobbled his way out of the pub at around one in the morning. Where had he parked? His eyes scoured the dark street and even darker alleyway. He wasn't crazy. He knew he wasn't crazy. There had been a... something. And it wasn't the first time. His stomach twisted at the sight of the blackness crawling out of the empty alleyway. It was barely big enough for one car to fit down. His hands clenched into fists, brows furrowing as he stepped forward, continuing to hum quietly under his breath, "Your life is bad, patapapa-pata-pata, your prospects are worse deedly-deedly-dee..."

He stood in the center of the alleyway, his skin prickling with that familiar sense of unwellness-of-the-world he usually blocked out. But no. Something was there. He knew it. It was always there, in the shadows, in the dark. Teasing him. "OH COME OUT ALREADY!" He shouted suddenly, hefting up a piece of broken lumber that had missed the nearby dumpster to give it a swing and a clang. "I KNOW YOU'RE THERE COME OUT!"

The shadows seemed to be mocking him. It wasn't fun when he wasn't afraid. And he wasn't afraid now, he was frustrated and angry and full of drink. He was sick of it, sick of being the coward, sick of his... over reactive immune system to the strange and startling. Sick of pills, sick of being nervous around girls, sick of constantly being worried about being committed. With a howl of rage, he hurled the chunk of wood, hearing it clatter twenty feet away disappointingly, and a car alarm went off somewhere in the distance.

"Mr. Collins?"

The voice made him jump and he turned to see a figure silhouetted by the street lamp at the mouth of the alley. His mind tried desperately to catch up with his ears.

"Er, yes?" He managed weakly. Hopefully it wasn't a cop. he hadn't broken anything that he knew of.

"I heard you're looking for a new job."

The rest was a fog that slowly dissipated into clarity.

He had been called Zeta IV, made alliances, became part of a whole, a group, an army... sort of. Something in his gut was disappointed that underneath it all.. he had been the same cowardly little tit. He felt... somewhere in him, there had to be something more. Something brave. Something noble.

He did get to dance with a girl, in the end. But none of them had been a Jenny, really.

He had done his best.

Being dead meant there would be no cups of coffee with a pretty girl, not any time soon. Or ever.

The Shadows had won.

Wallowing in misery, the distraught man blinked blearily at a very unfamiliar... cloud of darkness that surrounded him.

It had to be darkness... His breath hitched in his throat, hands trembling and eyes wild as he gave a yelp. He couldn't breath, he was going to faint again, he knew it, he was going to faint again....

As he shifted to sit up, feeling stiff and anxious, as one would imagine one would when having no idea what was going on besides being confident you were dead, he felt something rustling at his feet. A... a note??

It would be really helpful if he had some light to read it. He picked it up anyway, squinting as hard as he could through the blackness but alas. If only he had a flashlight... even a creepy lantern or torch or a distant flickering candle.

Shivers running down his back as he gave up, he settled on wishing, very much, he had a weapon right now. Anything to make the darkness feel less oppressively unsafe. Any sort of blunt instrument would have done.

Feeling the edges of panic gripping him, he did what he usually did in unnervingly terrifying situations... he hummed awkwardly the first song to come to his head under his breath, clutching at the paper like a life line.

"I'm a dead man walking here..." His voice wobbled in the darkness, and by the echo he could tell the room was a lot bigger than the darkness let on, "That's the least of all my fears." Still clutching the paper, he groped the edge of whatever it was he had been laying in, feeling walls and padding... judging by the sound of his voice in the space, there was, at least, a floor beneath him, "Ooh underneath the water, It's not Alabama clay, Gives my trembling hands away...Ooh Please forgive me father..." He stood, wobbling in place, about to open his mouth when there was a sudden glimmer... something out there with him... was it metallic? Perhaps some of it... This side of breaking down in terror, he wasn't about to let up any opportunity. Whether it was something that might attack him didn't seem to matter at this point... it was him vs. The Shadows, and if he wanted to get out, he would have to stay calm. "Ain't going back to Barton Hollow, Devil gonna follow me e'er I go." His resolution set, he grabbed it, "Won't do me no good washing in the river, Can't no preacher man save my soul."

There was no turning back now. The best way to get over a phobia was to just... face your fears.

Right?

He hoped so.