Hakon Nordskov always felt unsettled after seeing his mother, even after almost ten years of visiting her in the psychiatric ward.

There were moments of what he hesitated to call lucidity, when she would try to speak of what she had seen during that last fateful paranormal investigation, when her iron-clad rationality had abandoned her at last. It troubled him, that he thought he might understand a little of what she was trying to say. But it was a fact that shadows do not prey on people, though they might inspire an overactive imagination. Indeed, she had told him so herself, so many years ago when he was still a child screaming his head off in the middle of the night after a particularly vivid... nightmare. He had been calling the incidents nightmares for more years than his mother had been committed.

He had come without his father and younger sisters this time, driving down from campus to the city hospital with his roommate Erik taking shotgun. A backpack of textbooks and lecture notes slouched on the backseat, and he had taken it with him when he left the car. Erik was going to take the car for errands during this visit, and he, good friend that he was, was not the most punctual guy around. Par for course, his friend and the beat-up little sedan he drove here were nowhere to be seen after he made his way out. Content to wait as long as he had to, he picked up his notes.

"Studying psychology, I see," murmured a voice right next to him. Hakon suppressed the impulse to jump, but only barely.

How had he missed hearing this man approach? His notes weren't that fascinating, and he prided himself on his sharp senses. Even if this was a weird place to be striking up conversation, he offered the stranger a quick grin. "Yes. I'm not sure if it's more apt or ironic, given that we're here."

"I wouldn't judge," the stranger responded, dry and wry. "All the rationalizations in the world won't explain away what you've been, ah, sensing all these years."

Hakon inclined his head toward the stranger in half-teasing thanks and took advantage of that new angle to study the man further. The man looked sane enough, but who could tell, especially around here? Hakon kept his tone friendly, all the same, even if he couldn't quite keep amusement from his voice. "Consider me very thankful for that word to the wise." He could have returned to his studies, perhaps, but he could never leave well enough alone when his curiosity was piqued. "And just what am I supposed to have been sensing all these years?"

The stranger's answer hit much too close to the truth for comfort. The man spoke of dark corners and closets of the world. Of shadows shifting in ways no amount of physics could explain. Of the energy that accompanied the spark of fear. Of, in fact, the things he had sensed all his life but could not explain.

The stranger's voice intruded on his thoughts. "Well?"

"Oh. That's interesting. Gotta say, that's not something I hear everyday. Novel, you know." He was starting to babble. Gotta stop babbling. Speaking of novel... "You wouldn't happen to be a writer, would you? I've always liked reading horror stories." Please, please, please let this guy be... oh, a published horror writer who likes to advertise. On second thought, he added, "But sorry, I don't have any money on me." Just in case the guy tried to sell him something.

The stranger rolled his eyes. "Your lies and denials are tedious. Aren't you tired of them yet? You know better. And the danger is very real."

Staring at the man, he maintained his silence. He wasn't planning to admit the truth to this mysterious (and increasingly creepy) stranger, but he was, he really was. By now, lies and denials about the energy and sentience he sensed in the shadows had long become second nature, but they still chafed at him. It bothered him to have keep silent or even lie outright about what he knew to be true.

Untroubled by the silence, the stranger went on with some more food for thought. Despite trying to keep up the walls of skepticism, Hakon found himself drawn in, even asking the man questions from point to point. At first, he had planned to try out the Socratic method, but his questions didn't expose any weaknesses in the man's worldview. Soon, the questions left behind rhetoric and became more genuine: What did he mean by the grave danger all around them? If mankind were prey, then who were the hunters? Why were mankind hunted as prey? So on and so forth. He got answers, some less detailed than he liked. He didn't press, but made mental notes of them.

Perhaps fortunately for his sanity, Erik showed up with his car, relatively early by his standards. Usually, Hakon liked his friend's tardiness after these visits; it gave him more time to gather his thoughts. This time he was rather grateful. After he gathered up his backpack again, he turned to say goodbye to the stranger, but the man was already gone. He was surprised to find regret mingled with the wash of relief.

***


"You're never going to last as a psychiatrist if you let some random guy get to you." He opened his mouth to protest, but Erik just waved it off, asking, "Why do you want to go into psychiatry, anyway? Ambitious of you."

Because he wanted -- needed answers. Because he needed to know why he felt the way he did, when confronted with the dark. Because if he understood, he had a shot at fixing things, for himself, for his mother, for people in therapy everywhere. When he spoke, it was lighthearted. "It's not ambition." He cracked a grin. "Maybe I just think I could do better."

His friend scoffed. "Arrogance. That's even worse."

"It's not arrogance if I really do better," he replied, laughing as he leaned away from his friend's punch. For one, a darker current of thought murmured, he would not be so quick to dismiss a fear of the shadows and monsters in the closet.

Oh great. Despite his efforts, it was starting to look like he had fallen for that mystery guy's spiel hook, line, and sinker. And, possibly worse, he was actually looking forward to seeing the stranger again. Next time, he intended to learn just what could be done against these shadowy sentiences that preyed on human fear.


** Nota Bene: This solo's title is taken from Dylan Thomas' "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night."