Courtney Summers - Defy the Dark

It is darker than it’s ever been anywhere, ever.

I land on my back and gasp for air like a fish until oxygen rushes to my lungs. I breathe slow, wait for my eyes to adjust, but it’s too dark in here without the lamp—I can’t see anything, literally, not even my hand when I wave it in front of my face.

“Where are you?” I cough—the coal dust in here isn’t blown away by fans, and it coats my throat. For the first time, I wish I wore my respirator.

I clamber to my feet and rub my eyes, then stand, waiting to hear a sound in the darkness. She has to be in here somewhere—does she not want to be rescued? I reach my arms out until my fingertips brush against a wall, then begin to walk, shuffling along the edge of the room.

“You aren’t in trouble,” I whisper, because it seems strange to speak loudly in the dark. “If you sneaked in, it’s okay. Come on, come to me. My name’s Will; I’ll help you. We have to leave—the air here isn’t safe.” And the dark, I want to add. The dark is everywhere.

Nothing. I walk farther. The room curves to the right, back toward the crevice that will lead me out, if I’ve got my bearings correct.

“I can help you. I can’t stay in here, though.” I pause, wait for any sort of response. My hands fall along a ridge—it’s the crevice, it must be. I duck my head and can see into the ballroom and, on the far end, a speck of light from the retreaters. I have to go toward it. I want to help her, but I’ll have to come back with a light, with help.

“Last chance,” I whisper at the cavern.

Nothing.

I turn to climb out; the air from the ballroom is fresher, cleaner, and I welcome it into my lungs. I crawl forward and then, just as I’m about to put both hands on the outside of the cavern, I feel it.

Her hand slides onto my shoulder, so soft and gentle it feels like someone is pooling a silk scarf against my neck. I freeze as she dances her fingertips along my neck, to my jawbone. When she gets close to my lips, I turn my head toward her—no, toward the darkness where I know she is. She withdraws. I sit back on my feet, back in the dusty air of the cavern.

I don’t speak, not this time. Instead I wait, eyes scanning the dark, longing to see. I force myself to stay still as she slides her palms over my cheeks, then down my shoulders, along my arms. She stops at my hands, not holding them, but touching them like she’s a palm reader. I swallow hard.

My words slip out as a whisper. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

Her fingers harden on mine, like she’s fighting the urge to run.

Then her voice, the only sound and so much stronger than mine. When I hear it, I understand that she wasn’t afraid of me earlier.

When I hear it, I wonder if I should be afraid of her.

“My name is Ennor. I live here.”

“You can’t live here,” I say, shaking my head. I reach toward her, and she releases me and moves away.

“You don’t understand,” she says.

“You’re right,” I say slowly. “I don’t understand. Tell me how— why —you live here.” She must be crazy, or high, maybe that’s it—no one would live here willingly.

She’s moving, a rustling of fabrics I can’t see. I tense, wondering if she’ll touch me again, where I’ll feel her fingers first, wishing there was light. Her breath is by my ear; strands of her hair tickle my collarbone.

“I’m a Knocker.”

“A Knocker?” I say, and I can hear the doubt on my voice. The word is so silly, so stupid, that I feel the edges of my wonder crackling away into disbelief—I’ve heard the legends, all the miners have. Faeries who live underground, who help miners out or play little tricks. They were part of the bedtime stories my parents told me, the beings my mother promised would keep my father safe at work. I stopped believing when I saw the stretchers with the bodies of the four dead miners carried out of the ground.

“Yes. I called to you.” She sweeps away from me, and I hear her knocking against the stone. The sound is so much louder than skin on stone should be, and it carries through the mine, all around me, passing into my bones until I feel shaken. I’m relieved when she stops, and I reach backward until my hands find the wall. I lean against it, shaking my head.

“Why me?”

She hesitates. Long hair touches my arm. She can see me, I realize—I’m blind here, but she isn’t. She moves too deftly, too easily. “Knockers reward respectful miners. I’ll lead you to a new seam, on the far side of this room.” Something isn’t right about her words, like this is a practiced answer instead of a real one. I’m sure if I could see her eyes, I’d know that for certain.

I chuckle nervously, trying to sound casual, hoping to coax the truth from her. “That’s all? Because if that’s it, you’ve picked the wrong miner then,” I say. “I’m not respectful. My father was the miner; I hate this place—”

She makes a strange noise, one that sounds more catlike than human, one that sounds like she’s hurt herself—I lunge forward, hoping to catch her arm, but there’s nothing. I sit back and wait for her to speak again.

And wait.

And wait.

And realize that the sound of her breathing is gone, as is the rustle of her clothing.

The room suddenly fills with light, blinding me for a moment. It’s from my helmet, lying on the ground nearby. The lamp has flickered on, and its tiny light is like the sun. My eyes adjust and I search the room for her, waiting to see her face, to connect eyes with the voice.

The room has smooth walls and a steep pitch, and the ceiling is high and cathedral-like. Thick seams of coal line it, like striped wallpaper. Behind me, I see the exit into the ballroom. But there’s no other way out, not that I see, and there’s no one else here.

Maybe she only exists in the dark.

She is the only thing I’m thinking of as we head underground the following day. I didn’t mention her to anyone—as strange as she is, she is the only thing about the mines I’ve ever found intriguing. It’s almost like the mine itself has changed—it’s something exciting, something different than just mile after mile of darkness and coal. I don’t want anyone, not even Roth, to take that away. I wonder who she is really—a homeless girl, a runaway? A lunatic? A traveler, a con artist?

A faery girl? I’d ignore the last prospect were it not for her so easily vanishing yesterday. I spent the night thinking about it, trying to imagine what a life in the dark would be like.

I wait till everyone is at work and go back to the ballroom. It’s not easy—the retreaters are buzzing around, looking at pillars. I sneak around them, hold my breath when I see the tiny doorway into the cavern. Did I really plunge into that darkness so readily yesterday? I grit my teeth as I slide inside.

Nothing, no one. Not even the rustle of her clothes. I call her name softly, gently. I rap on the walls; I even resort to begging, but nothing.

Just as desperation is morphing to irritation, just as I’m about to leave, my helmet lamp flickers out.

“Why did you come back?” Her voice slices through the thick black. She sounds curious.

I lick my lips, turn my head to the sound of her voice. “I wanted to see you. Or, well, talk to you, since I can’t see you.”

“Why?”

I offer the simplest answer, the one I don’t think I would give if I could see her eyes on mine. “I’m lonely.”

Ennor waits to reply, but I can feel the words trying to escape the tip of her tongue. “I’m lonely, too.”

We’re both silent a long time. Finally, I sit down, leaning against the wall. Just as I reach the floor, I feel the tips of her fingers press into my palm. Her breath falls on the back of my hand, a thousand times warmer than the cool mine air.