I'm afraid of the dark.

Sunday night, all of my roommates were gone. I was left (slightly paranoid)eating my dinner in front of the T.V. for comfort. It was around 11:30pm. Unfortunately, I selected the History Channel episode about the Aztec calendar--which if you don't know, is going to end in the year 2012. These experts in weird areas of Academia were telling me how the world might also end in the year 2012, and how the global temperature changes and natural disasters of late, strangely resemble the happenings in the book of Revelations. I turned off the T.V. and tried to shake off the idea of the Antichrist when the drier buzzed. My laundry. I always forget about my laundry. For about two and a half minutes, I thought about leaving it in the drier, but the echoing, monotonous tone rang out again, summoning me to the depths of the damp, cement basement. As I descended the creaky steps into darkness (the light switch was broken) I suddenly remembered that I had gone for a run a couple hours earlier and did not lock the door. That's when the unwanted thought bubbled to the front of my mind: "Somebody could be down here." The buzzer echoed again, loader, from somewhere in the darkness. Hoping my eyes would soon adjust, I plummeted all the way down and took several long strides toward the drier, my bare feet cold against the floor. I couldn't see anything. Complete, utter darkness froze me where I was at. There was a light bulb someplace with one of those little chains...!! Where was it?! I snatched at the phantom light bulb that refused to manifest itself. Somebody could be right behind me, ax held high, about to murder me in cold blood. Maybe trip me and slam my face into the cold floor then stuff me into the creepy paint closet... I panicked. A little bit. I ran back upstairs, suddenly perspiring, and did not feel normal again until glorious light from the kitchen healed the molestation of the darkness. I shuddered, then silently reprimanded myself for being so scared of the dark.
Since I didn't have a flashlight, I lit a candle and submerged again into the damp darkness, feeling a bit like Odysseus descending into hell: my mythic quest-to retrieve a load of whites. The candle's liquid light pour into the room and lit perhaps a 5 foot radius. Pretending to be brave (but holding my breathe) I checked the creepy paint closet for masked-murderers, prompting the candle to burn every shadow, one by one. No chain-saw bearing lunatic. No crack addict with a razor. I was happy.
But as I folded my laundry upstairs to re-runs of "Everyone Loves Ramond" I kind of wondered about the creepy hallway closet and behind the bathroom curtain.