SOMEONE:

Once upon a time, there was a girl who lay in her bed and saw a figure standing there, staring at her. 

She rubbed her eyes, she twisted and turned, she tried to sleep, and she tried to ignore it, but the figure was still there, despite all of her best efforts to try and convince herself that it was a trick of the mind. A play of shadows. An illusion. A lie, of some kind. But no matter how hard she tried, the figure would not go away. When she tried to turn her lights on to see the figure's face, the figure would suddenly disappear. And though she could not recall falling asleep, she could not recall the moment that the sun would gradually rise, and how the growing light of the morning would cause the figure to disappear. Did it fade away slowly? Did it vanish, all at once? Had it all been a dream after all? Mornings were the most perplexing part of all, really, for she had no memory of how the figure left her. Did it even leave her at all? 

She did not know who it was, she did not know what it was. There was nothing in the shape or size of the silhouette that would suggest anything that might identify the kind of person, if person it even was, stood there in her doorframe. The impression of a cloak could perhaps be discerned, given the shapelessness of the thing in the door. But that was of course only speculation on the part of this girl. 

It wasn't until she could see its eyes that she started to become a little concerned. 

One night - why this night, in particular? She had no idea. But one night, she looked up and saw the figure standing in her doorway, just the same as usual; only this time, where she assumed a head must be were this in fact the spectre of something not unlike a person, there were two small but bright white lights. Just pinpoints, really; little glowing white stars in what was otherwise only shadow. But they were there, and they were looking right at her.

"What do you want?" She asked it, finally. It was the thing she was supposed to ask, after all, wasn't it? When it didn't answer, she tried a different question. "What are you?"

The figure of course did not answer. But it did move, for the first time that she could ever see with her own eyes. It turned from her, and it left the room.

And she didn't anticipate the incredible loss she instantly felt at its absence, that night. She hadn't been alone at night for so long. And though the figure brought with it terror and foreboding, she felt the loss of it. And so, she rose from her bed - nevermind that she was in her nightdress, and nevermind the chill of the air, and nevermind the feel of her bare feet against the cold ground - and she followed it. 

Out of the bedroom, down the hall, out the front door, and out of the house (or apartment, or building, or whatever on earth it was at the time, it doesn't matter), she followed it, until she was outdoors.

Now it was the middle of the night and the world was mostly asleep, and if it was not asleep, it was staying indoors, as we must all stay indoors as much as we can in this time. (As one tells this story, the thought occurs that this story may be listened to or read at a time when an overall quarantine may be a faded memory, something that is vague and lost to time. A reminder of a sad past in a hopefully happier future, maybe. But at the moment, the emptiness on the streets is very much a reality, and so the stories that one might tell today must include the quarantine because stories are one's reality now. Always. At least here, stories are reality, so let us engage in this fictional reality together.)

Anyhow. It was the middle of the night and the world was mostly asleep, and if it was not asleep, it was staying indoors, as we must all stay indoors as much as we can in this time. And in that emptiness, there was danger, sure, but there was also safety. Safety in that emptiness. But also safety in the following of this figure, still only shadow and bright stars for eyes. 

The girl was not alone, you see, and somehow she knew it. 

She followed the figure down sidewalks and across roads. She followed it to places where roads and sidewalks grew more and more scarce. She followed it to where trees and grass overtook the roads and sidewalks. She followed it to where trees and grass grew more and more dense. She followed it to where trees and grass, even in the shadows, were no longer green and brown, but rather purple and gold and blue. The cold of the night was nothing against her skin here, and the sparkling dew on the grass smelled sweet and strange. The howl of the wind was a low kind of music, gentle and caressing, and though she could hear it she could not feel or see it, as the trees were still as stone here. 

"Come and sit," A voice called out.

And the shadow was now seated at a table. The table supported a small tea set; delicate and pink and decorated with little white and gold flowers. There was no tea in the little toy pot or the cups, but it was a gesture, you see. For, when we are children, we have tea parties with no tea, but they are an excuse to sit and speak with someone who is not really there. And so we are doing now, are we not? And so the girl sat at the table to have some not-tea with a shadow who wasn't really there. 

"Your eyes are stars," the girl said.

"Indeed," replied the shadow, entirely nonplussed by the concept. It reached a hand towards the little teapot and poured invisible tea into the cup for the girl. There was no skin or muscles on that hand.

"Your hands are bone," the girl said.

"Indeed," replied the shadow, and it raised a tiny teacup to its lips and took a drink. Of course, there was nothing in it,but here the very serious wraith was, pretending without a smile. It sighed, and the sound that came from its mouth was soft and sweet. 

"Your voice is music," the girl said.

"Indeed," the shadow replied, of course.

They sat together for a long time, admiring the impossibly beautiful trees and the sound of the wind. They watched as phantoms of smiling lost souls danced in and out of the trees, occasionally, and sometimes there was nothing. They observed the moon above them waxing, waning, vanishing, now and then, and an incredible number of shooting stars passing by overhead.

Finally, the girl repeated: "What are you?" 

The figure gently lowered its little teacup. With a musical sigh, it thought for a moment before replying.

"It is a complicated question. More so than you could ever know. But I will try.

[The show's theme song is played on piano; slow, echoing, and gentle]

You are awfully tired. 

You are so very tired. 

Your eyes are heavy, and your limbs are weak. 

Yet your mind races and races, against nothing but itself, because you are afraid of so many things but the thing you fear the most is nothingness.

And so you detest me.

You have detested me for a very long time. 

I have been waiting for you, girl, to sit with me and enjoy my company.

I have been waiting with an empty table, just for you. 

I have been nothing but gentle.

I will be nothing but gentle.

And I will always wait for you to join me."

The girl trembled a little. "You are not Death, are you?" she asked. "I don't think you are, for I have seen Death's face. It is a handsome and terrifying face, with shark's eyes and shark's teeth. Death has great black wings that long to wrap me up in them and never let me go." 

The figure sighed again. "No. I don't think you know that for certain. I think you made that up."

The girl laughed and wept. "Certainly, yes, I did." 

"But that is not me. Not now, anyway. Not tonight," the figure said, and it leaned towards her. 

She still could not see the figure's face. She saw the stars for eyes, though, and she knew that it was smiling softly. 

"Tonight, my dear friend, I am Sleep.

And I know that you detest me even now, yet I do not know how to change that, other than to show you that I am your friend. I am Rest. Will you not join me?"

And the girl wept and laughed. "How can I join you? How can I take your hand, when I mourn every lake I have not yet swam in, every forest I have not yet got lost in, every story I have not yet written? I have people to speak to, and shadows to explore. I am afraid of disappearing into your world, because then I am gone from the world. I love the world too dearly. I love myself too dearly. I love being and doing too dearly to stop it. If I stop it, then why do I exist?"

And the figure poured her another cup of not-tea. "You just do." 

"Why?" She repeated. 

And it shook its head. "You just do. And isn't that enough?"

And the girl looked at the things that existed around her in this strange Sleep-World she had avoided for so long. 

She saw the dancing ghosts. 

She saw the magical forest.

She saw the spectre with stars for its eyes.

They were here, with no "why". They were simply here.

And it was, indeed, enough.

[The theme song returns again, but this time high on the piano keys and sparsely played]

She nodded. 

She raised her teacup and clinked it against the one the bony hands of Nothingness held. 

And she took a sip.

And the invisible tea, she could swear, tasted sweet.

The End.

[Eerie theme music plays]

Hello everybody. For the hundredth time. I can't believe it. This is Kristen Zaza. I'm the writer, creator, and performer behind On a Dark, Cold Night. And thank you so , so very much for listening in to Episode 100. I hope that you've been staying safe out there. When I started this show in 2018, I don't think I could have imagined that this would be the world that Season 1 would find itself ending in. But here we are. And as I said last week, we are not alone. If On a Dark, Cold Night has left me or my listeners with any one message, I hope that that's it. You're not alone. Stay strong out there, wherever you are.