Count down with me--Day 1

"Like Smoke, Like Light" can be read at Strange Horizons.
http://strangehorizons.com/fiction/li...
This is another story that involves farmhouse annex. An article I read some time ago about a decorated, sealed tomb, and an image of a room full of lamps and lanterns that just popped into my head, made up the first spark of this story.

I wrote some words for this piece. But they contain a mild SPOILER. Do proceed with caution if you have not yet read the story.


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The ceiling feels somehow too close, trying to crush me dead, and the inky darkness has its hands over my mouth, though not touching—letting them just hover there, as if warning me, I can drown you out any moment. I feel my own hands and feet go cold.
I'm too old, too experienced, to fear darkness.
I think, ever since I faced that void, that darkness filled with hatred, something changed in me completely. No, I'm not exactly afraid of the dark. But ever since, there is something in my darkness, something lurking. If that thing is waiting to pounce on me, if it wants to embrace me lovingly, I have no idea. But it's there.
Right now, me not wanting to be seen sleeping wins me not wanting to sleep in the dark. Though barely.
Am I going to never sleep soundly at night?
Something moves at the corner of my eye, but I know instantly that it's not supernatural; I know the moon is bright tonight, and it's just a tree swinging outside, its shadow moving on the screen.
I don't want to light my special lantern. I don't want to disturb my friend's sleep. She deserves rest. But surely, it won't hurt to place the lantern near me, in my sight? The sight of it might give me some sliver of comfort.
I unwrap the bundle and place the lantern near the window. And open the screen.
And lie back down.
The trees outside the window are swinging, and under usual circumstances, to an ordinary person, the gentle movement might be soothing, sleep-inducing, even. But to me—there is a moment of complete silence, and then, I immediately realize the mistake I just made. The moonlight, the trees' shadows, come through the lantern and stretch softly towards the other side of the room. My ghost friend inside the lantern doesn't emerge, not the usual way. She is just a flicker, or two, maybe three, among the shadows of the dancing trees. But I feel her.
"I'm sorry." I sit up as soon as I'm sure my friend has been woken up. "I'll wrap you up nice now. I'm sorry, I had no intention of disturbing you..."
Then my ghost fried says, "No!" though her voice is a whisper in the sighing branches. "If you don't mind..."
I involuntarily frown. "Anything wrong?"
Hesitation seeps over the moonlight. "Don't laugh at me," after a moment she says.
I wait.
"I...don't want to be alone in here." A sniff. "At night."
I consider this a moment. "Are you saying, you are, are, afraid of the dark?"
The moonlight seems to spatter for a second, though that must be just my imagination. I hear her breath, but she doesn't continue.
I—I burst out laughing.
"I told you not to laugh!"
"I'm sorry, I truly am," I chuckle on some more. "I'm not laughing at you. I'm laughing at me." I sigh and swallow. "I feel the same! I don't want to be alone in the dark. But I don't like being seen while I sleep, because of what my ex-husband did to me. Oh," I heave another sigh, "I must sound really stupid."
Something flatters over the wall; a bird, insect, it's too blurry to tell. "You don't," she says at length. "You don't."
My ghost friend is still too blurry, and it's a bit hard to make her out. "I don't feel exposed now. Perhaps, we could rest like this. Keeping each other company."
"We could," she says. "We should."
I lie back down. The shadows of the lantern, the moonlight and shadows coming through the lantern, cover a part of my head, as if they are stroking me to sleep. "Good night," I say.
"Good night," she replies, but the voice is already distant, as if it's coming from the other side of dream.