Contest

SECOND MOVEMENT

30 November, 6:04 p.m.

A lot of people would say that fear of the dark is nothing but a phenomenon of childhood.

A child fears the dark simply because he or she does not have the experience to know that in fact nothing is there. But as Stephen Swain knew, fear of the dark was common in many adults. Indeed, for some, the human need for sight was often as basic as the need for food.

Standing in pitch darkness, without a clue where he was, Swain felt it strange that he should be thinking of his college studies in human behaviour. He remembered his lecturer saying, 'Human fears are very often irrational constructs of the mind. How else would you explain a six-foot-tall woman being petrified by the mere sight of a single white mouse -- a creature barely four inches long?'

But no fear was seen as more irrational -- or more innate in man -- than a fear of the dark. Academic theorists and weary parents had been saying for centuries that there was nothing in the dark that was not already there in the light...

But I'll bet something like this never happened to them, Swain thought as he stared into the sea of blackness around him.

Where the hell are we...?

His heart pumped loudly inside his head. He could feel a wave of panic spreading slowly through his body. No. He had to stay calm -- rational -- had to look after Holly.

He felt for her at his shoulder. She held him tightly, frightened.

'Daddy

If he could just see something, he thought, trying to contain his own ever- increasing fear. A break in the darkness. A splinter of light. Anything.

He looked left, then right. Nothing.

Only black. Endless, seamless black.

A fear of the dark didn't seem quite so irrational now.

'Daddy. What's happening?'

He could feel Holly's head pushed close against his shoulder.

'I don't know, honey,' Swain pursed his lips in thought. And then he remembered.

'Wait a minute,' he said, stretching his hand awkwardly underneath Holly to reach into his jeans pocket. He breathed a sigh of relief as he felt the cold slippery metal of the lighter.

The Zippo flipped open with a metallic calink! and Swain flipped down on the cartwheel. The flint sparked for an instant, but the lighter didn't catch. Swain tried again. Another spark but no flame.

'Christ,' he said aloud. 'Some smoker.'

'Daddy...'

'Just hold on, honey,' Swain put the lighter back in his pocket and turned to face the darkness again. 'Let's see if we can find a door or something.'

He lifted his foot and took a hesitant step forward. As he lowered it, however, he began to understand why some people feared the dark so much. The sheer helplessness of not knowing what was right in front of you was terrifying.

His shoe hit the floor. It was hard. Cold. Like slate, or marble.

He took another step forward. Only this time, as his foot came down, it didn't find any floor. Just empty space.

'Uh-oh.'

His sense of panic began to rise again. Where the hell was he? Was he standing on the rim of a ledge? If he was, how far down did it go? Was it on every side of him?

Shit.

Swain slowly lowered his foot further over the edge.

Nothing.

Slowly. Further. Still nothing.

Then his foot hit something. More floor, not far below where he was standing.

Swain pushed down and forward again. Another piece of floor. He smiled in the darkness, relieved.

Steps.

Holding Holly close to his chest, Swain cautiously descended the stairs.

'Where are we, Daddy?'

In the darkness, Swain stopped. He glanced at Holly. Although everything was still dark, he could just make out the outline of her face. The hollows of her eye sockets, the shadow of her nose across her cheek.

'I don't know,' he said.

He was about to take another step forward when he snapped up to look at Holly again. The hollows of her eye sockets, the shadow across her cheek--

A shadow.

There must be a light.

Somewhere.

Swain looked closely at her face and, scanning the shadow of her nose, he suddenly saw it -- a soft green glow, so dim that it barely revealed her other features. Swain leaned closer and -- abruptly -- the gentle glow vanished.

'Damn it.'

He slowly moved his head back and, equally slowly, the glow returned, half covering Holly's face.

Swain's eyes widened. It was his own shadow covering his daughter's face.

The light source was somewhere behind him.

Swain spun around.

And there, in the sheet of blackness in front of him, he saw it. It was hovering in the darkness, level with his eyes and yet completely still -- a tiny green light.

It couldn't have been more than six feet away, and it shone like a small pilot light on a VCR. Swain stared intently at the tiny green light.

And then he heard a voice.

'Hello, Contestant.'

----ooo0ooo------

It came from the green light.

It sounded prim, proper, refined. And yet at the same time high-pitched, as if spoken by a midget.

It came again.

'Hello, Contestant. Welcome to the labyrinth.'

Swain squeezed Holly close. 'Who is that? Where are you?'

'I am here. Can you not see me?' The voice was not threatening. It was almost, Swain thought, helpful.

'No. It's too dark.'

'Oh, yes. Hmm,' the voice sounded disheartened. 'Just a moment.'

The tiny green light bounced away to Swain's left, bobbing up and down. Then it stopped.

'Ah. Here we are.'

Something clicked and some overhead fluorescent lights immediately came to life.

In this new-found light, Swain saw that he was standing halfway down a flight of wide marble stairs with banisters made of dark polished wood. The stairs seemed to spiral down several floors before disappearing into darkness.

Swain guessed he was at the top of the stairwell, since no stairs ascended from the landing above him. Only a heavy-looking wooden door led out from the landing.

His gaze moved left from the door, and suddenly he saw the owner of the voice.

There, standing next to a light switch, stood a man no more than four feet tall, dressed completely in white.

White shoes, white coveralls, white gloves.