Do you have a yearning for the stars? Do you find yourself being drawn to the moon? Words don’t describe it, right? The sensation is visceral. It’s an inexplicable desire. Well, you’re a special kind of special person. You’re known as a nyctophile — someone who thrives on the night.
You have a case of nyctophilia.
Don’t worry, it’s not a disease. Humans have many inexplicable foibles built into their DNA. Some of us love being in the forest while others enjoy basking in the bright sunshine. Some of us feel free when bathing in the sea while others get high staring into a crackling campfire.
Some say it’s the psyche’s wish to return us to our origins — a time when we lived with nature and by the laws of earth, wind and fire. We ache in response to our inner ancestor’s desires. That’s all. There is a particular type of serial killer out there too.
Did I just switch topics and say, a serial killer?
Yes. I did. I wrote it because I have to warn you about your crazy nighttime fixation. It’s going to get you killed.
If you’re a nyctophile, then beware. There’s a serial killer looking for you. I can’t say it any other way. There’s a strong possibility you’re a target and you’ll become a victim. Five have already been taken. Five more will go before this season is over.
What makes you think you can walk into the night without a care in the world anyway? Forget about all that ancestral earth, wind and fire bullshit, what you’re doing is illogical. You can’t see into the dark. Your eyes aren’t made for it. Fear should prevail. It’s normal to fear what you can’t see. It’s not safe to go out at night. The danger is real. Even your ancestors knew this. Why go against logic?
There’s a simple answer:
Trust.
You trust the night.
Fool.
All the victims have been nyctophiles. They trust too much. They wander out of the illuminated areas of the city because they’ve never had a problem with the night. They trust something that’s never shown its teeth.
They are idiots too.
They also place their trust in people like me. I’m not a trustworthy person, nor a nyctophile, but I certainly act like I’m both. My genuineness is highly appealing. It’s what gets me by.
To be honest, if history has proved anything, my daytime character is dependable to a fault. Sometimes it’s tiresome to be this good all the time. Occasionally, I need a break from myself. I have to go out into the night, not because I adore the darkness, but because I’m drawn to those it attracts. I have a primal need of my own. Mine feeds off the fear I see in those who trust too much.
There are plenty of foolish nyctophiles out there. One won’t make it through the night tonight. Fortunately, not every nyctophile will be frightened because of what happens to one nameless nyctophile. Some will ignore it and remain fixated on the nighttime no matter what’s reported in the news tomorrow morning.
I’m glad for their unwavering foible. I need it — I can’t have nyctophiles develop a fearful streak and stay at home. I need their blood to quench the fire that rages inside me.
Creep you later!
Five women’s bodies are discovered after the nights of thunderstorms. Their spouses are suspected of the crimes, but it becomes clear that someone else is responsible. There’s no blood and few clues. A storm photographer specialising in taking lightning pictures may be the only witness.
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