Vantablack

Intent on a new set of sheets, she paused before the linen closet, an impossible chill prickling her bare feet like dirty fingernails. Her nostrils flared at a fetid odor seeping from under the door. Nauseated, memories of her parents’ house flooded her mind.

A roving darkness, a dormant singularity that couldn’t exist, cold and utterly black. It haunted that old house—and her dreams—for years, reappearing in closets, cupboards, drawers, and hidden spaces. Was it really here now, after so many years?

As a child, she was always afraid to reach a hand in.

She grasped the handle, hesitating.