I stayed there a moment longer, now holding it loosely, almost amused to see how quickly fear transforms into something futile once the explanation is given.
Because in the end, it never posed a threat.
This has never been a mystery.
No warning hum, no gradual fading: an instant darkness that engulfed the entire house. An almost physical darkness that oppresses your eyes and disorients you. The refrigerator ceased its low hum, the clock stopped, and even the faint glow of the nightlights went out.
For a moment, I stood there, trying to adjust.
Then I remembered the candles under my son’s bed.
Arriving in his room, I carefully knelt down beside the bed. The air was still and slightly dusty, like in those forgotten places where things accumulate over time: lost socks, broken toys, various objects that children insist on calling “important,” even without being able to explain why.
I reached under the bed, expecting to find candles.
Instead, my fingers brushed against something cold.
Hard plastic.
I removed it slowly.
Its shape was irregular, almost aggressive: jagged curves, sharp protrusions, and strange points that caught the faint light from my phone, giving it an almost lifelike appearance. The blue was deep and muted, but paradoxically intensified by the surrounding darkness, as if it absorbed my gaze rather than reflected it.
I slowly turned it over in my hands.
Nothing made sense.
No inscription. No markings. No instructions. No apparent function. Just an object that seemed to have a purpose, but refused to explain what it was.
For a few seconds, my mind did what it always does in the absence of information: it started inventing possibilities.
A broken electronic device?
A kind of experimental device?
