passerby

it is rare. most nights there is nothing, and there is no way to make it come. when it does, it is already forty blocks out and walking a line that has nothing to do with you. it does not approach. it does not answer. walk toward it and it is gone before you get there — and there is nothing where it was. there is never anything where it was.

the figure is not the tell, and you will probably miss the figure. what you notice first is that the crows have stopped talking, and the moths have left the lamps, and the cat that was sitting is standing. learn to read your animals and you will know before your eyes do. (the crows and the moths join in only if they live here; the cat is vanilla's, so the cat always stands.)

it does nothing to you. it cannot be hurt, drops nothing, follows nobody, and has no errand you are part of. what it costs is atmosphere — which is the only thing the dark is allowed to collect here.