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It was dark, The cupboard always was. Even at the height of the day, for the windows were not angled to allow light into his cupboard. The cupboard would still be dark even if they were.
Harry Potter was the name of a freakish little boy (or so his relatives claimed) this boy was both short and thin for his age with hair of a particularly dark shade of brown that seemed to actively rebel against gravity, this hair was coupled with eyes in which the iris has long since receded (he sometimes misses the green, not often though). This little boy lived at number four Privet Drive, a bland house, identical to at least thirty different homes on his road alone. The boy lived in this house with his family, the term family is used loosely and only applies due to a close relation of blood. His aunt was a tall thin woman with a face that some of the more honest neighbours quietly compared to that of a horse, she had hair of a particularly unpleasant shade of blond caused by frequent bleaching and poor attempts at dyeing. Her eyes were a watery blue matching that of puddles with a similar depth to her personality, shallow. Her husband was a large rotund man with a managerial position at a local drill company, he had oddly small eyes in comparison to the size of his head and a large bushy moustache that resembled a walrus, this comparison was not helped by his excess blubber. The final member of this family was the couple's son, Dudley, this boy was a mix of both his parents features. The body and build of his father, the hair and eyes of his mother, a generally unpleasant attitude from both.
There used to be a small unshaded lightbulb in his cupboard, it broke three years back, the Dursleys didn't notice, and Harry no longer minded.
He thinks there was a time when he did mind the missing bulb, back when the bulb first broke, back when he was six.
Back then, the dark of his cupboard scared him, so he would keep the light on only turning it off before he went to sleep.
Back then, he feared what hid in the shadows of the small cupboard, what could be hiding that he would be locked in with.
Back then, he did not understand that the true monsters stalked the days, hidden not by shadows but by the four walls of his home.
Back then, he was naive.
A F I T D
It was before his aunt forced him to cook, before his uncle took out his drunken frustrations on him, before his cousin learnt that he could hurt more with his fists than his words (words never were his strong suit).
The day the bulb broke started as any other for Harry, submerged in the darkness of his cupboard, and him scrambling to pull the cord and bathe the space in a pale light. This light did not rid the cupboard of shadows, only banished them to the smallest of crevices, where they could only hide spiders or mice, not the kind of monster that would eat a child. Harry spent most of his day in the cupboard as he did every Saturday. The only times the door would open would be when his aunt brought him his small portion of a meal, grumbling about the supposed waste of food.
His cousin, Dudley, decided that this was the perfect day to play with the light. He had recently learnt that the box on the wall near the front door had switches that made the lights and devices in the house turn on or off when flipped. This day he decided to flip one of the switches rapidly, enjoying the way that the lights flipped on and off. Due to Vernon being at work and Petunia being in the garden, there were no adults to notice the misuse of the fusebox. The only one besides Dudley in the house to notice was Harry, who was left panicked as his small unshaded bulb repeatedly flickered, bathing the cupboard in darkness.
Dudley's fun came to an end when he realized that the lights were no longer flicking back on as he flipped the switch, the lights had stopped working. Turning around to gaze back into the rest of his home Dudley was unsettled, despite still being day and the windows being uncovered, the shadows seemed to stretch too far, seemed too dark, and he felt as if some hid in them watching him. A flicker of movement from the shadow cast by the coat rack sent the overly large boy through the front door into the garden with his mother. Harry was still locked in the cupboard.
In the cupboard Harry realised two things: one, the light had stopped flickering, this was good as it was giving him a headache. The second thing he realised was that the light wasn't turning back on, this was bad mostly due to his paralysing fear of the dark. He couldn't see. He couldn't see. He could not see.
And so he panicked.
Harry unlike what other kids his age may do, did not scream. He had been taught to not scream when he was scared or upset or in pain by his relatives before he reached this point in life (whilst they had not yet raised a hand to him their words were more than enough), and so instead he froze as if every muscle in his body had suddenly been replaced with stone.
Harry briefly remembered one of his teachers talking about breathing and how if you took deep breaths you could calm down. And so he breathed in. and out. The Sound of Harry’s slow breaths were the only sound to fill the air of the cupboard.
‘Huuuuuh’
In
‘Hoooooh’
Out
“Mooooom, the freak did something” came the muffled sound of Dudley complaining from outside (does he have to be that loud)
‘Huuuuuh’
In
‘Hoooooh’
Out
“Oh, what did it do now Duddykins” came a sickly sweet reply.
‘Huuuuuh’
In
‘Hoooooh’
Out
“it made all the lights go out, it was laughing when it did it, and the shadows seemed freakish”
‘Huuuuuh’
In
‘Hoooooh’
Out
‘Huuuuuh’
In
‘Hoooooh’
Out
Harry heard a second set of breathing, it was close but quiet, too quiet for it to have been heard if it was outside his cupboard.
‘Huuuuuh’
In
‘Hoooooh’
Out
Harry felt his lungs freeze as the other's breathing grew louder, it was definitely coming from his cupboard.
A click could be heard as the front door opened.
‘Huuuuuh’
In
‘Hoooooh’
Out
The thing in the dark breathed louder yet again, as if it was purposefully trying to draw his attention. Harry had no idea what the thing looked like. Did it look like a man, an animal, or something else entirely? All he knew was that it was hiding in the dark and he could not SEE it. It was completely unknown.
The tiptap of shoes walking down the hallway could be heard from the cupboard.
‘Huuuuuh’
In
‘Hoooooh’
Out
Louder yet again, it was so close and yet all Harry could see was the pitch black of his cupboard (did it always get this dark when the light went out, was this thing hiding, what about when he went to sleep) his thoughts did not last long as soon even his mind felt frozen felt something wrap around his leg (a hand/tentacle/claw/talon/mouth why could he see his leg, normally he could at least see his own body in the darkness of his cupboard) and slowly begin to tighten, he felt as if it was attempting to pull him somewhere.
The click of the bolt on his cupboard sliding open
‘Huuuuuh’
In
‘Hoooooh’
Out
Its grip tightens, pulling at him some more.
With a slam as the cupboard door opens, the grip of the thing immediately falls away as some of the daylight in the hallway leaks in, leaving Harry as the sole occupant of the cupboard.
“Get out now freak” his aunt’s shrill voice occupied the space left by the breathing as she reached in and wrenched him from his spot. “Me and Vernon” have told you enough times that your freakishness will not be tolerated” she ranted whilst dragging him to the sitting room. “ sit and wait here, Vernon can deal with you when he gets home”. She finished sitting Harry on the sofa in view of the window, bathing the area around him in daylight, and Harry finally felt his body relax. So he sat there and waited, whatever happened couldn't be worse than the thing in the cupboard.
A F I T D
When Vernon got home Harry wished he’d just stayed in the cupboard, at least the thing didn't actually hurt him. Just scared him. The same could not be said for Uncle Vernon who flew into a rage the second he got home. How he believes Harry could have caused a fuse to blow whilst locked in his cupboard he doesn't know, what he now knows is just how hard his uncle is willing to hit a child due to ‘freakishness’.
After Harry’s first beating (“It won't be the last freak, I’ll teach ya not to scare my boy like that”) Vernon replaced the blown fuse and the lights in the house turned back on.
The one in Harry’s cupboard did not.
He was too sore to care much when the breathing resumed.
A F I T D
It turns out that scaring Dudley was the last straw for the Dursley family. Whereas Harry had previously simply been relegated to his cupboard (which remained dark, hiding the thing within it) Harry was now expected to help with several chores around the house. At first Harry was happy with the added workload, it was seemingly an improvement over just sitting in his cupboard all day (with the thing, the loud thing that keeps grabbing him with unknown appendages and why can he see it it's right there it's too dark he can't even see his hand what is it). But as the months went by the excessive chores (seriously, who expects a six-year-old to clean the house) and the punishments mounting from failures to meet excessive standards (never the face or lower arms, a child with bruises there wouldn't look normal to the neighbours) harry began to crave the time spent in the cupboard, even with the thing (it didn't hurt him, just scared him, that better than uncle Vernon).
A F I T D
Several more months pass and Harry’s seventh birthday has been and gone, the chores have grown harder and at times Harry can barely move after punishment. Harry’s eyesight has been getting worse, he always needed his glasses but now his eyes seem to be getting worse, he’s feeling irritation and even pain at bright lights.
Harry is no longer afraid of the thing in the cupboard, it never hurts him and he finds the cupboard to be rather soothing now, it helps give his eyes a break from the new pains. He also can't be hurt whilst in the cupboard (Vernon can’t fit, and Petunia feels somewhat afraid of reaching into the dark cupboard now), (how does he know she growing scared of the dark, why does he like it).
Harry has grown used to the thing in the cupboard and chose to give it a name.
He called it Pitch.
A F I T D
More months pass and Harry’s eighth birthday is approaching.
The pain in his eyes got so bad that Uncle Vernon was forced to take him to the hospital (after much more complaining about wasted time than necessary). The doctors weren't sure what exactly was happening to Harry’s eyes but they compared it to a condition called aniridia. A condition where some of the iris is not present causing potential sight-based problems and a sensitivity to light. The doctors recommended he wear sunglasses when outside or in a well-lit room.
Harry was no longer expected to help with the gardening (they didn't want their neighbours learning that their nephew was even more of a freak than first expected).
Harry tries to avoid the light by sticking to shadows when walking to and from the local school and always has his sunglasses on outside the cupboard, he’s also started talking to Pitch when his relatives go to sleep, Pitch doesn't talk back but Harry gets a feeling of comfort in reply.
It's nice.
A F I T D
It is Harry’s eighth birthday, and as per usual the Dursleys don't acknowledge it. Harry only knows the date because Petunia slipped up whilst mocking him the year prior. He knows that he won't get any presents, the closest thing to a present he’s likely to get from the Dursleys is a smaller beating.
After his daily chores, and after his relatives have gone to bed Harry speaks to his only true friend (thanks Dudley) Pitch.
“I don't know why it bothers me, they’ve never celebrated before why would they now?”
The response he gets comes in the form of an odd feeling, Pitch does not have a mouth (he doesn't think Pitch does anyway, Pitch might be all mouths, maybe Pitch is just the shadow? Harry has long since stopped caring) and a such seems to communicate by just presenting ideas in Harry’s head, not words, just ideas. The answer to his previous question is an idea of not knowing, of ignorance.
“maybe Pitch, but still, I wasn’t even expecting anything”
An image in his mind of Dudley’s birthday, the one he watched from the cracks in the door whilst making no noise and pretending he didn’t exist. Dudley as per usual got more presents than Harry can ever hope to so much as touch, Dudley as per usual is not satisfied. As the image fades Harry feels the stirrings of the familiar sensation of envy.
“so what, it hardly going to change any time soon” he raises his voice briefly before quickly quieting down. He waits half expecting to hear footsteps of the stairs overhead, after some time the fear passes and the conversation continues.
“There's no point in getting upset, no one offering me a gift anytime soon,” he says, a sad tone colouring his voice.
A new image flashes in his mind alongside some vague musical notes, similar to a lullaby, the first image was of a tall and thick white candle, Aunt Petunia had many of the same candles in a cupboard in the kitchen, he would know from all the times he had to set up the table for the more important dinner parties with Vernon’s clients, they were about as long as his palm and a half and thick enough that his fingers don't touch on the other side. He sees this candle placed on a shelf in his cupboard and then the image is shrouded in darkness and the candle changes from its once bright white to a deep dark blue, almost black, with a small carving of a closed eye on one side.
Harry wanted that candle.
That's when he heard it, more of that lullaby esc music. And a small scraping sound from outside the cupboard door. And then the click as the bolt is slid open. And a low creak as the door slides open to reveal a Pitch black hallway.
Harry moves his way to the kitchen and finds the cupboard with the candles, he makes sure to take a candle from the back of the cupboard so the Durselys don't notice, throughout the walk, he hears the lullaby of Pitch constantly reminding him of the monster in the dark, but he no longer fears the monster, it makes him feel safe instead.
When Harry returns to the cupboard under the stairs he places his new prize on the small shelf, and just like Pitch ‘told’ him the darkness consumes it leaving the new candle in its place.
When Harry reaches back towards the candle he is hit with a feeling. He feels as if he is standing on the edge of a fathomless sea. He knows that if he takes this gift, and touches this candle Pitch will want something in return, and he knows that there is no going back once he makes a decision.
It is not a decision he is ready to make.
And so the candle remains on the shelf, the closed eye creating a sensation of smug patience, something that knows it's already won and now only needs to wait. It is fine with waiting, used to it, after all, it always has to wait for the sun to set. Or for the children to feel safe under their covers before the grand reveal.
A F I T D
Another year has passed, and Harry should have accepted a year ago. The punishments from his relatives have grown worse over the years as his freakishness has been particularly volatile this last year. He would shatter lightbulbs if a room was too bright, and cast shadows far too big for him, and Dudley keeps claiming that he sees the shadow move without Harry moving first, at other times the shadow is playing catchup like it didn't notice Harry move originally. It is probably the shadow’s fault for his current predicament, possibly bleeding out in his cupboard. Supposedly Dudley barely dodged a shadow pushing him down the stairs the night before and Petunia and Vernon have been making him feel their anger all day, much harsher chores to start the day with, including cooking. Not being allowed to eat anything he cooked, which just further sucked the energy from him. And finally, his aunt and uncle decided to have a candle-lit dinner that night, this led to them both having too much to drink too early in the evening and Dudley being sent to bed early, which led to high tempers, which led to him being bloody and bruised on the floor of his cupboard.
Harry thinks he is dying, it certainly feels that way. And on his birthday too. He never even got to blow out even one candle in his life.
And then his mind is once again filled with notes of a lullaby and the image of a dark candle on the shelf, hidden within an impenetrable shadow. He had made his choice.
A small frail hand reached up to grasp the candle and upon contact, a flame was lit upon the wick, only a small sliver of flame, but it was not the size of the flame that drew the most attention but the colour. This flame was not the warm orange of a true flame, but instead a flame in the shades of monochrome, mostly black with flashes of grey and white and towards the centre of the flame a deep dark blue the same as the candle body. The flicker produced no heat nor light. Harry was certain that no one normal could see the flame as it cast a deep thick darkness upon the surrounding cupboard, a greater darkness than even Pitch generated.
He felt Pitch flow into him, his wounds healing and an instinctual knowledge of the truth of his new being following. He felt Pitch settle in his own shadow now pooling around his feet with a fluid-like consistency, and the puddle of darkness only grew as it was exposed to more of the candle's dark incandescence.
The Dursleys never even noticed the liquid shadow leaking from beneath the cupboard door before it was too late and the lights fuse once again blew.