 I thought I'd grown up in a cult. I didn't realize there was anything different about the way I was raised, until I, against the wishes of my family, moved out of our commune for college. When they realized I couldn't be dissuaded, they insisted on paying for off-campus housing. The day I moved out, my whole family came to help set the new apartment up. I'm talking aunts, uncles, cousins, the whole nine. Then piled into my one-bedroom apartment to haul in couches, set up furniture, and cram my fridge full of pre-made meals. They were so supportive that it felt almost normal, until I happened to pass by my parents' car between trips and saw my mother sobbing in the passenger seat. My father's arm around her, his head bent to hers. The windows were up, so I couldn't hear what they were saying. But I thought I saw my father mouth. We prepared him as best we could. Separation anxiety must have been adorable. Mom wasn't usually the emotional type, but I guess most parents get that way when their kid leaves the nest for the first time, especially since I was the only child, and I'd been homeschooled. Putting it that way gave me a sudden pang of anxiety, so I put it out of my mind and tried to focus on the future instead. I'd always wanted to be a zoologist. This college was one of the few in the country that offered a degree, especially back then. It would be fine, I tried to assure myself. Mom and I would both be fine. It would be an adjustment, but we'd both be better for it in the long run. That anxiety lingered, though. It hung around in the back of my mind for the rest of the day, but only really started to settle in once all the relatives had climbed back into their cars for the long drive home. Mom had offered to spend the night, but I hadn't wanted to prolong the inevitable. At the time, I told myself it was like ripping off a band-aid. Alone in an unfamiliar apartment, with the sun starting to set outside, I fell back on the old rituals of home for some comfort, going from room to room to make sure the windows and doors were all locked. Shutting the blinds, shutting the curtains, turning off all the lights, and unscrewing all the light bulbs. Mom and Dad had already removed the ones in the microwave and fridge for me, and I'd watched Kathy, my cousin, cover the fire alarm light with a tiny piece of duct tape earlier that day. She was a good kid, Kathy. I thought I was going to miss seeing her around every day. Once I'd ensured that there was no light anywhere in the apartment, I got changed in the dark and went to bed. The next day, I assumed my life as a normal, average kid. Orientation was a whirlwind, but I got a chance to meet some of the other kids in my very small major, and I hit it off with a few of them. A couple of them had grown up on farms themselves, so we had some stuff in common. Quite a bit of stuff, as it turned out, just not the one thing. That one all-important thing. I hit it off with all three of them. A girl named April and her longtime best friend, Jordan. Jordan's boyfriend, Alex, was a pretty great guy as well. We were all excited to find out we shared a couple of classes and would be seeing a lot more of each other as the semester went on, especially April and I. We kind of had an instant chemistry, spark, a spark that evolved through the following days and weeks. It was that spark that would eventually lead me to understand just how truly weird my upbringing had been. And it started with her inviting me to dinner, a casual friends-only type of deal, an exception was made for Alex because he was basically a friend at this point. A couple other kids from class were over, too, and I remember really looking forward to my first off-commune social gathering. I remember being nervous too, though, because all my life, I'd really only hung out with my family members, and I wasn't sure I could replicate that in-school connection outside of class. But when I arrived, all the nervousness washed away. April greeted me at the door with a smile and told me how glad she was I'd come. I passed over the six pack I'd picked up on the way and managed not to smile too awkwardly when I parried that I was glad she'd invited me. I stepped into the warmth and noise of the gathering and was greeted by a chorus of voices. It was a good feeling, a welcome feeling, something bubbly welled up in my chest that stayed with me until hours later, it started getting towards sunset. Oh man, I didn't realize how late it was. I noticed the clock out of the corner of my eye and put down the scrabble tile I'd been about to play. I guess I better get going. It's not even seven. Jordan shot me the weirdest look across the table, still smiling, but acting as if I'd said something bizarre. You're not on the farm anymore, guy. Alex laughed, reaching across Jordan to grab his beer from the opposite end table. You don't have to be in bed when the sun sets. I don't? I asked, genuinely confused. The conversation started to fade around me as more people listened in to what we were talking about. April came to join us at that point, leaning on the back of the couch. But what do you do after dark? I couldn't wrap my head around the concept. What was there to do in the dark? You wouldn't be able to see a thing. Turn on a light? Jordan suggested with a laugh, but I could tell she was even more confused by that question than the last. At this point, I'd figured out something wasn't adding up, because more than one person was looking at me like I'd grown a second head. I hesitated to ask. I remember reaching for my drink to delay the inevitable, moistening my lips before I spoke. But um, I was a man of science now. I think some part of me already doubted, but when you were raised believing something, when you were taught it was the equivalent of the sky being blue. What about the demons? Things got really quiet then. You could have heard a pin drop. The what? April asked. I grimaced because I knew she'd heard me just fine. She wanted me to repeat myself because she was hoping she hadn't. I, um, the demon-sailors. I repeated, more slowly and awkwardly, twisting the beer can between my palms. No one said anything for a while. I was starting to sweat, made worse by the clock ticking loudly on the wall. For a long while, Alex put his beer down on the table and leaned forward, squinting faintly. You, uh, you don't really believe in demons, do you? His tone made it clear what the correct answer was. I laughed nervously before April cut in. Is your family really that religious? Thankful for what felt like an olive branch, I nodded quickly and spread my hands. I guess so, I didn't realize. You know what it's like living on a farm. Jordan picked up that thread and carried it, breaking into a soft, relieved laugh. Yeah, it gets pretty isolated. My parents were really religious too. I guess I forgot you were homeschooled as well. Thank God I went to public school. I can't imagine what I'd still believe. But Alex, of all people, didn't seem quite ready to let it go. I gotta ask, man, what exactly is it you think happens if you turn a light on after sunset? Well, uh, I checked the expression of the others, and it seemed to me that they were starting to relax and treat it all like a silly misunderstanding. My family always told me that if you didn't turn out all the lights after dark, demons would come out of the pipes and take away anyone they found near them. Jesus, dude. Someone else in the room laughed. What the hell? But Alex pressed. How? I couldn't tell if he was genuinely curious at this point or just being a jerk. I leaned toward the former because he was a pretty nice dude all the rest of the time. So as I stood to gather my jacket, I tried not to make eye contact, but I answered him anyway. They dragged them into the water to drown. One of the girls squealed in horror. One of the guys laughed, a different one. I didn't recognize him. He seemed delighted, not horrified. That's crazy. He said gleefully. I smiled tightly and shrugged my jacket on. Yeah. I agreed awkwardly. I, um, I guess I better go. I got a lot of homework to do. It was nice meeting you guys. I tossed a wave over my shoulder and made my way toward the front door. April followed me, looking like sympathy personified. I had fun tonight. I told her, standing on the doorstep, a little white lie. I didn't want her to feel bad about the sharp left turn that had all taken. She frowned, smiled, and then got up on her tiptoes and she kissed me. We should do this again. She said when she dropped back down and just like that, I forgot all about demon sailors and lights. I drove home on cloud nine, giddy until I parked the car, walked up the steps, unlocked my apartment door and stepped inside. The jingle of the keys hitting the side table sounded very loud in the empty apartment. I hesitated, shutting the door behind me and then a little ashamed went through the nightly ritual anyway. A little seat of doubt had been sown, but I wasn't quite ready to let go. Not after a lifetime, not with only two months of living alone under my belt. As the days passed, I began to doubt more and more, especially going to class and seeing all the people who evidently left their lights on and survived through the night. I continued to turn all mine off, but after a while it became more of a rabbit's foot than anything. A compulsive, superstitious thing I didn't really believe anymore. I even started staying out after dark. I'd hang out with my friends at their place, or at a bar or restaurant, but I always turned the lights off before leaving, and I would shower and change in the dark when I got home. April and I went on a handful of very casual dates, but things were getting steadily more serious. In the back of my mind, I knew there was the likelihood one of us was going to spend the night eventually, but I was still a little unprepared for it when that day finally came. It was pretty fantastic, honestly. I'd never felt more love for anyone than I did for April that night. By mutual decision, we'd ended up back at my place because of my lack of roommates. I don't think the lighting situation crossed either of our minds until the middle of the night when I was woken up by April. The bathroom light isn't working, she whispered. It took me a minute to figure out who, what and where, but when I got through the fog and memory kicked back in, I sort of nodded sleepily and stood up. Yeah, the light bulb is unscrewed. I muttered, navigating through the dark to the bathroom. The light bulb squeaked as I twisted it into place. I'll always remember that sound and having to look away when it immediately lit up. I wasn't looking when April brushed past me, and I was still blinking when she laughingly pushed me back towards the bathroom. Okay, now get out. The tap chose that moment to make the worst gurgling sound. I kind of jumped. She did too. We both looked, and then both started giggling a few seconds later. Demons. I informed her, nodding seriously as I pivoted back to bed. That was when the shower started to scream. What's wrong with your plumbing? April covered her ears to black out the awful low pitched sound. I cringed and covered my ears too, shaking my head helplessly. It's never made that noise before. I swore. And then the sink turned itself on. Something brown and pungent started to ooze out in big, gloopy chunks. The toilet began to burble violently. The lid clattering and bouncing as the water churned. It smelled overwhelmingly of brine, salt, and fish. I covered my nose and gagged, backing swiftly out of the bathroom. April followed me, also gagging. I shut the lights off on reflex. It wasn't deliberate, but I swear that everything stopped the second after. I could feel her eyes on me in the dark, neither of us said anything. We went to bed, silent, and when I woke up the next morning, she was gone. When I went to see her at her place, she was apologetic, but I could tell she was tense. Something was bothering her. I'm sorry, I should have stayed, but I really wanted a shower and your tub was all covered in goop, she said, and she was right. We laughed about it a little. I said I'd call my landlord and figure out what that had been all about, and she gave me the sweetest little smile and suggested that we should sleep at her place until the situation was sorted. Obviously, I was more than okay with that. Until night rolled around, we were cuddled up together, sound asleep. When the pipes began to scream, Jordan started to scream with them. I pretty much flew out of bed. I was in the kitchen before I was even 10% awake and just staring there stupidly as sludge pumped out of the faucet. Jordan was trying to turn it off, but it seemed like the tap was fighting her. I processed that and ran over to help, but it was like trying to fight a waterfall. Nothing I did seemed to budget. What's going on? Alex stormed into the kitchen. He saw Jordan and I fighting with the tap and stopped talking, gesturing for us to get out of the way and tossing open the cabinet beneath the sink. We both scrambled back and watched him yank on the water cut off. For a split second, I thought it would work. And then with a deep agonized roar, it snapped in the other direction. The brown sludge gave way to brackish green and then the sink began to fill. I saw the drain bubbling as I backed further away, almost colliding with my girlfriend. She was looking up at me with wide anxiety filled eyes. I looked back at her, speechless and confused. She looked at the light switch. I reached out to flip it off, but unlike the night previous, nothing happened. The sink began to overflow. I could see it in the light that spilled in through the kitchen window from the digital clock on the microwave from the living room and the hallway. It was everywhere I realized with a sick feeling. That was before the first hand plunged out of the water, twisted and smoky, wreathe in some kind of drifting filaments, strands of something that my mind shied away from. I didn't recognize it for what it was until it was already grabbing the edge of the counter and hauling more of something out. I could hear water gushing down the hall and realize the carpet beneath my feet was soaked. April looked at me again and in a panic, I grabbed her and ran for the door. Works endured and followed the four of us racing out into the street. Water poured down the porch behind us, spilling onto the lawn. I looked back at the kitchen window as I dove into the car and saw something misshapen and hunched, shambling past, horrifyingly fast. The ignition seemed to turn itself. The engine roared to life and I peeled out, April white-knuckled and silent beside me. I didn't know where else to go. I was in a state of complete panic, but I kept thinking to myself that we couldn't go to like a convenience store or anything because none of us had any shoes or shirts they wouldn't let us in. Somehow I ended up on the freeway. I think in my terror the knee-jerk reaction was just to go home. Not the apartment, but my real home, the farm. It started to rain as I got onto the highway. A torrent of water hit the car so hard that it bounced and I briefly felt the tires try to leave the pavement. I did the absolute wrong thing, the thing you're never supposed to do in those circumstances. I gunned it. I jammed the gas pedal against the floorboards and felt my sedan lurch. God, the pavement must have still been dry enough because somehow she found traction and flung us forward. Alex bounced off the back of my seat. I heard Jordan cry out, but there was no time to look or stop. My eyes were on the road and the near biblical amount of rain running down it. The part of highway we'd entered was sitting on a hill. To me, in my mind, our only salvation was over that hill. To survive, we needed to make it over. The tires were squealing, the back was trying to fishtail. By all rights, what I did ought to have killed us all. Because I didn't slow down. The needle flipped into the red and I kept my foot on the pedal. The whole of my soul focused on every vanishing inch of incline. All around us, figures began to take shape in the walls of rain. I heard the others screaming, weeping and praying as I shot up over the top of the hill. Breaking over that slope felt like busting out of hell. I felt a surge of triumph hitting the dark, smooth pavement that came after. It was still raining buckets, so much that the windshield wipers couldn't keep up. But I only eased off the pedal a little bit, just enough to not burn out the engine. There were still bodies everywhere. I saw a few of them in the rearview mirror, shuffling out of the darkness into the scope of the headlights. Men. Men of all shapes and sizes and ages. Pale men. And swarthy men. Tall men and small, some with bloated, bulging eyes and gaping mouths. Some with peaceful expressions and closed eyes that seemed to follow us anyway. One came out of the darkness on the driver's side, despite only shuffling. He moved with superhuman speed. He almost reached us, even though I had to have been doing 80 or 90. I got a real good look at him. Time slowed down for a heartbeat. I saw every detail, from his blue vest to the second grisly mouth cut in his throat. Home was hours away. And I knew for a fact that the stretch of highway we were supposed to be entering was empty. There was nothing on the side of the town. Just shrub and dead grass for miles. A thick wedge of no man's land all the way up to the foothills where my family lived. And yet there were lights everywhere, murky, indistinct lights swimming around in the darkness where there were no houses and were no cars. A couple of times I almost doubted myself. There was so much happening. The bodies were everywhere at once. I was driving through some of them and they exploded around the car in clouds of silt and sand that would completely cover the windshield for a few seconds. What if those actually were other cars? What if I'd left the freeway and didn't realize only the flashing white lines beside me and the smooth run of the pavement kept me from jerking the wheel and veering off in the direction of those distant orbs? What are you doing? I'd honestly forgotten anyone else was in the car when April spoke up. It startled me so bad that again I nearly doomed all of us by jerking the wheel too hard. Only luck saved our lives that night. I certainly played no part. Home. I said my throat too tight to properly speak. The cult. Jordan asked. I saw April's hand dip out of the corner of my eye. The heat came on a second later, but I wasn't paying attention to that. I was counting mile markers when I saw them always dreading that I'd somehow miss the important ones that somehow I'd overshoot my destination. They flicked by like flashcards. And while the bodies seem to be emerging from the dark with less frequency, I knew in the back of my mind that the gas gauge was descending. That little needle was dropping lower and lower. The demons didn't have to keep trying as hard to drive us off the road. Eventually, we'd run out of gas. All they had to do was wait. There was a can of gas in the trunk. But in order to get to it, I'd have to pull over turn the car off and get out. It didn't seem worth it, but there was also nothing I could do. Eventually my worst fear came true. The engine sputtered. The pedal stopped responding. We began to lose speed, drifting to a slow, agonizing stop. My hands were clenched so tightly around the steering wheel that I could feel my knuckles popping and the sinews creaking. Alex was demanding what I was doing. Jordan, too. They were reaching over my shoulders like they could drive the car from the backseat. And I heard my parents' voices in the back of my mind. They're drawn to the lights. Man-made lights. Like the lanterns. I hesitated and then I killed the ignition. The car coasted a few more feet and went silent. We were plunged into absolute darkness. Jordan and Alex were losing their minds. April just looked at me from the passenger seat. I looked back at her and at the bodies walking out of the darkness around us. She took my hand. I squeezed it and we waited. They wandered in and out of the rain, searching, but it seemed after a few minutes as if they couldn't see us. I forced myself to let go of April's hand and unbuckled a belt I didn't recall engaging. The door handle clicked. I stepped out into the rain and saw a few heads lift, quietly, as slowly as I could force myself. I walked around the back of the car and popped the trunk. The spare can sat in the back, garishly red and cheerful. I felt cold and slick in my palm. I closed the trunk. The bang of it closing nearly ended me. Several bodies rushed closer, the slap of wet footsteps coming from all around. A few feet shy, they turned in other directions, but continued to amble closer. I was shaking as I unscrewed the gas cap and poured the fuel in, losing more than a little to the ground and side of the car. Praying that I got enough in that the water wouldn't get into. I screwed the cap in and made the choice to leave the cover open, sneaking back to the driver's side and sliding in, closing the door softly, turning the headlights off, trying the ignition. The car came back to life. So did the dash, but I'd never parked it. And as soon as the spark rolled through the engine, she was moving again. I kept my foot off the brakes, letting her ease back into it and hoping that would keep the eyes off of us. It sort of did. Only a few heads seemed to turn in our direction. There was only the blinking of the digital clock. April jammed it off. In darkness, we rolled forward between the wandering shapes without the reflective pain of the road or the mild signs to guide us. I had to flip the lights on a handful of times to check where we were. Each time they rushed us and I had to slam the gas pedal. And then there it was, the mile marker I'd been looking for. Home was a plain dirt turnoff that had to be half soup at this point. I left the highway and bumped the last few miles to salvation. The storm was still rolling. I could barely see my hand in front of my face, but my parents had installed a series of brick divides on the road. I'd been taught all my life to remember the exact number. One, two, three, four, five, stop. The last one was directly in front of the house. I killed the ignition for the last time. She sputtered out, and we sat there in silence until the pitch dark gave way to gray, until the rain began to slack and the torrent became a downpour and then a drizzle. Finally, I got out. April and Jordan and Alex came with me. I walked up the steps to my home and found the keys beneath the mat. I led us all into an even deeper darkness and shut the door behind us. Home, we were finally safe. My parents came down to greet us. They must have heard the door. Dad went down to the basement, and I knew even though we wouldn't be able to see it. In a few minutes, the lighthouse would begin to flash miles and miles away. Some brought us blankets and dry towels, and we all camped out in the living room until morning when it finally came. The old analog clock read three in the afternoon before it was bright enough with natural sunlight to read it. The storm itself lingered for three more days before the last clouds finally dissipated. But even then, I never left. College didn't seem as worth it as it once had. I guess the others agreed, because they live here with us on the commune now. Their parents think I kidnap them and that they're all part of the cult now. I guess maybe they're not wrong.