Something pressed against the window, nudging the submarine. Its hide was almost as dark as the waters around it, but its scales glistened from the light inside the room. Jacob badly wanted to douse the oil lamp, to hide inside a different darkness, but he had a feeling that any change inside the room, any step, any dimming of a light, any sound, might be like a beacon to the beast outside.

The candles were adored and worshipped like idols, for, after all, they invoked the gods of light.

The miserly night brought very little sleep, and no solutions. It shared nothing with them, keeping every crumb of light to itself.

He liked the darkness, but this was oppressing. It almost flooded his being. He was afraid that even when he returned to the light—or if he returned to the light—he would still feel that darkness in his soul.