Mark of Darkness (Darkiplier x OC) - 1

“Alright, kids, goodnight! Happy Halloween!”

My eyes lingered on the knot of children rushing down the front walk, each clutching a bulging shopping bag or pillowcase. I chuckled to think of the sugar rushes those poor parents would have to deal with tomorrow. Sure, I was helping it along by passing out Pixy-Stix and Jolly Ranchers, but I didn’t really care. No way was I going to get shaving cream on my doorstep like my neighbor two years ago. Raisins and granola bars on Halloween? Respect the holiday, honey. Kids at Halloween have no mercy.

I glanced up, pushing the neon purple hair of my wig over my shoulder as I caught sight of the clock. Nine o’clock. Curfew in an hour. Only a few apartments still had their lights on, but there were still plenty of pickings in a complex as big as ours. There was a sort of unofficial rule at Halloween; if you kept your Jack O’ Lanterns lit, you were still open for business. Eyes and grins glowed warmly in the night all along the sidewalks. Dozens of kids darted here and there, honing in on the places that held the best treats.

I smiled, remembering the nights that I would go out with my friends back home, my arms poking out from a tinfoil covered box, or trying to maneuver eyeholes in a sheet properly so I wouldn’t crash into a tree. My sisters and I were always crafty with our costumes, and I was glad to see that the trend still lived today. Lots of the trick or treaters I saw had homemade costumes, and those were always the most adorable to me. Especially the “scary” ones, like the Freddy Fazbear suit with the spring-tethered ping-pong ball eyes and egg carton teeth.

I bit my lip and grinned thinking of the new ritual I had adopted in recent years. In about an hour, all those costumed ankle-biters would be back home, all tucked in for the night, and I’d be free to begin. I plopped into an armchair and pulled out a book from the side table. Sure enough, the doorbell rang, tiny fists knocking in accompaniment, high-pitched voices chorusing, “TRICK OR TREAT!”

Shaking my head, I stood, adjusting the black corset over my velvet shirt again. Who says kids should be the only one to have fun on Halloween.

After they left, their newest treats resting safely in their sacks, I looked at the clock again. Nine fifteen. Groaning, I set the treat bowl down on the table, relieved it of a few Pixy-Stix, and wobbled into the kitchen. Costume be damned, these boots were coming off first. The wig was starting to itch, too. Crossing to the fridge, I retrieved a hard cider and a pewter goblet. Couldn’t hurt to get the ritual prepared. I kicked off my boots, shivering as my feet touched the chilly floor, and went into the study. My computer screen glowed softly, the Halloween screensaver flashing images of pumpkins, witches, and ghouls in rapid succession. I set the cider and goblet down and moved the mouse, pulling up an Internet Explorer window and typing “YouTube.com” into the address bar.

It was almost time.

As the webpage loaded, I pulled back the curtains, checking the sidewalk for any more kids coming. I frowned. The complex looked deserted. Jack O’ Lanterns were still flickering, but there was no laughter, no calls for treats or threats of tricks. Not a soul remained.

I shrugged, taking it as a gift. I cracked the cider open and poured the golden liquid into the goblet. The fizzy mist rose finely into the air, tickling my nose with the scent of apples and honey. I pulled off the wig and arranged myself in the rolling chair and scrolled down to my “Halloween Favorites” folder, clicking on the video I had chosen to start this evening. Buffering, waiting, ads (go away), and finally…

“Hello, everybody! My name is Markiplier, and welcome to “Phobia 1.5!”

I settled back in the chair, raising my cup in a silent toast as my favorite YouTuber launched into yet another horror game. I’d discovered Mark late in 2012 as I was fishing about YouTube looking for a playthrough of “Amnesia: The Dark Descent”. I’d heard about the game from a friend and it seemed to be right up my alley. Unfortunately, I’d been burned by biased reviews on games before, so I wanted to see what the game was like before I plunked down the cash for it. After sifting through quite a few “Let’s Plays”—some funny, some annoying, some downright boring—I settled on Markiplier’s. From there, I was hooked. He was so funny and out there, so different from any other channel I’d seen. I subscribed within a week. From there, I eventually found JackSepticEye, Wade and Bob, the Cyndago guys, and many others. Always, though, I came back to Markiplier. I could always count on him to brighten my day, get me through a tough time, and even push me to be more.

I took a long sip of cider as a particularly spooky part of the playthrough came along, and I thought back to another time I found myself spooked by Mark. No, not by the games he played, but by him. It was in one of his earlier videos for a charity event, “October of Terror”. The beginning of that video was…chilling. I distinctly remember that strange expression on his face. That face, normally graced by an adorable smile and a twinkle in his dark eyes, replaced by a leer and a total absence of light. His voice, too, had changed. If there was one thing I knew, it was that Mark has an amazing voice, smooth and deep, a singer’s voice tinged with laughter. In that moment, though, it was a bit too deep, too rough, and it had the wrong kind of laugh hiding inside it. The laugh you’d expect after something untoward happened. I remember restarting the video, telling myself it was a glitch, some kind of inner problem. But it happened again. And then, just like that, it was gone and Mark was…Mark again, going on about the good that he planned to do. But as I continued to watch, I couldn’t help but think of that face. Over the next few years, I would catch a glimpse of that face again in different videos, hear that smoky voice, and tell myself it was just Mark playing a game. Just a game.

Pushing those dark thoughts aside, I turned my attention back to the game just as the creature leapt out at Mark, claws out as the screen dimmed with red. We screamed at the same time, his degrading into a babble of fear, mine dissolving into a fit of giggles. I paused the video and covered my face with my hands, trying to calm my laughter.

“Good trick, wasn’t it?”

I froze as the husky voice cut through the room. My eyes popped open, the sight through the spaces between my fingers almost too unbelievable. In place of the stilled video was Mark’s face, taking up almost all of the window. At least, it looked like Mark’s face. There was something…off about it. His warm smile was a slash of cold white now, all teeth and no emotion. His skin tone looked like death, like an old movie in black and white. And those eyes. Cold, black, empty, a night sky with no stars. Slowly, my hands moved away from my face and a screwed my eyes shut, telling myself it was cider on an empty stomach. Pulling in a deep breath, I forced my eyes open.

The screen remained where I paused it, Mark’s expression wild and the creature coming after him. I shook my head a bit and tore open two Pixy-Stix, dumping the sweet powder into my mouth. The tangy sweetness pricked at the back of my throat and I threw back the rest of the cider to wash it down. The rush of alcohol wracked my body, sending a wave of dizziness over me. I leaned forward, searching the screen for any glimpse of the…whatever it was. Nothing.

“It was nothing,” I muttered, moving the empty goblet aside. I stretched to the side to throw away the empty paper tubes and felt a pinch as my corset dug into my hip. I’d forgotten I was still in costume. With a grumble, I reached behind my back, trying to grasp the tiny fasteners. For some reason, I found my fingertips slippery with sweat. At last, I got one undone, and another, sighing with relief as the corset loosened.

“For me? You shouldn’t, really.”

I yelped, leaping up from my chair in shock. “Who’s there?!” I turned around wildly about, crossing my arms over my shoulders even though I was still decent. I felt like eyes were everywhere, poking, prodding at my solitude. There was a buzz from my computer tower, a flicker from the screen, and the room went black. I screamed, sinking to the floor as the darkness pressed around me like an unwanted embrace. Silence stalked the corners of the room. I couldn’t move, I could barely breathe. What the hell was this?

Then, from deep within the blackness, a soft chuckle echoed through the room. It settled around me like smoke, going on and on, not growing any louder or softer. I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes, pushing down on my instinct to sob or shiver or show any more weakness. I couldn’t stop it all, though, and heard myself whisper, “Please…”

“TRICK OR TREAT!”

I jumped up from the floor with a strangled gasp. The light from my computer screen flooded the room once more, the video still exactly where I left it. A glance out the window showed me a bustling Halloween night, children still out on their candy hunt, shouts and laughter and innocence rising up in the night like music.

A flurry of knocking resounded through the apartment. The chanting grew louder, demanding I fill their bags or else.

“Okay, I’ll be right there!” I wheezed, pulling in great, relieved breaths. “No more cider and Pixy-Stix,” I promised myself as I rearranged my wig and made my way to the door, desperately ignoring the ghostly whisper behind me.

“Happy Halloween…”