48 Hour Short Story Contest

Night Blindness


My cursor was a nanosecond from closing the Firefox window when a new notification popped up: Elder Connolly's Homecoming, June 10.

I broke into a smile. Finally! Two years I hadn't seen my brother Ethan. He'd be so different now, so mature, so—

"Robin!"

I jumped half a foot in the air. When I turned I found Jake standing in the living room doorway, angry stare so at odds with his suit and leather briefcase. "You were on the computer," he accused, casting the briefcase to the ground. I cringed when the sound hit me, and a hand went to my distended stomach, as though to brace the baby, too, from the blow.

"Jake, I..."

He stormed over and grabbed my wrist, forcing me away. "I told you to delete your Facebook!"

"I did!" He'd decided, just weeks after our wedding, that a proper married woman had no legitimate need for Facebook. He'd pulled out some quote from President Monson about overdependence on the fake relationships of the Internet. What could I say? "I did delete it!"

"Then what?" He flicked his burning eyes back at me for an instant before clicking the History tab on Firefox. The Gmail calendar was all that came up besides lds.org and my sister's wedding registry. Noticing the latest Gmail notification, he turned to me and growled, "Who's Elder Connelly?"

"My brother." I looked down at the bulge beneath my shirt. He wouldn't hit me, not anymore, not when I was showing. Right? "He's coming home from his mission."

"Brother." Jake picked a red felt-tip pen from the cup on the desk and gripped it so tightly that the cap popped off. Eyes distant and unfocused, he repeated the word: "Brother." In his fist, tiny cracks formed in the plastic, splattering red ink onto the mouse and keyboard. "I don't like you having your own Gmail," he snarled, dropping the pen and stomping past me into the kitchen.

I went to get a rag for the ink.


I don't know when Jake stopped taking his medication. It was at least two months after our wedding, because I know that most of that summer, spent in his tiny apartment in Provo, was perfect. But somewhere between fall semester's LSAT prep classes and linear algebra midterms, things changed. He shouted at me, then seemed to forget. He'd stay up all week writing papers and pacing the apartment, then the next week refuse to get out of bed. No explanation. Never an explanation.

I figured it out for myself when I found a half-full prescription bottle in the trash one afternoon. Carbamazepine. Bipolar disorder.

I might have liked to know that before I got sealed to him for all eternity.


At my brother's Homecoming, I waited patiently behind all the single girls, standing at arm's length because Ethan hadn't technically been released yet and couldn't touch them. He didn't seem to register anything beyond blank handshakes and well wishes until he saw me.

"Robin?" Ethan ran his eyes from my race to my belly and back again. "Wow!"

"Knocked up, guilty as charged." I grinned at him. It didn't seem quite right, saying knocked up in a Sacrament Meeting, but I didn't care. "Welcome home."

"Thanks." He placed a hand on my belly. "I can't believe I get home and I'm an uncle."

"Robin!" Mom appeared right behind us. "Oh, honey, I'm so glad you made it!"

"Of course." I smiled at her. "I wouldn't miss it."

"Ethan, honey," she said, laying a soft hand on his forearm, "once you're finished here, let's go for lunch to catch up. All of us."

That meant the three kids, Ethan, Beth and me, and Mom. Not quite the same as the other families in our ward, mom and dad and ten kids.

"Where's Beth?" Ethan asked.

"She's talking to Bishop Justesen." Mom pointed. "And that's Steven." Beth's fiance, a Stake President in training already. Ugh. "He has a broken leg right now, so he's a bit slow getting around. Oh, but you'll just love him, Ethan."

Ethan nodded. "And Jake?"

"He's not feeling well." I smiled through the lie. "He would have come otherwise."

"I didn't have the chance to scare him straight before the wedding," Ethan laughed. "Shirking my brotherly duties, you know?" Then, when Mom stepped away, he ran a finger over the circle of blue on my wrist. "How did you get this bruise?" I just shook my head and turned away.


Jake sank into a depression as soon as the LSAT was over. He collapsed into bed when he arrived home and didn't get out except to demand food or sex. The next day, Sunday, as I dressed for church, he rolled over only to insult me and turn on the TV. I plastered on the trademark blank Mormon wife smile and went anyway. But Ethan noticed, and when the talk was over, he came back with me.

At home, we found Jake downstairs, raging at MSNBC. "Immoral liberal jerk-offs!"

I took a deep breath, hoping he wouldn't do anything too bad while Ethan was there. "Honey? We're home from church."

"Who's with you?" He spun around, knocking a lamp to the floor in his rush. The lightbulb shattered on the ground but he seemed not even to notice it.

"Ethan. My brother Ethan." I wrapped my hands together in front of my stomach. The baby didn't need to hear this.

"I told you I didn't want to see anyone." But he sank back into the sofa. "Just don't make a lot of noise."

As I prepared sandwiches, Ethan perused the copy of Meridian we'd received a few days before. No words. The idea of depressive hung in the air between us.

When I sat down, he put the magazine down and said, voice low, "Have you talked to anyone about this?"

"Um." I took a bite of my sandwich. "The ladies in Relief Society, and Bishop Justesen. He, um, he said that it wasn't something that required intervention."

"That's ridiculous. What did the women say?"

"Some said we hadn't been married very long. Some said that when the baby... um, when Jennifer is born, he'll shape up." I hoped that was true, even if I didn't believe it very much.

"Jennifer." Ethan smiled ruefully. "What if he hits her too?"

"He won't." But a year ago, I would have said the same thing about myself.

"Scripture says he shouldn't hit you. But clearly scripture hasn't changed anything." Ethan dropped his voice even further. "There's something we could do."

"What?"

"Kill him. Pop him with a shovel and dump him."


I stared at Ethan. This was not the little brother I knew. "I don't—"
"Kidding, Robin. Gosh." He shook his head. "Actually, I was thinking about something I learned on my mission."

"Oh." Thank goodness. "Um. What?"

I was expecting a technique he'd learned for talking to investigators. Instead, he said, "Did you know that some people believe bipolar disorder is caused by demonic possession?"

I chuckled."Yeah, people used to believe all that stuff was demons. Funny."

"No." He shook his head, deadly serious. "For real. Doctors don't know what causes it. But Joseph Smith did."

"Um." Was Ethan being serious? Did he really think this was a case of demonic possession? No way my brother spent his mission doing...exorcisms.

"Think about the things that Joseph Smith did — divining rods, communing with the angels, prophecy, predictions."

"Occult," I whispered.

"It isn't occult. It's a vital and intriguing part of our religion."

It didn't seem intriguing. It seemed blasphemous and Satanic. This wasn't normal returned missionary talk.

Ethan stood up from the table. "Where's your Pearl of Great Price?"

"On the bookshelf." I pointed, but didn't get up. "Why?"

He came back with the book and opened to the Articles of Faith. "We believe," he read, "in the gift of tongues, prophecy, revelation, visions, healing. Healing. That's what we'd be doing."

"Healing." But how? Bipolar was a disorder, not a demonic possession. It couldn't be solved by something crazy and Satanic he'd learned on his mission from some Louisiana voodoo priestess.
"We should do it," Ethan whispered. "It'd fix everything."

"That's ridiculous."

"I hold the priesthood, Robin. I know." Leaning across the table, dark eyes piercing mine, he said, "Heavenly Father wouldn't want you to live this way."

I didn't speak. I couldn't. He was right: I didn't think I had to live this way. But...

"What I want to know is," Ethan drawled, "how you were stupid enough to get pregnant."

I blinked away tears, but one stray droplet landed in the cream cheese on the table.

"What?" he asked.

"He went manic," I whispered, "and ran my birth control pills through the paper shredder."

Ethan sighed. "Doesn't that say to you it's time for action?"


The night Ethan chose was a full moon. I crushed six Sudafed into Jake's dinner and waited. Our tiny two-bedroom looked dark and menacing under the moonlight. I was terrified waiting for Ethan to arrive. I imagined Jake upstairs, passed out in bed. What if it didn't work?

What if it did?

We had prepared ahead of time everything Ethan needed. He said he'd done this twice on his mission, said it was simple. We brought our scriptures, passages already marked, plus Mexican oregano, sea salt, white candles and dried peppermint from the store. (A broken candy cane, all I had at home, wasn't sufficient.)

I went upstairs first and found Jake passed out on the bed, wearing only his garments. I quickly draped the bedsheets over Jake so he'd be modest and called for my brother.

When Ethan came in, the room seemed to grow even more quiet. He spread out his tools, eyes focused on Jake's sleeping figure. I knew better than to speak, to interfere.

When he was ready, Ethan gripped my hand and picked up the sea salt. Together we spread it in a rough circle around the bed. Ethan opened his scriptures to the first passage. "In the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, we cast out the spirits from this member of the priesthood."

I watched Jake carefully as Ethan read on. I itched to help, but I couldn't. I was a woman: couldn't hold the priesthood, couldn't stake a claim to save Jake, couldn't even get him to take his medication. But I could pray.

Finishing the invocation, Ethan reached for the peppermint and oregano. With a sprinkle and an amen, he turned to me. "Ready, Robin?"

I wasn't anywhere near ready. Some part of me cultivated by high school seminary class was screaming about how wrong this was. But I simply nodded. "Ready."

I held a match to each of the three white candles and placed them on the bed, inside our salt circle. "Jacob," I whispered, "you are a beloved child of your Heavenly Father. He wants you to be free of the demons haunting you and regain your rightful place in the Celestial Kingdom."

Jake stiffened. His legs jerked, then became perfectly straight, each one exactly parallel to the bed. His arms and fingers tensed, the knuckles turning white from the force. I gasped and turned to Ethan, but his eyes were unfocused, his lips reciting a prayer.

Just as suddenly as he'd frozen, Jake's blue eyes shot open and both arms raised in the air. The air grew cold and dry, icicles clawing at my eyes and lips. A dark gravity drew me toward him — I had to touch him, had to hold him, had to fix him. But Ethan held me back. "I say," he intoned, a deeper bass than I'd ever heard, "in the name of Jesus Christ, leave this man, Satan!"

The room around us melted into black. I felt the floor fall out from under me. When I opened my mouth to scream, the thickness around me filled my throat. I tried to find Ethan or Jake, but the air around my head felt like pudding, thick and impassable. Instead I snaked a hand down to my stomach, where I could feel the baby. She was fine. Thank God.

I offered a tiny prayer for safety, for calm, but still my heart sped, beat pulsing through my body and the air around me. Everywhere, endless black.

After what felt like eons, I heard Ethan's voice cut through the haze. "I am a member of the priesthood of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints!" he shouted. "I command you to leave the body of Brother Pressman! In the name of Jes—"

Ethan's voice failed as a bright blue light sliced through the darkness. Before us stood a phenomenal, indescribable creature, human but somehow not, stronger, broader, the epitome of power and vitality. As he descended, I caught a glimpse of Ethan off to my right. He looked as awed as I felt.

Two enormous wings spread out behind this creature, every inch of it radiating light. I heard the word angel echo through my mind, but it wasn't an angel. Looked like one, maybe, but there was something off. Something dangerous. Something evil.

The creature opened its mouth to reveal a wormhole of darkness. Though he wasn't speaking, I felt his words inside my brain, the vibrations reverberating in my lungs: Michael.

I searched for Ethan. Had he seen this before? Had this happened last time? Did he know, like I did, that this wasn't an angel, that something was wrong?

The creature propelled forward; it seemed unaffected by the consistency of the ether around us. It spoke to us again: Ethan Hyrum Connolly. My brother. Robin Jenica Pressman. Me.

Ethan jerked his hand back. "In the name of Jesus Christ, I command you to leave! I command you to leave us, demon!"

The creature's face curled into a sneer and blackness spread out from within it. Had Ethan really been right? Jake had been possessed?

Curtis Connolly. This time the creature's words echoed through my mind with such venom that my nerves stung. My father. I felt frozen in space, paralyzed by the memory of Dad.

Curtis Connolly, the creature repeated. Here. Here in the Outer Darkness.

No! Not my father. Not in the Outer Darkness. It was another lie, another trick. It had to be.

"No!" Ethan shouted. "In the name of Jesus Christ, I demand you stop your lies!"

Not a lie. Beside the creature appeared our father, wrinkled and torn from hair to shoes.

"Daddy," I choked out. He looked so haunted, so wasted. There was nothing left in his eyes. He had no clothing to cover the boils and sores up and down his arms. His leg bones jutted out, some joints oozing pus.

He denied, the creature taunted. He denied.

No. Never. He couldn't have denied Heavenly Father, that most grievous sin, and been banished to the Outer Darkness. Never.

But when I looked at him, a broken puppet of this demon, I believed it. I wondered what sort of deal he'd tried to make when the chemo wore him down to bones and the doctors told him there was nothing left.
"Lies!" Ethan shouted again. But he was wrong. I could see it in my father's dead eyes, the emptiness inside of him, the blackness that permeated him now. It was true. He had been a denier. There was nothing we could do.

I felt a tiny kick from the baby inside me and I knew I had to escape. I couldn't be trapped here in the Outer Darkness. She didn't deserve that. She was a blossom of a person, one hundred percent promise. And she was mine.

"In the name of Jesus Christ," I whispered, "I command you to release me from the Outer Darkness."

The creature seemed taken aback. Woman I heard in my mind. Weak. Woman.

"I am a daughter of Heavenly Father." My voice grew louder now, loud enough that Ethan noticed. "I follow His commandments. I live by His teachings. I will be saved from the Outer Darkness."
Woman, it hissed again, but I was undeterred. "In the name of Jesus Christ," I declared, "I demand you release your hold on me. In the name of Jesus Christ, leave me, demon! Leave my child! In the name of Jesus Christ—"

Even my father, whose broken body had been still ever since it appeared, seemed to turn in my direction. I felt the Holy Spirit fill me from within. "I am a daughter of Heavenly Father!" I shouted. The darkness began to shimmer and melt away. "In the name of Jesus Christ, I compel you to leave me!"

I shut my eyes.


When I opened them again, I was back in the bedroom. Jake lay on the bed, his breathing even, a slight smile on his face. My heart filled with the love I'd felt for him on our wedding day, in the temple. Everything within me wanted to rush over to him, to make sure he was all right. Every part of my upbringing told me to be his dutiful wife. But instead, I knew I had to take care of myself.

I looked across the bed to the floor. My brother Ethan — his body, anyway — lay there, curled up in a little ball like a small child scared of the dark. I wondered if he would come back. I wondered if he would trust Heavenly Father enough to be saved.

I knelt down beside Ethan, taking in his dark hair and creased brow. I would pray for him. I would wish for something better for him. But I would not go after him. This was his battle to fight, now.

When I heard Jake stirring under the covers on the bed, I stood back up and came over to him. "Jake?" I whispered.

"Robin." His voice was low and crackly on my name. "What happened?"

"You were sick again today."

"I..." He sat up and looked around the room for a moment. "I remember shouting at you. I don't know what came over me."

I took a deep breath. "Honey," I whispered, "I really think you should start taking your medication again."
"Yeah." He sank back onto the pillows. "You're right."

I stood up from the table. "Where's your phone?"

"Cell phone? Uh, on the dresser, I think. Why?"

I glanced down at Ethan. "Ethan had a seizure. I should call an ambulance."

"What?" Jake climbed out of bed and stared at Ethan. "Is he gonna be okay?"

"I hope so." I really did.



Word count: 2999
"Night Blindness"  [18+]