“Now tell me, Mr. Allen, why are you afraid of the dark?”

Mr. Allen grinned, revealing the tips of white teeth. “I think you’ve misunderstood, doc. I’m only frightened if I’m not alone.”

Dr. McConville jotted a note but still managed an air of detachment, as if he were bored with the patient and the problem already–five minutes into their first session. He sighed and said, “And why is that important?”

“Because the other person is unaware of what might be lurking in the darkness.”

Dr. McConville’s gaze remained fixed on Mr. Allen, as if expecting further explanation. When no more words were spoken he replied, “Being afraid of the dark is an irrational fear for a 30-year-old man, Mr. Allen.”

“Everyone starts out afraid of the dark, doc. Just like we all start out afraid of heights. Now why do you suppose that is?”

“It’s generally assumed that fear of heights is based on a primitive survival instinct inherited from our ancestors who lived in trees. Fall out and get eaten.”

“Exactly.”

“What, exactly?”

“That’s why people are afraid of the dark.”

“I’m not following your logic.”

“Being afraid of the dark is also a survival instinct inherited from our ancestors against the cunning predator cloaked in darkness.”

“I see.”

“No you don’t. If you did you would be terrified of the dark, doc.”

“I’m not afraid of the dark, Mr. Allen.”

“You should be.”

Dr. McConville sighed again. “I’m going to turn off the lights and show you there is nothing to fear.” Dr. McConville rose from his chair and reached for the switch.

“Don’t do it, doc. Please.”

Dr. McConville’s fingers touched the switch and paused. “It’s all right, Mr. Allen. Nothing will happen to you.”

“I know,” Mr. Allen said, his grin flashing into a broad, sinister smile, revealing the full length of vicious fangs. “But something will happen to you, doc.”