My mom has a fear of the darkness (What's the word for it? Nyctophobia?) and for a very good reason.

  We live on the outskirts of the city. We're not in the woods, but we're fairly close: a 30-minute bike ride down the only dirt road here and before you know it, you're surrounded by tall trees and shrubs. Keep that in mind.

  The moon shines brightly here at night, very brightly.  Obviously, it's not as bright as day, but it's bright enough for one to see surprisingly far even with the lack of streetlamps. Despite this, my mom makes sure to keep the house as bright as possible. Every night, she will turn on all the lights in the house except in our rooms, so if you see a luminous house in the middle of a dimly lit town, that's probably ours. She also avoids dark places like caves, alleys and rooms almost impulsively, which I've exploited in the past.  I've never dissuaded her since it has never bothered me, but it definitely had gotten me curious as to why. So one day after school, I decided to ask her.  Her eyes widened in fear and I could tell it was a bad idea. Still, she managed to explain why she was so afraid of the dark. It all began when she was 12.

  She lived in a village in the woods. Remember the dirt road I mentioned earlier? It used to lead to a small but lively wooden village that she happened to live in. My grandma, whom I've never met, was just as afraid of the dark as my mom is now. Every day, she warned Mom about it being attracted to darkness. Their house only had three electrical appliances: a fridge, a ceiling fan, and a single dim lightbulb. Those were run by a car battery.

  Every evening after school, my mom would need to ride her bike carrying the car battery to get it recharged by a mechanic in the city, which is 1 hour and 30 minutes from the town we're currently living in. Imagine how tiring that would be: riding a bike for 2 hours straight, then another 2 hours to get back home, all while having a heavy clunky car battery in the basket and being already exhausted at school. 

  It was only a matter of time before she decided to see what would happen if she disobeyed her mother. So one day, instead of the usual tedious 4-hour ride to the city and back, she visited her friend.  She could just say that the mechanic was sick and there was no one else to help them recharge the battery if Grandma asked about it.

  When she arrived home, however, all her remaining joy was washed away. The house was completely dark as if it had no windows. It had never been this dark before. Afraid and uncomfortable with the heat, she stepped inside, grabbed a candle and called out for her mother. The silence was deafening and without her candle, she couldn't see anything longer than her arm's reach. She followed a foul smell that led to Grandma's room.

  Grandma had been torn in half.

  She laid lifelessly on the ground, dry blood surrounding her pale corpse. Mom screamed but quickly covered her mouth. Her sadness and confusion were replaced by fear as she heard something large skittering around her. The wooden floorboard creaked as it moved around. A vase got knocked down and it shattered loudly on the floor. Thanks to the candle, she could see hundreds of thin big legs starting to surround her. She was paralyzed in fear. Soon, she felt a warm gush of air blowing from behind. 

  She turned and her little candle revealed the face of a dark yellow centipede. Its head was as big as hers, with dark blue eyes, sharp bloody fangs and long eerie antennas rubbing her shoulders. In the midst of panic, she threw the candle in its face, causing it to shriek sharply in pain. She ran out as the centipede and the house was burnt to the ground.  A week later, she was adopted by my step-grandma and developed the habit of keeping the place as bright as possible until this very day.

  Not believing what she said, I rode my bike down the dirt road despite her warnings silently this morning. In the deeper part of the woods was a vacant spot that the village once occupied, except it wasn't quite vacant. I cannot describe what I found other than "a horrifically enormous burnt rotting centipede". It was almost as big as my living room and had white fungi and flies covering its giant body; the warmth and smell of the rotting oversized insect were unbearable. I noticed its head was entirely missing, along with some of its legs. I rode home quickly, both because of the smell and the fear. Even now, as I am typing this, I can't believe what the hell I saw (and the fact she remembers everything so clearly.)

  And now I have nyctophobia. Thanks, Mom.