Fear what it might be…

In the depths of the jungle one thing is clear: what you see can be dangerous, but what you do not see is usually what is hunting you.

The unknown is tied to many conditions and factors, but every root starts somewhere. In this case, that beginning is darkness. We all have a natural fear of the dark. Most of us fight it off as kids and believe it does not bother us anymore. But think back to that time. What was really scary about the dark? It was not the absence of light itself, but the possibility of something hidden within it. We feared what could be there, so we searched for the protection of light.

Today, it feels childish because we live surrounded by artificial light. Inside our homes, danger is not expected. But in the wild, that fear was never irrelevant. At night we were most vulnerable. We could not see predators, and even though sounds helped, they were never precise enough. So we gathered around fire, our source of light and safety. To venture out at night was often a death sentence. Fear, once again, worked as a warning system to keep us alive.

Even now, as adults, we are haunted by it. We still associate dark places with danger: alleys where people get mugged, attacked, or worse. We move with caution, especially those more vulnerable to being harmed. We tell ourselves we have outgrown this fear, but we have not. We avoid walking in the dark whenever we can.

So let us be honest. We are not afraid of darkness itself. We are afraid of what we do not know might be hidden inside it. This instinct kept evolving into other forms. We became afraid of things our minds could not comprehend: invisible enemies, natural disasters, cosmic phenomena. To calm ourselves, we created myths and stories to give them meaning.

With time, science explained many of these mysteries, and their power over us diminished. But we still fear the unknown. The vastness of space, the depths of the ocean, these remain common fears. The unknown also has social consequences. When presented with information we cannot immediately understand, we tend to reject it. If an explanation feels beyond our comprehension, we assume it must be false. That is where stories of people confronting the cosmic truths of the universe, breaking their minds and falling into madness, come from.

Yet, once the unknown is discovered and understood, the fear fades. We move past it, and sometimes even find catharsis.

A Story

You are wandering, just a child exploring the creek near your house. You venture too far, and night begins to fall. You cannot find your way out. Alone, surrounded by the sounds of frogs and crickets, you feel watched. Sticks snap, leaves shuffle, and a low growl chills your spine. Eyes glimmer in the dark.

A large black dog, scarred and covered in mud, steps into view. Silent. Teeth bared. You run, but it grabs your clothes and drags you toward a small hole in the ground. Panic fills you. You do not know what the animal wants, but you know you do not want to stay. You struggle, but it is stronger.

Inside the hole, you hear a noise: puppies barking. Tiny shapes surround you, nibbling harmlessly at your skin. The mother dog growls, and you brace for the worst, but instead the puppies curl against you, and even the mother settles down beside you. Confused but exhausted, you fall asleep.

At dawn, sunlight fills the hole. The dog still looks frightening, but now you see the truth. She is a mother, nursing her pups. You climb out and notice something terrifying: the path you had tried to escape through led straight toward a cliff.

You make your way home, where neighbors have been searching for you. Cleaned up and safe, you tell your mother how the dog saved your life. With the help of a vet, she takes in the dog and her puppies. The scars remain, but the fear is gone. The once terrifying shadow of the unknown becomes part of your family.

The end.