The sky was darkening as I finished work, and I plunged my hands deep into my pockets and hurried home, afraid to be out in the growing night, afraid of the attraction it held for me, afraid of the fascination that I had with all the parties. At times I would find myself standing in the snow, staring through the windows at the fireplaces, the colorful sweaters, the charming alcoholic glow on the sunburned faces, and I would have to shake myself and run home before the darkness turned me past the point of good sense, past the point of no return.

The day before Thanksgiving, one of the girls at work attempted to ski “Sucker,” one of the most difficult of the third-­slope ski runs. Thereafter she was put into a cast from armpit to toes, and I was called in to assume her hours at work.

She worked the midnight shift.

At first, I was all right. I felt the pull, and resisted it. I knew what normal behavior consisted of, and I practiced it all night long. I tried my best to sleep from four in the afternoon until nine, then get up, go out and have breakfast, and then get to work at midnight, where I would work until eight in the morning. The routine was simple, and I had no problem with it. My only problem was with the tug, the tug from the other side.

I kept the fluorescent lights brightly lit, kept the draperies drawn. I wanted no dark influence to touch my switchboards.

But of course it did. It was there the first time I walked in at night. The girl I relieved from duty was tainted. I rushed her out the door and double bolted it. The switchboard room was quiet, empty; the office was dark, the desks cleared, the typewriters and calculators covered. The darkness was already inside.

The darkness was already inside, and more of it seeped in through the calls that I had to answer. The personalities of those people—customers, clients whom I had talked to during the daytime—were obviously altered by the night, and at night, when they assumed I was not busy, they wanted to talk.

And as they talked, I knew the influence the night had on them, and soon I began to sway with the motion.

Within weeks, the darkness owned me again.

GLORIA GARDENER: “She was a good worker. I hated to have to put her on midnight when Becky broke her leg, but she was really the only candidate. All the other girls had families, or boyfriends, or something, and Angelina was all alone. She didn’t seem to mind too much, at least she didn’t say anything to me about it. I gave her a big raise for the inconvenience.