Dark­ness touch­ed her

“That night, after she’d screa­med into her crumpled blan­ket for a long time and final­ly pun­ched a hole through the dark­ness into that other place whe­re the ans­wers came from, the dark­ness began to speak to her, its voice more distinct than she had ever heard it befo­re. The dark­ness touch­ed her. Its touch was hard and warm, but somehow com­fort­ing, as if strong, invi­si­ble hands car­essed her.”

[Excerpt: Schweit­zer, Dar­rell: Some­ti­mes you have to shout about it]