Three days. That’s how long it lasted. It was an unexplained, worldwide phenomenon, and one that still boggles the minds of the smartest people on earth. For just over three days, the entire sky turned black. Not dark or inky, but pitch black. If you looked at the sky through a telescope, all you could see was a vast and oily mass of black covering the atmosphere. Satellites could not see through it either, in fact, nothing could. It was as if the heavens closed their eyes for a time.

I was born a true Colorado girl and seen all kinds of weird things sift in and out of the night sky of our country homestead. But I never saw anything like this. By the time the Black came, I was twenty-nine and had two sons. I lost my youngest to the night, or more so, the Black. I wasn’t the only one. After my entire family went on the search for my nine-year-old, I was already beginning to lose hope that I would ever hold him again. Dreadfully, I’ve been right so far. I hadn’t seen little Billy Davis since.

But don’t judge me harshly; I’m not the type to give up easily. It was what I heard, what was reported, that made my heart sink. First, I ran into Sally McCormick from west of town. She was looking for her daughter Mary. She was nine, too. Then, my husband told me to watch the reports on TV. I thought that was a stupid request, being as how our son was lost in the darkest night on earth. But after a while, he persuaded me to calm down enough to focus on the flickering newsman on the tube.

The old reporter was crying, apparently he’d lost a nine-year-old, too. It was his own daughter. He called out to her in the middle of the broadcast as he was filmed on live Television. Most people on earth were afraid. Not just fearful, but scared out of their wits. By the second day, nearly all of the looting had stopped and everyone stayed inside. It was as if they feared the black tar of the night would fall down upon them. But there were people like me, the ones who lost their children and still wandered the inky, unforgiving hours of darknesss.

They called us "Searchers" for obvious reasons. When the sun finally came out on the third morning, we all hoped our children would return with the rays of light and the homecoming of the stars. Millions were sorely disappointed. I was included among them. The sun is back and nature continues to roll out the hot summers as if nothing ever happened. In the end, the unexplainable Black took 1.7 billion nine-year-olds in just three nights.

It’s been three years since the last night of the Black. I walk with seven other mothers that lost their children. Four blocks down, a group of rugged-looking men are doing the same and for the same reasons. It’s the anniversary of "Nightfall" and this is the third time I walked out on this unholy holiday. I gaze into the countryside, searching for Billy. It’s hot and humid, just like the day the Blackness visited us.

The truth is, I still hope. That’s why we’re out here, in the dark of night. That’s why I still search. Hundreds of theories spawned since those bleak days. Yet no one knows who to blame for all of this. As for me, it’s simple - I blame the Black. My name is Samantha Davis and I’m walking in the dark.