WHEN THE LIGHTNING FLASHES
by Gregory L Hall
My name is Linnea. And mine is a victim's story. I'm sole witness of a horrific tragedy. I'm trying hard to learn why some people are chosen to be survivors while their family and friends aren't so lucky. So many memories of that night I've been able to block away. Buried deep where they can't hurt me anymore. But so many others still haunt me in my sleep.
These people all come around to ask me the gory details, about the blood bath, about how it all happened. Some are even stupid enough to ask me how I feel about it. How do I feel? Can you imagine such an idiotic question?
Everyone I ever loved was slaughtered. How do you think I feel?
Well, I'm sure you want to hear my story just like all the others. I guess there's always going to be some sort of morbid fascination. To watch ‘Friday the 13 th ' or ‘Halloween' is one thing. To talk with someone who actually lived through the same horror in real life? I guess I can understand.
I'd be curious myself if it hadn't happened to me.
October in Maryland. A beautiful time of year in our beautiful neighborhood. Things were just settling in for the Fall. The leaves were finally turning colors and we'd rake them up from our nice lawns. School was in full swing. Weekends were spent supporting local football. I grew up here. Everybody knew everybody. Life was happy.
It was a Thursday night. I was watching the lightning flashing outside. No storm. Just lightning. Couldn't even hear the thunder. It was like God's fireworks. I pulled a blanket out of our cedar chest and slouched down on the couch. My brother Danny was in the kitchen, trying to be cute with my mother on the phone. It was a rare night out for them. Mom and Dad were celebrating with a few friends. Some kind of job promotion Dad got. Adults eating steak dinners and drinking all night. My brother and I weren't invited.
“Everything is fine, Mom. Stop worrying. We're big kids now. Well, at least I am.”
We exchanged looks of sibling hatred.
“No, I haven't seen Tuck all night. I think the stupid dog ran off. Probably getting laid… No, I said ‘he needs to be spade.' Snap, Mom!”
Danny always thought he was so clever. I let him know I would correct that situation when Mom got home. He gave me the finger.
“I love you too, Mom. We're okay, honest. You and Dad stay out and have fun. Seriously. We ordered pizza. Yes. I already said I love you. Sheesh!”
Danny hung up the phone and plopped down next to me on the couch. He snatched the bowl of popcorn from my lap and started shoving it into his face.
“I wanted to talk to Mom and Dad.”
“They didn't want to talk to you. They had to go. I think Mom was calling from the back seat of the SUV. I could hear Dad breathing heavy.”
“You're so gross!”
“Facts of life. How do you think they made you?”
The lightning flashed and the electricity went out for a second. For the first time, I heard the thunder. It made me feel uncomfortable.
“Wow. Pretty scary. Reminds me of that story about the killer who used to live in this neighborhood.” Big brother stared straight into my eyes. “The ax murderer.”
“You're not funny, Danny.”
“I'm not joking. You were just a little kid. You wouldn't remember, but it was all over the place. Made national news. He went into a mental institution but escaped. The cops never talk about it because they have no idea where he disappeared to. But they say on nights like this, when the lightning flashes, he could appear again. And that would be the last thing his victims would ever see.”
Lightning lit up the living room and Danny grabbed my arm. I screamed. Popcorn flew everywhere and he laughed himself silly.
“I'm not cleaning that up, you idiot jerk-wad!” I punched him as hard as I could but he didn't care. He stomped on the popcorn and went back into the kitchen again. “I hate you, Danny!”
“Well, you better learn to love me. Mom said some of Dad's business buddies showed up late so they're going to be staying out for quite awhile. And they put me in charge.” Danny pointed to himself and then to me. He couldn't be more condescending. “Senior. Freshman. Remember that.”
He opened the basement door. I sat up.
“Where are you going?”
“Down into the spooky old basement. To get some of Dad's beers. And don't think about telling or Mom will find out about your little love fests with Chris Brandon next door.”
“Liar! What did Chris tell you about the shed?”
“Nothing. But you just did!”
He gave me this ridiculous six-shooter gesture and disappeared into the basement.
God how I hated him.
I sat by myself for what seemed like forever. The silence was the type that was so quiet, your ears actually rang. I'm sure smart doctors would call it paranoia. I called it plain old ‘scared to death'. And the worst part was I knew Danny was just waiting downstairs in the dark, ready to jump out and make me wet myself. And he knew I knew. So it was a test of wills.
I turned on the TV. I found ‘Everybody Loves Raymond' within three clicks. Funny happy show. Real family comedy. And I thought Patricia Heaton was so pretty. Danny could sit in the basement with his stupid beer all night for all I cared.
The lightning hit right outside our bay window and everything went black. Raymond was gone.
“Danny?”
I pulled the blanket tight around my neck. I looked around and let my eyes adjust to the darkness. I thought I saw the basement door slowly swing open. And it sounded like someone was whispering.
I got up and cautiously moved towards the kitchen. The lightning flashed again and the entire room lit up. The basement door was open. And there was definitely whispering. Danny was probably trying to find his way back up the stairs in the dark.
“Danny? I'm coming into the kitchen so just come back upstairs now. Follow my voice. All the electricity is out.”
No answer.
I wasn't staying upstairs alone. I didn't care if Danny scared the crap out of me. At least I'd know he was next to me. I opened the basement door all the way hoping to let what little light there might be guide me down the stairs. I was walking into complete darkness. My hands went to each wall trying to feel my way.
“Danny? Come on. Stop trying to scare me. Can you put the electricity back on? Please? Danny?”
I reached the bottom of the stairs in an awkward stumble off the last step. But I was there. I was okay. And my eyes were getting used to the dark. We had a few small windows near the top of the basement walls but they had thicker glass. Even in daytime, they didn't let very much light in. There was a back door that I could open and hopefully let some outside light into the back of the basement. And Dad's workbench was back there too. With his heavy utility flashlight in the furthest left-hand drawer. I paused briefly to get my bearings and then reached out for the closest wall.
I heard a foot drag across the concrete floor.
I froze in my position. My heart slammed against my ribs. Fear made my eyes grow wide to absorb every possible shape and obstacle around me. I moved again ever so slightly around the corner. I could make out the back door…because it was open. And dim light poured in. Around the outline of someone standing there. My voice cracked.
“Danny? Is that you?”
It didn't move.
Then out of the corner of my eye, I saw something fall to the floor beside me. It sounded like a wet bag of mud splattering open on the hard concrete. Fear won. I was going back upstairs. Quickly. I put my hand against the wall to find my way but I touched something warm, mushy, wet. The lightning flashed. I found Danny. He was hanging on the wall, his intestines sliding out of his torso.
The lightning flashed again and poured in from the outside doorway. I saw the silhouette clearly. An ax swinging in its hand.
I screamed and ran upstairs as fast as I could. I didn't even reach for the walls, just ran on memory and adrenaline. I tripped at the top of the stairs but my arms instantly caught me and I was back up again. I looked back behind me. The figure was barely illuminated down at the bottom of the steps, but I could see him. Casually swinging the ax back and forth.
The kitchen door was the closest way out and I knew exactly where it was. I could beat whoever was down in the basement across the back yard before they ever found their way upstairs. So I hit it running, jumped from the porch to the grass and didn't look back. I think I actually hurtled the fence at our property line. Only then did my brain stop to grasp the spinning world around me.
No one was following. God help me, Danny had better have pulled off the prank of the century. If this was some kind of joke, I was going to kill him for real. Chris lived two houses down. Danny wasn't going to be laughing so hard when I called the cops.
The air seemed a bit colder than it was only an hour before. And the storm still hadn't produced any rain. Just long weird clouds that hung low to the horizon. Small flashes within them made them glow dark purple. But at least the big bolts weren't hitting around the neighborhood for the time being.
The electricity was off everywhere so I moved to the middle of the street. I could see Chris' front porch as clear as day. I felt safer already.
I knocked on his door. And it swung open. I don't know if it was fear or simply good manners but I didn't enter.
“Chris? Mr., Mrs. Brandon? Anybody home?”
They had candles lit in their kitchen, one room back. And some more down the hallway to where the bathroom and bedrooms were. Their house was from the same model ours was. I stepped inside. My eyes scanned the living room and were able to make out Mr. Brandon sitting in his big padded Dad chair.
“Mr. Brandon? Is Chris here?”
One more step inside and something swished under my foot. I looked down just as the lightning crashed outside the open door. Mrs. Brandon was on the couch beside me. Her head in her lap. Mr. Brandon sat straight in his blood soaked Dad chair, his throat slashed wide open. And I was standing inside of Chris. His head rolled across the carpet and stopped against the entertainment center.
I didn't have time to scream. The kitchen door flew open in the wind. And the figure stepped inside.
I ran. Didn't know where I was going but I ran as fast and hard as I could. Headed back to the only safe place I knew. My house. I hopped the fence and landed near our shed. Instinct grabbed me and threw me inside the wooden door. I slid the metal bolt across the latch and backed my way in deeper, past the lawn mower and the inflatable pool gear. Moving towards the work bench and the tools. Never taking my eyes off the door.
My fingers scrambled wildly across the table top. Lawn shears. Screw driver. Sharp digging claw. Maybe even a knife. I needed a weapon.
The lightning flashed again and I automatically spun around to look out the only window in the entire shed. But all I saw was his face. Unshaven. Dirty greasy hair hanging into his eyes. His cold grey lifeless eyes.
I know I screamed. I know because I felt my throat rip until it was raw. I know I ran. I know because my legs felt like lead and my ankle throbbed. But I don't know when I hurt it, twisted it. And I don't know how I got from that shed into my own room. I only know I did.
I locked my bedroom door. I built a barricade. Pushed my full dresser against it. A chair. My laundry bin. I grabbed the phone. Dead. And our cell was downstairs on the kitchen counter. I wedged myself into the far corner of the room. I saw wild strikes of electricity light up the night sky in the distance.
The window. I was two stories up. Did I hear something against the outside wall? I couldn't be sure anymore. Couldn't trust my own senses. I wasn't going to take any chances. A ladder? The rainspout? Maybe up and over the roof from the deck out back? He'd find a way in.
My desk. I locked down the window and slid my desk in front of it. Turned it over on its side. I frantically pulled the blinds shut. Blocked out the light. Then crouched down and moved back to my corner. I lost all track of time. I heard the grandfather clock in the downstairs hallway. I counted the deep bongs. Actually bong. There was only one. And then the silence was overpowering. 1AM. Sunrise was a lifetime away. I let the darkness swallow me up.
I was slightly surprised when I awoke from my sleep. The sun had risen, illuminating my room in a comforting glow. The topsy-turvy desk in front of the window couldn't prevent the warm rays from entering. My eyes immediately surveyed the rest of the room. My other barricade was untouched. The door secure. My room was safe. The storm was gone. And I was still alive.
I had to physically pull myself from the crevice I had shoved myself into. My neck was sore. My shoulders stiff. My ankle still throbbed. I wondered if…
I heard my mother call upstairs. The sweetest voice I had ever heard.
“Linnea! Breakfast is ready! Wake up, sleepy head!”
I was confused. But absolute elation washed away my doubts. Mom was home. Like always. After a night out with Dad. He would be downstairs already at the kitchen table. I could almost smell the bacon. The hash brown potatoes. Breakfast was cooking.
But if that was true, then what of the horrible nightmare? Had they not been down to the basement yet? Did the killer hide Danny's body? Did they think he was still sleeping too? Was the killer still in the house somewhere? Or in the neighborhood waiting for night to fall again? Where was he? How could Mom and Dad not know?
Was I going crazy?
“Linnea, come on down! Your breakfast is going to get cold!”
I jumped up and shoved everything out of the way. I didn't care if I was nuts or not. I made it. I was going to be okay. Any way you wanted to paint it, the nightmare was over.
I ran out into the hallway. And tripped. I lifted my hand up and found it covered in blood. I was covered in blood. A huge pool of it.
“Your breakfast is getting cold…” my mother's voice deepened until it sounded like some demonic rambling. “….Everything is getting so cold.”
My parents were butchered across the hallway floor. I heaved and added to the grotesque stench. Then he joined me. Right in the pool of blood. On all fours like a rabid wolf. His face mere inches from mine.
He smiled with cracked yellow teeth. I inhaled his rancid thick breath. And I hurled myself across the floor. Slid my flattened body through the blood until I was on the other side of my bedroom door. I felt the whoosh of the ax blade over my head a second before I slammed the door shut. I heard his raspy whisper seep through the cracks.
“Linnea…”
I could see his shadow bounce back and forth underneath the door. I threw the dresser back in his path. He kicked at the door. I flung the chair into the pile. His fists beat on the door and it opened. I shoved back and secured the lock. His voice grew into a roar that shook my whole room.
“Linnea! Linnea-Linnea-Linnea!”
I flew backwards and crammed myself into my tight corner. The door buckled and cracked. I screamed. The lock burst and fingers frantically stretched inside. My lungs emptied themselves of all air. The barricade toppled over and the figure forced itself through the thin opening.
“And that's when the police found you?”
“Yes.”
“Covered in blood. And still holding the ax in your hand?”
Linnea looked up at the psychiatrist and smiled. The restraints on her wrists made her feel safe. Her voice was deep, with no remorse, as she recited her answer like some twisted children's rhyme.
“Isn't it strange when the lightning flashes the only one left standing is you?”
THE END
I live in small town PA with my wife and two crazy boys. I've been a professional writer for the theater for over a decade and am a national Telly Award winner. I produce the annual Baltimore Comedy Fest for Autism Awareness. As a horror writer I have recently completed my first novel, At the End of Church Street . My short stories can be found in Twisted Tongue, Screaming Dreams and Blood Moon Rising.