Lights Out - Short Story

   Lights Out

By Ivana Golijanin   

I was walking home from work, exhausted. It was late, my feet were killing me, and all I wanted was to crawl under my covers and never come out again. 

Thank God it was Friday, too. I don’t think I could’ve survived another hour of this week, let alone another day.

The sidewalk was deserted, the air fresh and still smelling faintly of rain. The road shimmered in the orange glow of the streetlamps, and a chill breeze swept past, brushing damp fog against my ankles. The moon hung bright and full behind a drift of clouds.

And that’s when I heard it—a rustling sound.

I glanced back, expecting a squirrel or maybe some stray cat rooting through garbage. But there was nothing. Just the wind, then. 

Shifting the bag higher up my aching shoulder, I kept walking. The click of my heels echoed down the street, each step ringing a bit too loud in the ensuing silence. 

Absently, I observed the shadow walking beside me. It was almost imperceptible, yet I caught it: my silhouette was just a half-step slower than me.

I froze.

It froze too. 

I startled. My heart was beating in my throat as I leaned in to examine it. Under the streetlight, it looked… normal. It was perfectly aligned. Perfectly motionless.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. God, I was losing it. So overworked and tired I was starting to see things. 

I rubbed my eyes and picked up my pace. I just needed my bed and a good night’s sleep. That was all.

                                                                              -*-

It was around twelve by the time I stumbled onto my sheets. They were so soft and warm, like they’d been waiting for me all day. I know I had.

I turned to switch off the lamp on my bedside when I saw the bathroom lights flicker. It was only a flash—here one second and gone the next. 

But it was enough for me to get up anyway… and go check for myself. 

The bathroom looked the same as how I’d left it: towels hanging on the far wall, makeup and skincare products scattered haphazardly along the countertop.

I stepped further into the space, and that’s when I noticed the water: tiny splashes littering the edge of the sink. 

They hadn’t been there when I’d finished brushing my teeth…

My palms turned cold and sweaty at the thought. No matter, I moved to go clean them up. I told myself it wasn’t a big deal and that it probably had been me. I just… forgot.

I took a cleaning rag from the cupboard by the door and began scrubbing. The work was fast and done before my mind could register the twitch of movement in my periphery. 

I jerked upright and looked around. But I was completely alone. Just me and my reflection. Just—

I blew out a breath… and laughed. God, this was absurd. My imagination was running wild, and I actually believed it. And it didn’t help that I looked awful. I giggled at the sight: dark circles, wide eyes, messy blonde hair. I looked like a walking corpse.

I yawned and lifted the hair from my neck to cool down. 

My reflection followed suit… but something about it looked wrong. I couldn’t place what it was exactly that bothered me… it just felt… off. 

I blinked, and my reflection blinked back…

A half-second too late.

My eyes widened in panic as I lunged for the door, slamming it shut behind me. What was happening to me? Was I going crazy?

I didn’t let myself think about it for too long, nor did I let myself turn the lights off. 

But my efforts were all in vain, as it still took me a while to fall asleep that night.

-*-

I was in the kitchen making dinner, chopping an avocado and humming softly to myself as a pork cutlet sizzled on the stovetop behind me. It was already dark out, and the sky beyond had fully opened up to let a storm rage on outside my window. There was a torrent of rain bashing against the glass and a howling wind that somehow managed to put me at ease.

Then the power went out. 

All it took was a millisecond. Before I could even react, the knife had sliced open the palm of my hand —an act so subconscious it felt almost possessed. I cursed under my breath as I went to grab a bandage. The dark had made me careless, and now this stupid pit was making me bleed.

I turned the tap on, and that’s when the lights flickered back on.

I didn’t think too much of it while rinsing and wrapping my hand… until I saw the shadow.

This time, I couldn’t ignore it. Last night had been a dream—a fluke where I was half-dead with exhaustion and couldn’t see straight. 

Now I was seeing the dark for what it really was… and it was horrifying.

My shadow no longer fell on the marble kitchen island anymore—it stretched across the far wall instead. It didn’t move, but I could almost feel its mocking smile…

I was still staring when the lights clicked off again.

Shuffling.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. What was that? I stood rooted to the spot with fear, my breathing heavy and laboured.

Was I about to die?

I chased the thought away, even as tears pricked at my eyes. No. Please. Not like this. I grabbed the knife and held it out in front of me.

More movement.

I swallowed and tried to rein in my panic.

I—It seemed I hadn’t been imagining things… Perhaps there really had been something wrong yesterday. And perhaps that all started with this thing I was now facing in my own home…

Suddenly, fluorescence flooded the room once more.

My shadow was back in place. Like nothing happened.

Like the blood on my knife belonged to a wound I myself made…

That night I didn’t sleep. I sat in the living room, still white-knuckling the weapon in my hand. I left every light on and even kept a flashlight nearby for good measure. I was prepared in case of another outage.

Unfortunately, I had also realized two things that night. One: As of today, I was fighting an entity of the dark. Therefore, the only sure way to protect myself was to keep it contained within the light. And two: I couldn’t afford rest anymore, not even a blink, lest I run the risk of having that… that creature come back and cut me.

I was being hunted—and all I could do was wait.

-*-

I spent the next few days paranoid. I’d jump at the sight of my reflection, and even at the soft buzzing sounds the lights made when I’d turn on a lamp. 

I’d also constantly keep an eye on my shadow. I couldn’t afford being ambushed like that again. Nor could I stand the sight of my hand wrapped in gauze anymore. 

Honestly, I’d never been a squeamish person… but the blood stains made me want to vomit.

And since that Saturday in the kitchen, things had only gotten worse.

I’d catch my reflection hesitating in the mirror and my shadow crawling across the floor. They’d stop, of course, once the lights came back on. But they always seemed to… resist before snapping back to normal. Like they were resisting my confinement.

It was terrifying. 

And it was why, that Thursday afternoon, I called my friend John over for coffee.

He was a close friend of mine at the office, and since I’d called in sick most every day that week, I thought I’d tell him why exactly it was that I was afraid to leave my house.

The lights were going off more frequently… and more often than not, I’d hear shuffling. Or a slow raking noise that reminded me of nails scraping across wood.

I’d also begun waking up with scratches across my body. 

None were as deep as the knife cut, but they were enough for me to dread nightfall nonetheless. 

And I still wasn’t sleeping… mostly.

Sure, occasionally I’d take naps during the brightest hours of the day, but they were never for longer than twenty minutes, and I was sure my body was shutting down despite it.

There was a knock at the door, and I went to go open it.

John stood in the doorway, coat unbuttoned and hair messy—like he’d been combing his fingers through it at work. He looked stressed.

“Hey, I got your text. How are you holding up?” He quirked an eyebrow, clearly trying to lighten my mood. I forced a smile.

“Well, it’s, ah… it’s holding!” I wanted to slap myself for how stupid that sounded, but John merely nodded, his expression turning more serious.

“You didn’t sound too well over the phone. Are you sick?”

I shook my head, leading him into the living room while I contemplated the best way to explain what was really happening to me.

He regarded me expectantly as I set two steaming mugs of coffee between us. 

“John, please don’t think I’m crazy. I mean it. What I’m about to tell you isn’t a joke or an illness. It’s… beyond that. I—I think there’s something living in my house.” I sucked in a deep breath, waiting for his reaction.

“... Well that’s um, unique.” He cringed. “What makes you think that?” I rolled up my shirt sleeves to show him the bruises, the scabs and markings the entity had been inflicting on me this past week.

His eyes widened as his gaze bounced between my forearms and my face. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. He opened it again.

“Iris… are you serious? Whe—where the hell did those come from?”

“I’ve been asking myself the same question… and I think I have an answer.” I pulled my sleeves down roughly and walked to the switch by the door. “Just… be ready, okay? I—I really hate looking at it, but it’s… it’s always there. It f—follows me… and h—hurts me. Though only in the dark…” 

And with that, I turned off the lights.

The room was pitch black in an instant, and that’s when my skin began to burn. The familiar heat of cutting and clawing sizzled down my body. It was tearing through my clothes and making me bleed again.

It had never been this violent, but I figured it wanted to make a statement this time around.

Hot blood oozed down my face—dripping down my cheeks, my nose, before I decided I’d had enough.

Clicking the lights back on, I glanced at John.

He was still sitting on the couch, his expression horrified as he took in the sight of my face. I looked like I’d been attacked by a rabid animal.

Though I suppose in a way… I had been.

“Don’t you see it now?” I managed to whisper between sobs. “When I turn off the lights, I get attacked!” I was hysterical now, heaving and crying and trying my damn best not to sink to my knees and die. 

But still, he said nothing.

“John. How can you not see it?” I cried, pointing at the writhing shadow between my feet. 

He just continued staring at me… and that’s when I realized. That’s when I realized he wasn’t looking at me like he was scared.

He was looking at me like I was insane.

Comprehension dawned on my face, and he stood abruptly to leave. He grabbed his coat, his keys, leaving the mug of coffee utterly forgotten behind him.

“W—where are you going? John! I need help, please! It’s coming back for me, I know it is!” At this point, I was yelling. “YOU CAN’T JUST LEAVE ME!” I ran to block his path, but I was too slow.

“PLEASE, JOHN! I’LL DIE WITHOUT YOUR HELP!” I was crying so hard my words were almost intangible. But that last part gave him pause.

He stopped with his hand on the doorknob.

“Iris… I’m sorry. But I think… I think you need therapy.” With that, he walked out the door.

Then the house went dark… and something breathed against my ear.

-*-

I ran to the basement to start the generator, but of course, it wasn’t working. So I tried my phone. 

It wouldn’t turn on either.

It was as if the blackout had not only stopped the lights, but had shut down any and all electricity inside my house. 

I was trapped. And my skin was crawling with dread because I knew… I knew it was only a matter of time. I was in a frenzy of panic as my feet thundered wildly up the steps. No. I was relying solely on muscle memory now to guide me through the dark.

I skidded to a halt in the main floor hallway, jamming my thumb against the light switch.

Relief.

My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat, my temples. I was gasping for air when I felt something wet slide down my neck.

My hand came away bloody, and that’s the moment my lungs stopped working. I couldn’t breathe. My mouth was dry as I shook in terror.

And then… click.

The lights died.

I bolted. 

I sprinted through the house, banging on every switch I could find.

But I wasn’t fast enough.

Twin blades rasped across my arms, making me scream. I continued running, even as tears filled my eyes. The pain was unbearable—worse than it’d ever been before—and yet I kept running.

My actions were pure adrenaline and survival now, and all that kept me going was the thought that I wouldn’t die here…

Slam.

I was in another room, one I didn’t even fully recognize thanks to the whirling of panic in my brain.

I was shaking. Bleeding. And I suddenly wondered if John was right.

“Not real. Not real.” I whispered the words over and over again, willing them to be true. 

Tears streamed down my face like rivers, mixing with my wounds and staining the wood floors red. Heaving and hysterical, I squeezed my eyes shut before I realized what I was doing.

Slice.

My calf was ripped open… and I collapsed.

Shadows twisted along the walls, the ceiling, hands twitching and heads cocking unnaturally.

“STOP… PLEASE!” I wailed through my sobs. It’s here. Oh God, it’s here!

The light was fading faster… and I was moving slower. Lights flickered, I heard shuffling, and then they were out.

I dragged myself across the floor—nails splitting and cracking as I forced my fingers into the ground. There was a switch on the far wall… and I had to make it.

Click.

The lights flickered out before I could reach it. 

Then something punched into my side. I shrieked in pain, noting, even in my half-conscious state,

how deliberate the stab wound was: shallow, between my ribs…

Yet I could still feel the sawing of the blade against my insides.

It was purposely avoiding vital spots, like it was… savoring the chase—enjoying my torture.

Suddenly, my hands found the wall. They pawed at it desperately, reaching as high up as my sorry state would allow.

But I was frantic now, and my movements were getting sloppy. My pulse was roaring in my ears as I banged my sweaty palm against the switch over and over again. Please, please, please. 

The air was suffocating, my hands slicked with blood and unable to properly flip the final working fixture. 

Until…

The room flooded with light… light that stayed on.

Silence.

I held my breath, covered my mouth so as not to make a sound, when I realized it was over.

I whimpered and pulled my knees to my blood-soaked chest. Thank God, thank God, thank God it was over. I couldn’t stop crying, couldn’t stop shivering in my belief that it was really over.

But perhaps… I shouldn’t have let my guard down so soon.

Slowly, the lights began dimming. Like something was absorbing it. Not turning it off exactly—consuming it.

I fumbled for my last resort: a match, a candle I grabbed off my bedside.

Strike.

… Fsssht… Fssshh… My match flickered.

And in the glow of the candlelight… I saw my reflection.

It looked like me, but it also didn’t. In place of its eyes were two gaping holes of darkness. It looked utterly dead, lifeless, save for the too far tilt of its head and the creepy grin plastered across its mouth. 

It crouched before me, its face inches from my own.

All I could do was watch… watch as it widened its eyes in glee, and leaned in.

“Oh, Iris… you should have known better than to think you could keep the lights on forever.”

And then it blew out the candle.