IFFY FICTION

Rainy days. They’re supposed to be for inside adventures – reading, forts, boardgames, hide-and-seek. But in the 90s we were too occupied with television, video games, and CDs to really experience them that way. When the skies would darken, lightning flashing, thunder growling, and rain dumping, streaming from the gutters in transitory rivers, my sister and I would sit, transfixed on the glowing screen inside our entertainment center.

One such night, as the rain came down in sheets and the clouds roared, my sister, Mari, and I sat on the living room carpet, MTV on the television waiting for a good video to come on. I’d found a blank VHS and we took turns sitting in front of the VCR, fingers poised above the record button. Alice in Chains’ unplugged version of “Heaven Beside You” began to play. Just as I jammed the button in, the room went black.

Moments later, our eyes adjusted to the meager light coming in through the windows. I made my way to the couch and cuddled up next to Mari. We both tittered with the thrill of unexpected darkness, and I quickly forgot my disappointment at missing Lane Staley.

A dim, orange light appeared in the hallway, growing brighter, until Mom appeared, holding a long taper.

“Kind of exciting, isn’t it?” she said, as she gathered candles from around the living room and assembled them on the coffee table.

“I’m sure Lane isn’t too pleased.” Mari loved to tease me about my crush on him.

“Who’s that?” Mom asked, lighting the other candles with the taper.

“He’s the singer of Alice in Chains.”

She shrugged.

“One of those ‘grungers’ as you like to say. From Seattle.”

“Oh, well then I’m sure he’s used to this sort of thing.” She walked over to the built-in bookshelf and pulled open the bottom cabinet. “So, which is it going to be? Monopoly or Life?”

I threw myself back dramatically on the couch and groaned. “Do we have to?”

Mom brought both of the games over and set them on the floor. “You have other plans?”

Mari pushed me with her feet. Even in the dim lighting I could tell she was giving me “the look”.

“Fine,” I said, pulling the Monopoly box up onto the table. “But only until the lights come back on.”

---

The rain lasted late into the night, the thunder and lightning fading, leaving just the steady downpour, which I hoped would lead to a flood and school being cancelled the following day. The electricity stayed off.

Monopoly had deteriorated into vicious and dull affair. The candles were burning low and began to flicker. That’s when we really noticed the cold. Over the hours, each of us had been gathering the sofa blankets around us. We began to shiver. It was so gradual that it wasn’t until the cold had become wintry that we realized something was strange about it.

“Look at this,” Mari said, breathing out a puff of air through her gaping mouth. The breath froze instantly, making a little cloud before it disappeared.

“That’s not normal,” I said.

“The temperature can drop a lot when it rains,” Mom said, paying herself $200 for passing go.

“It’s August.”

“I know what month it is.” She passed me the dice. “It’s your go.”

Mom was starting to get pushy. I could tell the game had been going on too long, even for her.

“It just has to do with the temperature dropping, so the air can’t hold as much moisture.”

I rubbed the goosebumps covering my arms and shivered. “But it’s really friggin’ cold.”

“Angie, you know I don’t like you to use that word.”

“It’s just a…”

“It means the same thing. Now roll.”

I shook the dice, blowing on them for luck and to warm my stiffening fingers. I scattered them in the casual way Marlon Brando would. The instant they hit the gameboard, there was a loud slam from upstairs.

We all froze.

“Was that a door?” Mari asked.

“It was probably just thunder.” Mom didn’t sound convinced.

“I’m with Mari. It didn’t sound like thunder.”

Mom grabbed my piece, the boot, and moved it ahead five spaces.

“Pennsylvania. That’s mine. You owe me…” She picked up the deed card and squinted at it. “$450.”

“$450? That’s not right.”

“I’ve got a house on it.” She waved the card in front of my face.

I sighed, pulled the money from my bank, and laid it into her waiting hand.

There was another slam. This time louder. This time closer.

“That was not thunder,” Mari said, her eyes darting around.

“Girls, hide.” Mom jumped up, grabbing a candle from the table and a heavy metal knick knack from the entertainment center, and disappeared down the hall.

Mari and I blew out the candles, and huddled together behind Dad’s recliner, in the space between the end table and the wall. We both tried to breathe quietly. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears and feel hers pulsing through her skin. She let out a little quivering sob.

“Shh,” I said. She didn’t make another sound.

A few moments later there was the sounds of footsteps coming from the hallway, treading lightly, growing closer. I leaned forward, peeking my head around the chair. A shadowy shape stood at the mouth of the hall.

I gasped quietly, and tucked myself back into the hiding place, wobbling the lamp on the end table as I did.

“Girls,” Mom called. “Where are you? My candle went out.”

I felt the tension drain from my shoulders, leaving me weak and a little giddy. Mari and I crawled out from behind the recliner.

I moved back to my spot on the couch. “Did you see anything?”

She shook her head and lit her taper. “Nope. Must have been a gust of wind or something from the weather. You know these old houses.”

I gave her a sideways look. “The house is younger than you.”

“Yes, but in house years…” Mom relit the rest of the candles. “Why did you blow all these out?”

“So, it wouldn’t see us,” Mari said stoically.

Mom chuckled. “So, what wouldn’t see you?”

Mari looked over Mom’s shoulder, toward the dining room, raising her hand, her finger pointing.

“That.”

As Mom whipped her head around, and I looked up, every candle on the table went out at once. A sound exploded through the house, first the creak of opening hinges, then the slamming of every door, again and again.

Mom, Mari and I huddled together on the couch, our hands over our ears.

Minutes later, the room flooded with light. The lamps flickered on. The ceiling fan began a slow spin. The television lit up, Alanis Morissette singing “You Outta Know.”

Mom was the first to extract herself from our huddle. I picked my head up and looked around the room. Everything seemed strangely normal. Mari stayed folded into a tight ball, unable to stop shaking.

“The lights are back on,” Mom said, redundantly, and began to put up the game, not saying a word about what had just happened.

Mari, sat up, crying. I put my arm around her, shushing her. It was strange to comfort my older sister.

“Why don’t we all sleep in my room tonight,” Mom said. “Since Dad is out of town. It’ll be like a slumber party.”

We all crammed together in their queen size bed, uncomfortable but unwilling to leave. I insisted we keep a lamp on.

When Mom’s breathing had grown slow and regular, I turned to Mari, whose eyes were open, and staring at the corner above the door.

“Mari,” I whispered. “Did you see something out there?”

She was silent for a long moment. Too long.

Finally, she blinked, and with a quivering breath said, “I still see it.”

I looked to where her eyes rested, and saw only the textured, shadowed wall above the door.

I opened my mouth to tell her that I didn’t see anything, but she spoke before I had the chance.

“And it sees us.”