45 Votes
1002
Views
Views
Chapter 4:- Lightning Shelter
I sunk down and covered myself with the blanket. The chair was old and threadbare and smelled a bit like mold. I didn’t really care.
I got up and dragged a mismatched ottoman over and propped my feet up, readying myself for the long haul. I could sleep down here if I needed to.
“Why don’t you just ignore it?”
I looked up. “Ignore what? The lightning?” He was floating a few feet off the floor, cross-legged, inspecting his transparent fingernails.
“Sure, why not?”
“I can’t just ignore it. I can’t even concentrate when it’s raining.” I sighed. “It feels like my brain is frying out, like some defective circuit board.”
“Why do you hate rain so much?”
“It brings up some bad memories.”
“Like?”
“Someone dying.”
“Oh? Really? Who died?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know.” I honestly couldn’t remember the kid’s name anymore. I could remember his face, his clothes and the color of his shoes (red, with appliqués from some cartoon show we liked, held shut with Velcro straps), but not his name. It used to bother me, especially when the events replayed in my nightmares and I couldn’t even scream his name to warn him. It was always “Hey, you, look out!” Calling someone "hey, you," sounds so corny, too. I always woke with a feeling of deep shame for forgetting his name and embarrassment for coming up with nothing better than "hey, you" to replace it.
“You don’t know?”
“I did, at one point. It’s been so long.”
“Well, who was it?”
“Childhood friend.”
“Ah, I see. Well, I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.”
We sat there in silence for a very long time. Every few minutes it would feel like an enormous weight had attached to my face and my head would fall forward. Eventually I’d drag it back up again, trying to keep from passing out. It wasn’t working.
“Just take a nap or something,” he said. “You look pathetic doing that.”
“All right.”
“When you wake up, maybe the rain will be gone. What are you doing for the rest of the day?”
“I bought some coconuts and a few other groceries, so I might make coconut water and mess around in the kitchen. Aside from that, I don't have any other plans."
“Want to have some fun?”
“Fun?” I yawned and covered my mouth with my hand. It was one of those yawns that splits your face in half and consumes enough energy to amplify the pulse in your throat. I was becoming exhausted, probably because of the blanket. I could be wide awake and full of caffeine and the moment I cover myself with a blanket I‘ll fall right asleep. They have a hypnotic pull that I've been weak to my entire life.
“I could rattle a bunch of doorknobs, pound on people’s doors, screw with their mailboxes, stuff like that.”
“That’s kind of typical, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Hm.” I felt a bit weightless and dizzy, and everything was slowly losing focus.
“If you're not going to nap, let’s go do something. I’m bored as hell down here. I think the rain might be slowing down.”
“Okay.” I sighed and fell asleep.
* * *
My back and legs were a bit stiff when I woke up. The Ghost was nowhere to be found. I stood, stretched and folded my blanket, then pushed the ottoman back into its original place. I didn’t want the super catching wind of my lightning shelter.
I quietly made my way up the stairs and poked my head out the door. The coast clear, I slipped out and shut the door behind me, then wound my way around the building and made for the elevator.
I got out on my floor and walked down the hallway towards my apartment. It’s midway down the western hall, flanked by a young, single mother who has a tendency to scream to get her point across on one side and by a squabbling elderly couple on the other. I’m glad I’m such a deep sleeper. Otherwise I’d be more stressed out than I already am.
I made it midway down the hallway and stopped.
Something was wrong with my door.
I crept up slowly, one foot after another, my steps deliberate. I wanted to get near enough for a better look and yet I felt the urge to distance myself at the same time. The closer I got the stronger my sense of things being not right became, though the feeling never congealed into something less vague.
I stopped in front of my door and stepped back, leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the hallway.
There was a human finger sticking out of my keyhole, wiggling, beckoning to me.
I sunk down and covered myself with the blanket. The chair was old and threadbare and smelled a bit like mold. I didn’t really care.
I got up and dragged a mismatched ottoman over and propped my feet up, readying myself for the long haul. I could sleep down here if I needed to.
“Why don’t you just ignore it?”
I looked up. “Ignore what? The lightning?” He was floating a few feet off the floor, cross-legged, inspecting his transparent fingernails.
“Sure, why not?”
“I can’t just ignore it. I can’t even concentrate when it’s raining.” I sighed. “It feels like my brain is frying out, like some defective circuit board.”
“Why do you hate rain so much?”
“It brings up some bad memories.”
“Like?”
“Someone dying.”
“Oh? Really? Who died?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know.” I honestly couldn’t remember the kid’s name anymore. I could remember his face, his clothes and the color of his shoes (red, with appliqués from some cartoon show we liked, held shut with Velcro straps), but not his name. It used to bother me, especially when the events replayed in my nightmares and I couldn’t even scream his name to warn him. It was always “Hey, you, look out!” Calling someone "hey, you," sounds so corny, too. I always woke with a feeling of deep shame for forgetting his name and embarrassment for coming up with nothing better than "hey, you" to replace it.
“You don’t know?”
“I did, at one point. It’s been so long.”
“Well, who was it?”
“Childhood friend.”
“Ah, I see. Well, I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.”
We sat there in silence for a very long time. Every few minutes it would feel like an enormous weight had attached to my face and my head would fall forward. Eventually I’d drag it back up again, trying to keep from passing out. It wasn’t working.
“Just take a nap or something,” he said. “You look pathetic doing that.”
“All right.”
“When you wake up, maybe the rain will be gone. What are you doing for the rest of the day?”
“I bought some coconuts and a few other groceries, so I might make coconut water and mess around in the kitchen. Aside from that, I don't have any other plans."
“Want to have some fun?”
“Fun?” I yawned and covered my mouth with my hand. It was one of those yawns that splits your face in half and consumes enough energy to amplify the pulse in your throat. I was becoming exhausted, probably because of the blanket. I could be wide awake and full of caffeine and the moment I cover myself with a blanket I‘ll fall right asleep. They have a hypnotic pull that I've been weak to my entire life.
“I could rattle a bunch of doorknobs, pound on people’s doors, screw with their mailboxes, stuff like that.”
“That’s kind of typical, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Hm.” I felt a bit weightless and dizzy, and everything was slowly losing focus.
“If you're not going to nap, let’s go do something. I’m bored as hell down here. I think the rain might be slowing down.”
“Okay.” I sighed and fell asleep.
* * *
My back and legs were a bit stiff when I woke up. The Ghost was nowhere to be found. I stood, stretched and folded my blanket, then pushed the ottoman back into its original place. I didn’t want the super catching wind of my lightning shelter.
I quietly made my way up the stairs and poked my head out the door. The coast clear, I slipped out and shut the door behind me, then wound my way around the building and made for the elevator.
I got out on my floor and walked down the hallway towards my apartment. It’s midway down the western hall, flanked by a young, single mother who has a tendency to scream to get her point across on one side and by a squabbling elderly couple on the other. I’m glad I’m such a deep sleeper. Otherwise I’d be more stressed out than I already am.
I made it midway down the hallway and stopped.
Something was wrong with my door.
I crept up slowly, one foot after another, my steps deliberate. I wanted to get near enough for a better look and yet I felt the urge to distance myself at the same time. The closer I got the stronger my sense of things being not right became, though the feeling never congealed into something less vague.
I stopped in front of my door and stepped back, leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the hallway.
There was a human finger sticking out of my keyhole, wiggling, beckoning to me.
