The Storm

You’re sitting at home watching television, the lights out, hard pellets of rain knocking at your window, thunder echoing in the distance. A flash of lightning streaks across the sky, causing your shadow to appear on the far wall of your living room.

But is it your shadow? You’re sitting down, while the shadow appears to be standing upright! How can that be?

You’re mind races, trying to determine whether you’re in danger. The doors are locked, the windows latched, you put the dog in the back yard about half an hour ago…Wait! The dog! The dog would have barked if there were intruders nearby. Your body relaxes; a sigh of relief drops from your lips.

But you had better go get the dog, you realize, before it gets soaked. You need to leave your apartment and go downstairs for that, so you get up, walk across the room, open the door, and flick the switch to the light in the hallway that leads to the stairs. Nothing happens. You try the light inside your room, nothing there either.

Panic reemerges. Calm down, you think to yourself. Hell of a storm out there tonight – must have blown down a power line. No, that can’t be, you realize, because the movie on the television is playing. The storm must have just blown the breaker that controls the lights. Everything was working fine after you let the dog out and before you went into the shower. Then the thought hits you – what if someone got inside the house when you let the dog out! What if he was in the house while you were in the shower?

Don’t panic, you say to yourself. You’re letting your imagination get the better of you. Why, out of all the movies you have in your video collection, did you have to watch A Stranger is Watching? It’s just the movie, you think, and the thought clears your mind for the moment. You remember that you have to get downstairs to let the dog in. Then everything will be fine.

You close your door, fumble for the key in your pocket, and then lock it. Then you turn, walk down the hallway a few feet, and feel around for the banister. After a few seconds you can feel the stairs with your feet. Okay, you’ve got it! Piece of cake, you think as you start making your way down the stairs, the thunder growing louder with each step you take. Your hand is sliding down the banister, but abruptly it comes to a stop. Something is on the banister.

It feels cold, clammy…it feels like…someone else’s hand! It seems to be trying to grab you by the wrist. You scream.

“Wait!” a voice commands you. You twist your wrist out of the grip of the hand, turn, and start running back up the stairs, stumbling, tripping. It feels like the stairs will never end, but finally you reach the top. At the door to your room, you manage to bring out the key, fumble it into the lock, turn it, and open the door. You run into your room, push the door closed, then lock it again. Safe.

You move toward the table where the phone sits. You can see it clearly in the dim light from the television.

But before you can get there, a hand grabs you by the throat. A sharp object enters your stomach and slices its way up. Your first crush, the sweet sixteen party your parents threw for you, the senior prom, college graduation – My life in a nutshell is the last thought that enters your mind as you feel yourself twisting around to stare into the face of your killer.

Police arrive on the scene as the downstairs neighbor describes to them what happened on this stormy night on Lookout Lane. He explains that he was watching television when he heard Nicole run the dog outside. About ten minutes later he heard the dog bark once and then yelp. After that there was silence.

“I went outside to take a look, and when I happened to look down on the ground, I saw a trail of blood leading to the dog house,” the neighbor says. “Duke was lying on his side with blood oozing from his ears, a bloody brick not far from his head. I went to see if he was okay, and found he was still breathing.

“I remember then,” the neighbor continues, “that I heard someone going up the stairs after I heard the dog, but I didn’t think much of it. Still, I started up the stairs to tell Nicole about her dog being hurt. The lights were out due to the storm, but halfway up I met her. She was coming down the stairs. But I guess she got scared. She yelled and turned and ran back up. I didn’t want to scare her anymore, especially with the lights out and all, so I just went back to my apartment. I guess I should have told her who I was. I didn’t know someone else was inside her apartment…how could I?”

Now you know how it went down. All that’s left to say is that next time the lights go out, and you’re home alone, you might want to think about what happened that night. Think about how scared Nicole must have been there in the dark. Think about how a violent storm and a scary movie can wreak havoc on the imagination. Think about Nicole’s killer and the fact that he’s still out there somewhere.

And think about how sometimes you might think the danger is outside on the stairs, when it’s actually inside your home, creeping up behind you…