Lights
by Wade McGrath
Carrie Fletcher lived in an ancient house of dust, cobwebs, and forgotten memories with two roommates, Tyler and Jeff. The three attended the same university and opted to rent a house rather than pay campus rates for a dorm. The woman they were renting from was at least three hundred years old, and Carrie refuses to tell the story otherwise. Mrs. Prouge. She has hair down to her thighs as white as snow, but about as well-kept as swamp roots. She stood a mere four feet tall, which made it that much more strange how she instilled such unrest in those who talked to her. As if her raspy, quiet voice and talon-like fingernails weren't enough, she required you to bend down and stick your ear right next to her face so that "you youngsters won't miss a thing," she says. Not just that, but she also grasps your shoulder with a grip that feels like she has no intention of letting go. Every time. It didn't help that she lived right next door, so these meetings weren't terribly rare.
On this night, in particular, Tyler and Jeff were heading out to a party for the evening. As always, they invited Carrie who suggested instead that she stay to fix up the house for her friend who was coming from out-of-state that weekend. "If I get done early, I'll make a grand appearance, alright?" She offered as they shrugged and fumbled out of the doorway into the night. Carrie would normally go with, but she had cataloged the various problems with the house that needed to be handled: Spiders; mice in the basement; carpets that desperately needed vacuuming; a fireplace full of... things; dust on just about everything; and several lights in the guest bedroom that were perpetually flickering.
With candles lit and music humming in the background, Carrie started on her laundry list of chores. Time passed in tandem with spiders being sucked into a whirring vacuum cleaner. As her list hit the halfway mark, she heard a knock at the door. Turning off her music and death-machine (as the spiders "fondly" refer to it), Carrie ran to let in exactly who she was expecting- "Mrs. Prouge," she started, "what brings you by at this hour?" Tangled, white hair swept behind her as Mrs. Prouge sauntered inside before leaning in towards Carrie, "I just came to check up on you, dear," she wheezed, "do you need anything, dear? Is everything okay with my old girl?" (Why Mrs. Prouge referred to a house she had inherited from her crazy brother two years ago as her "old girl," no one will ever know) Carrie let out a deep breath, "I've just been cleaning her up for a friend who's visiting this weekend. Spiders, vacuuming, dusting-- you know, just basic stuff. You don't happen to have any spare lightbulbs, do you? The ones in the spare room are wonking out on us, and I didn't buy any before moving in." Mrs. Prouge's face tightened and her smile dropped to a serious frown, "child, you mustn't change the lights in that room. There are souls trapped in there, you know."
Carrie chuckled, remembering the same speech Mrs. Prouge had given her the day they moved in. They all chose to take the other available rooms in lieu of dealing with the lights at the time, but now Carrie couldn't humor Mrs. Prouge about the issue. "I'm sure it'll be okay, Mrs. P. I'll put the old bulbs somewhere safe, okay?" Mrs. Prouge didn't relax her stance, "child, if those lights are unscrewed, the souls are lost forever. Those lost souls have been known to do... things to protect themselves." Carrie scoffed, "what, like, poltergeist stuff? Are you telling me that room is haunted, Mrs. P? Besides, there aren't that many that are flickering."
In all, the guest room in the old house had five light bulbs. Three in the ceiling fan, which were all flickering, a completely dead light at the top of the vanity, and a lit bulb in the closet. It wasn't even Carrie's intention to fix the vanity's bulb, since she firmly believed that the piece of furniture was wasted, given that the room was right next to the bathroom. When Mrs. Prouge inherited the house from her brother, he had spun the same yarn about souls that she had recounted to the new tenants. To hear the original story, the ceiling lights haven't been changed in thirty years. A new one had begun flickering each decade. The vanity light, on the other hand, died out long ago, and was simply never replaced.
"I'll hear none of it, dear," Mrs. Prouge asserted, returning to a polite smile. She grabbed Carrie's shoulder and bent her down, "if any of them are new bulbs the next time I'm in here..." While she couldn't hear the last part of the threat (isn't that what she was trying to prevent with her claw-grip in the first place?), Carrie was certain she heard the word, "spayed." Mrs. Prouge turned around and noted that she was about to get cookies out of the oven and that Carrie should stop by before the night was over. After agreeing, Carrie realized that it was almost midnight by this point. What the hell was she baking cookies for this late at night?? Shaking her head, Carrie proceeded to finish up her cleaning.
Around two in the morning, Carrie flopped into bed, confident that the house was at least twice as liveable (which wasn't saying much) as before. Tyler and Jeff still hadn't gotten home from the party, so she slowly forced herself up to lock the door and turn out the lights. She turned off the living room light and moved on to the guest room. The ceiling lights were there. Flickering. Still. Carrie glared at them, hoping her silent gaze would somehow fix their faulty wiring. When it didn't, she sighed and flicked the switch. The lights flickered faster, with a slightly louder hum than before. Confused, Carrie batted the lever back up and down again, and was greeted with inky blackness. "Stupid house." She moved back through the living room and around the corner to the hallway and up the stairs at the end before flicking the last light- the one in her bedroom. Collapsing on the bed, she passed out almost instantly.
Carrie woke with a start. Still dark. Were the guys home? She strained her ears, but was met with silence. She swore she heard something. Carrie turned to her alarm clock- it read a jumble of symbols that resembled numbers without actually being them. Although one figure might have been an upside down four. Carrie clambered out of bed and realized that the bottom of her door was leaking. A small patch of light shone through the crack at the base of the door. The light was flickering. Carrie started toward the door, grabbing her can of pepperspray from the nightstand, worried that someone may have broken in. As she cracked the door, there was no noise but a low hum throughout the house, barely audible. Peeking out, the stairway was dark, but at the landing, she could see a flickering light, dancing around just out of sight. She crept down the stairs, eyes searching for the source of the eery light. Feeling her way through the hallway, she made sure to check the other two bedrooms- dark, but no sign of her roommates.The jittering light was visible just around the corner of the hallway into the living room.
Passing out of the hallway, her eyes darted all around the living room, attached kitchen, and the front door- still locked- looking for signs of either intruders or her friends- neither were apparent. The light, however, was still faintly visible, now from the guest room, whose door was closed, with the flickering appearing from below the frame. While Carrie didn't remember closing the door earlier, she also noted that she was tired and often closed the guestroom door after cleaning it in the past. Still, the light was unnerving to say the least. Carrie cautiously approached the door, pepperspray in hand, trying to convince herself that it was simply the faulty wiring at work again. Her sweaty hand pressed against the brass knob, cold to the touch. She sat there for what felt like an eternity, heart pounding in her chest, taking deep breaths to calm herself. One last breath, she thought, before steeling herself and turning the knob.
Tyler thrust the front door open, bellowing as he entered, "we have returned!!" Before kicking off his shoes and slumping into the couch. Jeff stumbled in behind him, flicked the light, and shut the door, "Caaaarriiiiie," he called in a singsong voice. The two shared a look before Jeff shrugged, checking his watch, "well, it is... Five?! Shiiiit. I have to be up for work in four hours. I'm out." Jeff flung himself towards his room, leaving Tyler with the heartwarming sound of a door being drunkenly slammed. "Welp..." He resigned quietly. "Buncha' boring..." he slurred as he hobbled to his own room.
Tyler awoke, drool covering his... everything, staring off into space for several moments before sloppily wiping his mouth and staring at the clock on his wall. "Twelve hours... New record," he mumbled. Getting up, he groggily plodded to the kitchen table to grab a bowl of his favorite cereal, Captain Skrumps. On the box was a note, "Hey Ty, I think Carrie went to pick up her friend at the station. Guestroom still has crap lights. Picking up bulbs on my way home. PS- getta' job. Love Jeff." The note actually had a heart in place of the word, "love."
Tyler slowly finished his cereal, reminding himself that the note was left before 10:00, meaning Jeff's shift was already over. As he came to this conclusion, Jeff kicked in the door, confirming his suspicions. "Heyo! Carrie back yet?" Tyler yawned, "haven't seen her. I may have been sleeping for the... whole day..." Jeff shrugged, as he often did, "well, I got the bulbs, let's go kill these devil-lights." Tyler sat up and headed into the guestroom with Jeff, turning on the light as they entered. "Stupid house," Jeff muttered, glancing at the three flickering bulbs in the ceiling. He tossed a pack of lights to Tyler, who began unscrewing the worn and dusty hunks of glass. Each one slowly flickered away the last of their luminescence before fading away. Jeff's phone buzzed in his pocket. He flipped it open and shook his head. "Where the hell is she?" Tyler glanced down while screwing in the third ceiling bulb, "what's up?" "Her friend is texting me. She's been at the station for two hours. She had to get my number online. I think we're gonna' have to go pick her up." Jeff lightly kicked the wall as he headed out of the room to grab his shoes. "You comin'?"
"Yeah," Tyler called back, "just gimme one second. I gotta' change this last bulb." He leaned across the vanity tucked in the corner of the room and started unscrewing the flickering bulb. The low hum from the bulb grew louder and more erratic. As it finally relented and fell out of its socket, the bulb flew up into the air and landed on the carpet, "Goddamn thing shocked me!" Tyler shouted, sucking on his thumb. He bent down to collect the fallen bulb, when he noticed something else under the vanity- a small, silvery canister. He retrieved it, leaving the bulb on the ground, "Hey Jeff, isn't this Carrie's pepperspray?" "Yeah? So?" Jeff shot back, anxious to get out the door. Tyler looked at it quizzically, turning it over once or twice in his hand, before putting it back on the vanity and screwing in the new bulb, which shot to life, bathing the room in more pale light. Tyler strode to the door and, without looking, flicked the switch back off and closed the door.
In the settled blackness of the guestroom, a single flicker escaped the bulb laying on the ground next to the vanity, before the coil inside turned to dust.
-
Waddles
