Power Failure

*Content Warning: suicide

The man leaned back in his chair, which creaked under his weight, and looked at her with an obvious lack of interest.

“Please,” Jessica said. “I really need this. I’ll work hard and do any job you need.”

He sighed and straightened his tie. “We’ll be finalizing our decision next week. Thank you very much for coming in.”

She picked up her purse from the floor, stood and shook his proffered hand, and then let him lead her out of the office.

In the parking lot, she sat in the driver’s seat of her car for a moment and willed herself not to cry. She looked in the rear-view mirror, touched up her makeup, and ran a brush through her shoulder-length blond hair. Then she grabbed the stack of resumes from the seat beside her and got out of the car again.

It was a beautiful, sunny day. She began walking up the street. At every store and office, she stopped and inquired about job vacancies and left a copy of her resume until she had no more. Then she returned to her car and drove home.

At the house, an old farmhouse she and her husband had spent a lot of joyful time restoring, she found a folded piece of paper tucked into the frame of the front door. She read it and her throat constricted. They’d finally done it. Her electricity had been cut off for non-payment. She no longer had power, until she paid up. But she had no money to pay.

She went inside and was greeted by Rocco, her faithful Australian Cattle Dog, his tail wagging and a grin plastered on his face.

“Hello, sweet boy,” she said and scratched behind his ears. She dropped her purse onto a table next to the door and walked through the house to the kitchen, where she opened the back door so Rocco could run out into the fenced part of the yard. Though she owned several acres of land, she preferred to keep the dog safely enclosed and nearby.

While he was out, she went to the basement and rummaged through boxes of camping gear. She emerged with three battery-powered lanterns, two flashlights, many candles, a couple of boxes of matches, and a small propane grill. There should be a few appropriate canisters of propane in the shed; hopefully they will last for a while.

In the kitchen, she flipped the light switch on the wall out of habit and then flipped it back when nothing happened. She fretted over her refrigerator and freezer. She had just put $30 of food into them a couple of days earlier, and most of it would go to waste.

Before beginning the purge of perishables though, she made a ham and cheese sandwich. She put it on a plate and took it outside onto the deck. It was a mild and lovely evening in the middle of a summer of record heat waves. The yard around her was still and quiet, except for Rocco wandering around and sniffing for signs of recent interlopers. Jessica ate her sandwich. She couldn’t pay her electric bill. But she’d be okay. She’d survived worse. Thankfully, she no longer had a mortgage. But next year's property tax bill still worried her.

Later, when the sun had gone down and the house was lit mainly by moonlight, she curled up in a chair to lose herself in a book for a while. She placed a lantern on the table next to her and turned it on. Rocco curled up on the rug at her feet with a contented sigh. As she read, she began to tune out the sounds of his breathing, the clock ticking, the traffic rumbling in the distance. The house grew still around her.

But then something caught her attention. She didn’t think she’d heard a noise, but something had changed, somewhere in the house. Rocco’s ear twitched but he didn’t otherwise move. Jessica gazed into the shadows outside of the sphere of lantern light, held her breath, and listened carefully.

There was no sound anywhere. She rose and picked up the lantern and walked slowly out of the living room into the main hallway. She began to explore the house, room by room, peering into corners and behind doors. Light and shadows swayed in rhythm as she moved the lantern around. The sudden click of Rocco’s nails on the hardwood floor startled her for a moment and she realized just how tense she was. She waited for him to catch up to her and then they moved on.

In the kitchen, she peered out into the dark yard and double-checked that the glass door was locked. She saw no movement, just dark shapes on a dark background, of trees and fencing and things that stood the same as in the light of day.

At the staircase, she felt eyes on her. Something, someone was near. She went upstairs, pausing on each step to shine the light above her and then below her. Rocco took each step in unison with her. A step up, stop, look up and look back down. Another step. Okay, you’re just scaring yourself now, she thought, and began taking two or three steps between pauses.

At the top of the stairs, she stopped again and listened. Rocco waited, and then began to walk down the hall toward the bedroom. She didn’t want to be alone, so she started off after him, investigating rooms along the way. Finally, she decided she would just go to bed. Clearly, no one was in the house. Whatever she thought she’d felt, had probably just been imagination. Being awake and alone in the dark was too scary; she’d rather sleep through and face the world again in the morning.

Over the following days, she began to adjust to her new life without electricity. She had some food in the pantry that she could make on the propane grill outside. She lit candles and tried to limit the lantern use, as she would run out of batteries soon. She made phone calls, hoping that the phone provider wouldn’t cut her off for a while yet, following up on job opportunities or casual work. The daytime hours felt somewhat normal, though exhaustion and stress weighed on her.

But when the sun went down, everything changed. When the moon shone through the windows, its light turned every shadowy shape into a potential creature waiting for her. When clouds blocked the moon, it was worse. Anything could be hiding in the darkness. Every night, she made the rounds of her house, slowly checking each room, each door and window, to make sure no one was there. Each night, it felt more and more like someone was watching her as she did. Shadows seemed to almost materialize into substance around her everywhere she went. She compulsively drowned them with her lantern light, over and over, to dispel the sensation.

Occasionally, she was able to help some neighbors with odd jobs, in exchange for small amounts of cash. She began to wish she’d been able to go to college. If she’d had a degree, she’d have a much better chance of finding a decent job. Except, the economy being what it is these days, maybe that wasn’t true. She knew that hundreds of people were competing with her for every job.

One day, an elderly neighbor named Earl Johnson dropped by and handed her some clothes that needed mending.

“Come on in, Mr. Johnson. Would you like some coffee? I just made some.”

“That'd be nice. Thank you, Mrs. Anderson.” He removed his cap and followed her into the house and pulled up a chair at the kitchen table.

Jessica went out to the deck and retrieved the percolator from next to the grill. It was mostly fresh still, but she wished it was better.

“You take it black?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He took the mug in his well-worked hands, blew on it and took a sip. “Thank you, that’s great.”

“How are you, Mr. Johnson?”

“Getting by. And you?”

“Getting by.” She sat across from him and examined the clothing. It was an assortment of old shirts and pants, some child-sized. Does he know how much I need money? Is this some kind of charity? Earl Johnson had no children or grandchildren to wear these items. Humiliation burned her face. She wanted to refuse him, but of course she could not.

“It’ll be a couple of days. Okay?”

“Sure, whenever.”

There was suddenly a loud crack from upstairs, and she jumped. “What the heck was that?”

He looked at her quizzically. “Just the house shifting, I imagine. Happens all the time.”

“Never that loud.”

“It wasn’t that loud. It’s just normal, old-house stuff. Would you like me to go look around?”

Was it quieter than she’d thought? She smiled at him. “No, I suppose I just misheard it. You’re probably right.”

“Are you doing okay? Really?”

“I … yes. I haven’t been sleeping very well. I’m a little tired.” She reached over the table and put her hand on his for a moment. “Thank you for your concern.”

He nodded. They spent some time quietly sipping coffee and talking about the weather and the upcoming town fair, and then he left and she got to work on the clothes.

That night, she slept fitfully. In her life, she’d rarely had dreams that stayed with her upon waking. But on this night, she dreamed that her house was sick, riddled with tumors. She woke and looked up toward the ceiling. The wall above her headboard seemed to be moving. She swung her legs over and stood up and peered at it. A thick, pinkish slime was seeping in through the wallpaper and oozing slowly downward. She reached forward and touched it, and the substance was wet and cool. She screamed and ran out of her bedroom and down the hallway. Rounding a corner toward the bathroom, she slipped and fell onto the floor, sobbing. She finally awakened for real, then, to Rocco licking her face. She hugged him and cried into his neck for a while. She had dreamed the whole thing, she decided. Night terror, she supposed, though she’d never had one before.

She stood and went back into the bedroom and aimed a flashlight at the wall; it was dry and clear. She got back into bed, and Rocco hopped up and sprawled beside her. The pressure of his body was comforting, and she was able to drift back to sleep.

The next day, she sat in the kitchen and worked on finishing the clothes. She looked out the window and, as she had many times over the years, she saw the ghost of a memory of her son Jeremy playing in the grass. She’d never seen the real ghost of her son, who died at the age of seven. She sometimes wished she would, just to see his face in motion again. She watched the vision for a while, until it faded away, and then she brought herself back to the present. She continued working until the sun started to go down and then she put the clothes away and turned on a lantern before the darkness began its full, suffocating descent.

The house has a heartbeat. She hears it sometimes when she’s sitting still. She’d once thought it might be an echo of the ticking of the clock, but when she’d pulled out the battery, the beat continued. It was almost not a sound, more of a feeling. Maybe it was her own heartbeat, but it felt outside of her, like it came through the walls from elsewhere. Sometimes she thought it was Jeremy’s heartbeat. She heard it now.

Suddenly, there was another loud crack from upstairs, like a gunshot, and she was sure it was louder than it had been when Earl Johnson was here. Her heart raced, and she picked up the lantern and went upstairs. Rocco was outside in the yard, and she felt his absence but was afraid to make a noise to call to him. Something was listening, she was sure of it, and she didn’t want to give herself away.

She climbed the stairs slowly and began the inspection of each of the rooms. In the bathroom, she shivered; the air felt chilled. Her bare feet touched the cold floor, and she couldn’t make herself move into the room any further. She looked around and nothing was amiss, but the feeling of dread grew. It felt like grief and horror, like after the car accident, when the doctor said that her son was dead. And again, when she learned that her husband had killed himself. He hadn’t been able to handle losing their only child. It emptied him and then he destroyed the shell of himself that was left behind.

A movement rushed across the mirror. Jessica stepped back out into the hallway and slammed the bathroom door closed. She stood frozen, holding the handle, praying for it to not start moving under her hand. Her heart raced. She wanted to run, but if she let go of the door handle, something might come out.

She wanted to call out and ask if someone was there, but she was too scared that there would be an answer. What is wrong with you? You can’t stand here forever. There’s nothing in there. You’re just scaring yourself.

Suddenly, the door handle started trying to turn. She gripped it as tightly as she could, though her fingers kept slipping on the smooth surface. She leaned back and all of her weight pulled at the handle. She cried out in rage and fear, and she heard Rocco run inside and up the stairs. He barked and growled and looked around to try to find the threat. The door then flew open and pulled Jessica onto the ground face-first. Rocco jumped over her body, sniffed around the bathroom, and then left. There was nothing in the room.

Jessica sat up, leaned against the wall and worked to gain control of herself. Had she imagined the whole thing? She was no longer sure. I’m losing my mind. She thought the house was laughing at her.

That night, she had trouble falling asleep. Every creak and shift of the house opened her eyes again. A few times, she took her flashlight and looked around the house again. Finally, she pushed a large storage chest in front of her bedroom door and hoped that it would keep any intruders out. With Rocco snuggled close, she eventually got a few hours of sleep before dawn.

A few days later, she was standing at the kitchen sink, washing the breakfast dishes under the morning sunlight, when a sharp pain suddenly pierced her stomach. She dropped the fork she’d been holding, and it sank into the soapy water. The pain sharpened and she felt something start to move within her. She pulled up her shirt and saw something black and stiff emerging from her navel. In terror, she touched it and started to pull it out. It kept coming and coming, a long black snakelike thing, an umbilical cord of something dead. She pulled, and it piled up on the floor at her feet. She didn’t want to see what was going to be attached to the end of it, but when she finally pulled it all out, nothing was there. She vomited and passed out and fell to the floor.

She awoke to a knock on the front door. Her legs shook as she stood up. The smell of vomit filled the air and her shirt was still wet with it. She went to the front door and stopped at a framed mirror hanging on the wall. Her hair was a mess; she couldn’t remember the last time she had combed or washed it. Her skin was pale, and her eyes were bloodshot. She yelled toward the door, “Who is it?”

“It’s Earl Johnson.”

“Mr. Johnson, please forgive me for not opening the door. I’m under the weather just now. “

“Yes, ma’am. Can I do anything for you?”

“No, thank you. I need another day with your clothes. Can I bring them to you tomorrow?”

“Of course. Take your time. Just get better. Call on me if you need anything, okay?”

“Yes, thank you.”

She heard his heavy footsteps descend the porch steps. With a sigh, she walked up the stairs to the bathroom and stripped off all her clothes. She noticed that she’d lost weight, far too much weight. She turned on the shower and gasped as she jumped into the cold water. She washed as quickly as she could, toweled herself off and pulled on a thick, white bathrobe.

“Rocco!” she called and instantly heard his footsteps on the floor below her. He trotted up the stairs and followed her into the bedroom. She stretched out on the bed and he curled up beside her. Instantly, she was asleep.

She dreamed of her son, Jeremy. His small face looked up at her with a smile as she read to him from their favorite book. When the story was over, she closed the book and laid it on the bedside table. She pulled his blanket up to his neck and stroked his hair. I love you, she said. Blood started to trickle from his mouth as he said it back. She tried to wipe it away but the flow only increased, and the blood gushed out all over his pajamas and the blankets. His eyes rolled up, and his body fell back on the bed. Then his torso tore open and erupted in blood and bits of organs and bone before collapsing into dust in her arms.

Jessica woke with a gasp and went into the bathroom and looked at her gaunt face in the mirror. “Please leave me alone,” she said to the demon of grief that haunted her.

You created me out of your own guilt. I grow as your suffering grows. I will forever be with you.

Would it? Would it follow her anywhere? She returned to her bedroom and opened the closet door. In the dark, she fumbled for the lock-box that she knew was tucked away at the back of the top shelf. She found it and pulled it out and carried it to the bed. She looked at Rocco, who was still lying on the bed waiting for her. Tears started to fall from her eyes, and she climbed into the bed and hugged him. He squirmed around and licked her face while she cried and scratched behind his ears. Exhaustion overwhelmed her, and she fell asleep.

Early the next morning, she dressed and took Rocco out to her car. He got into his spot in the front passenger seat, and she drove down the driveway and a few houses over. She greeted Earl when he answered the door and declined to go inside. She handed him his clothes and said, “Instead of cash, I’d like to ask you a favor. Would you watch my dog for a few days? I have to go away.”

“Well, of course. Rocco’s a good dog. I hope nothing’s wrong.”

“It’ll be alright. Just take good care of him, please.”

Rocco sat beside her on the porch. She crouched down and hugged him. Then she kissed his forehead, looked into his deep, brown eyes, whispered, “I love you, sweet boy”, handed the leash to Earl, and turned and walked away. She resisted looking back as she heard him struggling against the leash to try to follow her.

Back at her house, she walked through the rooms. She was being watched, but she ignored it. She touched everything, running her hand along the walls, trying to absorb the house’s memories of her son and husband. There, Jeremy had tripped and hit his head against the corner of that wall. Here, he wrestled on the floor with his dad. She picked up a framed photograph of the two smiling while sitting side by side on a beach. She took the photo with her up the stairs to her bedroom and lay down on her back on the bed with it pressed against her chest. After a few minutes, she reached over for the lock-box, opened it and pulled out her husband’s pistol.

She heard creaking all around her. The walls were rotting and pouring out pink slime. The demon was moving through them, roaring toward her.

Mommy, don’t!

She opened her eyes, and then she saw him standing at the foot of her bed. Jeremy.

It wasn’t your fault.

“If I hadn’t been speeding –“

No, you had to. You had to hurry to get to work. I’d caused you to be late too many times, and they were going to fire you.

“You were sick. I had to take care of you.”

That’s right. It was my fault, not yours. If I wasn’t sick all the time, you wouldn’t have missed so much work. Then you wouldn’t have been speeding to get me to daycare so you could get to work on time. I killed myself, Mommy.

“You’re not Jeremy,” she said to the house.

She raised the pistol to her temple and fired it.

Some time later, the house was filled with light. New furniture filled the rooms, a cat roamed, a small boy played with a toy train on the floor of his bedroom.

Jeremy. I’ll read you a story. Unseen and unheard, Jessica went to the bookcase next to the bed and searched the titles, but couldn’t find the one she wanted. She pulled out book after book and dropped each one onto the floor.

She didn’t notice when the child started crying. His mother ran into the room and saw the books on the floor. “It happened again?”

The boy nodded, and she took his hand and led him downstairs to her husband. “Brad, I’m telling you there’s something really wrong in this house. I don’t want to stay here anymore.”