Blackout

The richness of the late afternoon blue that coated the overhead sky began its sure, steady fade to lilac and periwinkle pastels as the early evening rolled in.

Jim, a kind-eyed blue-collar man with an ice cold, perspiring beer bottle in one hand and a copy of the latest issue of the local paper in the other, leaned back in his sturdy porch rocking chair as far as he could stand it before his stomach dropped. A hearty burp rippled through him as his weight shifted, escaping his lips with a satisfied hsss. He marveled at the changing sky and took another long swig of his beer, savoring the hops as they danced over his tongue.

"Nothing wrong with this," he whispered to no one in particular. "Not a damn thing."

Marie, his raven-haired, quick-witted wife, snagged sheets and towels from their weathered clothes line that ran along the side of the house. She dutifully shook each billowy mast with a firm thwump, dusting off thin layers of late spring pollen that had accumulated on their fibers.

"Jim," she crooned, raising a hand to her brow to shield her bright green eyes from the setting sun. "You wanna get some grub? We could swing by Den Coral then grab some cold drinks on the way back."

Jim chuckled at that, but nodded, polishing off the rest of his beer—the last in the cooler. Den Coral, he thought amusedly, when are they ever gonna fix the rest of those light-up letters so 'Golden Corral' can shine in all its lackluster glory again?

"They ever gonna fix that sign, you think?" Marie asked, reading his mind.

"I doubt it," Jim grunted, getting up from his rocker and stretching his arms, showing off the toned muscles beneath his sweat-stained work shirt. Marie came around the corner, laundry basket in hand. A sly smile spread across her face as she took in the sight of his physique.

"No one gives a shit about the sign," Jim continued, glancing over at his wife mid-stretch and answering her warm smile with his own. "They like the nickname better anyway."

Marie rolled her eyes and placed the basket down on the porch steps.

"You wanna invite over Deb and Bruce later, share the drinks?" she asked, placing her hands on her hips and brushing a curled lock of hair out of her face. Jim's eyes slid down to those hips as she spoke, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"I called Deb earlier," Marie continued. "She said their power went down today too. Third time this week, same as us. This one only lasted a little while for them though."

"How long?" Jim asked.

Marie thought for a moment. "I think she said no more than 15 minutes or so. She had a migraine, so she kind of just threw a number out there. Ours was about 20 minutes. The two before were about an hour each, just like us. Middle of the day, no wind, no storm..." She trailed off, looking placidly at the basket of linens. "Just out of nowhere, for no reason at all."

"So strange," Jim said, tossing his empty bottle back in the cooler. He brushed the bottle's crisp moisture off his hands and onto his pants, then began folding up his newspaper. The headline, 'UPSTATE GOES DARK AT HIGH NOON: FREAK BLACKOUTS IN BROAD DAYLIGHT CONTINUE ACROSS THE NORTH COUNTRY,' disappeared under one of the folds, but not before catching Jim's eye once more.

It was a quick glance, but he still felt something as his eyes rolled over those words for what felt like the dozenth time that day. He wasn't quite worried, but he wasn't quite at peace either. He knew Marie felt it too.

Whatever was happening, it was odd.

It started on Tuesday, five days ago now. The first of the blackouts. Jim had been at work, Marie at home sick. She called Jim on his cell around 12:04 p.m. that afternoon telling him the power was off, but the generator had kicked on. Good. She stayed out of bed as long as the blackout lasted, despite her throbbing head, which she had chalked up to the sickness. She stayed on the phone with Deb down the street the whole time—the two were peas in a pod, ever since high school. The ladies claimed the power was restored on both their ends at precisely the same moment: 1:06 p.m. Deb later reported she found her dog dead under one of the upstairs beds shortly after the power came back on. Not a scratch on him. He hadn't shown any previous signs of being sick or anything. It looked an awful lot like he just laid down under there and died. The only weird thing was a small trickle of blood running from one of his ears—a small something that went unnoticed as Bruce buried him in the backyard that night.

The second blackout was Thursday, around the same time and lasting just a little bit longer than the first. It started at 12:05 p.m., ended at 1:09 p.m. Marie and Jim were both at work and had had no idea it happened till they were cuddled together on the sofa watching the evening news that night. The headline, 'SECOND BLACKOUT IN TWO DAYS: NORTH COUNTRY RESIDENTS ADVISED TO ASSEMBLE EMERGENCY KITS,' flashed across the screen. A pretty young lady in a bright green dress sat beside a disheveled older gentleman in a faded suit at the news desk, reading to the public from a prompter.

"In light of the recent blackouts and in preparation for any future power outages in the area," she read, with a nervous smile, "public health officials are advising residents and families to prepare home emergency kits, equipped with flashlights, batteries, battery-powered radios and portable chargers. In addition, plan ahead—no running water and no electricity for extended periods of time can be dangerous. Be sure to stock up on non-perishable foods and water. Each household should set aside one gallon of water per person per day. Keep freezers and refrigerators closed to preserve food, and ensure you have a backup plan for medications and medical devices."

The woman finished reading and moved on to an announcement about a recent surge in ear infections among small children in the area, advising parents use ear drops as needed.

"You think they're worried?" Marie asked, snuggling up closer to Jim on the couch. "They seem to be taking this power outage thing pretty seriously."

"We'll see what happens, I wouldn't worry though, baby," Jim replied, his eyes never leaving the television screen. "Blackouts happen."

"Then why are we hearing about these so damn much?" Marie asked, shaking her head. "Only two of them in three days, but it feels like people are shaken up. I felt it at the grocery store today. The checkout lady, I chat with her every time I'm there, but today, she was quiet as a mouse. She was distant. She was scared."

Jim shrugged, holding Marie tighter and kissing her neck lightly. "That lady is ancient, anything out of the norm will unnerve her a little. She probably appreciated seeing you, just had a rough day."

"Maybe. Or maybe we should be worried too."

Then there was the third blackout, the one today. Saturday. Right on schedule, it happened a little after noon. 12:06 p.m., but this time, for Marie and Jim, it ended at 12:26 p.m. 12:19 p.m. for Deb and Bruce. The shortest blackout yet, and boy, was that a welcome relief to Marie. While she had resigned herself to hanging out the wash rather than risk the dryer losing power mid-cycle, she was comforted by the speed at which the power had been restored that day. Maybe it meant whoever the hell was in charge of the power had finally figured things out. Maybe it meant these blackouts were just that and nothing more. Maybe it meant everything was going back to normal.

But Jim couldn't shake a funny feeling. He had brushed it off while watching the news Thursday night, mostly for Marie's sake. But since then it had grown like a cancer in the pit of his stomach. It couldn't be that simple. The news anchor, the pretty one, she had looked scared. Marie said the checkout lady had looked scared. Marie, up until today, had clearly been scared. Hell, the most recent blackout was over, but Jim couldn't push down the fear that had been welling up inside him all week. Even a few beers deep, there it sat, deep in his gut, alive and hungry as ever.

"You ready to go, or you wanna get cleaned up first?" Marie asked, interrupting his troubled thoughts. She picked up the laundry basket once more and brushed past him, making her way inside.

"How 'bout a quick shower?" Jim grinned, blinking away the unease he had felt and focusing on his desire for her instead. He lazily ran a calloused hand along her soft legs as she swept by. "Power's on for now, you never know when it might go out again. Gotta make the most of the running water."

"Isn't that what the generator's for?" Marie teased, kicking playfully at his hand. "I suppose I am sweating my ass off though. Just a quick one, Mister."

Jim laughed, cutting her off before she could reach the door.

"Give me this thing, Missy," he said, taking the basket from her hands and giving her a firm kiss on her forehead. "Get on upstairs. I'll meet you under the water."

Marie giggled, stepping inside and quickly shuffling up the stairs. Jim watched her go, waiting till her feet disappeared down the hall at the top of the stairs. He glanced outside once more, at that beautiful pastel sky, then followed the love of his life out of the early summer heat and up to the master bathroom.

Afterward, freshly satisfied, showered and dressed, the two hopped in Jim's old Chevy and started on their short trip into town.

Had they waited five more minutes, they would've known about the fourth and final power outage that swept across the North Country in seconds. They would've said the hell with Den Coral or anywhere else for that matter. They would've stayed put. They would've hunkered down in the home Jim had built them, laid down in bed together bleeding from their ears, and never emerged again.

Just like Deb and Bruce, who now lay dead in their house down the street.

Just like most everyone in town caught indoors during that final blackout.

***

The Chevy's exhaust sputtered and moaned as its tires rolled into the Den Coral parking lot. There were more cars than normal, Jim noticed. Makes sense this time of year. More people wanting out of the house when the heat goes up. But nothing too crowded—they'd manage to get a table.

"I'm starved," Marie sighed, placing a gentle hand on her belly. "We both are."

"You and Little Bean?" Jim chuckled, placing his hand over hers. She wasn't showing just yet. They still had awhile. But already it felt like their duo had been infiltrated. Little Bean had taken root about two months earlier. And soon enough, it'd be Little Walnut. Little Kiwi. Little Melon. Holy God, how soon would it be Little Melon?

"An appetite as strong as his dad's," Marie chuckled, her eyes never leaving Jim's. She could see the anxiety, excitement, terror-filled cocktail that stirred in his mind at every thought related to fatherhood. His eyes would widen, his head would tilt to the side and his breathing would pick up, just enough for her to notice. And she loved him for it. Those feelings he had were not born out of resentment, or disgust. They were born out of fear of losing her and the baby she now carried. She knew he loved them more than life itself. Is there anything more terrifying?

"You don't know it's a boy just yet," Jim smiled, glancing down at his wife's belly. Little Bean was right there under his hand. He could hardly believe it.

"I do know," Marie giggled, unbuckling her seat belt with the other hand. "Mothers always know."

"Pardon me, M'lady," Jim apologized, giving her a peck on the lips. He hoisted himself out of the driver seat and went around to the passenger side in just a few long strides, opening the door for Marie.

"Thank you kindly, good sir," she joked, taking his hand and the two of them strolled inside.

Jim froze as soon as they stepped through the entrance way.

The sickly sweet smell of human decay hit his nostrils like a freight train. Marie coughed, bringing a hand up to her mouth as she held back a gag.

"What the hell," she choked out, squeezing her eyes shut. "The fuck is that smell?"

Jim didn't answer, but slowly released her hand from his and lowered it to her side. Stepping in front of her protectively, he glanced around the room.

The room was hot. The was the first thing he noticed. Oven hot, like the A/C had been off for days.

He peered over the top of one of the booths near them. There sat a woman with white, frizzy hair and what looked like her son sitting across from her. Both were hunched over the table with their faces buried in their food, clearly deceased. Blood ran in a thin line from the mother's ear, turning a small patch of her tangled white mess of hair pink. He gasped, barely audible, shutting himself up before Marie overheard.

The lights were off, and with the sun setting, little light entered in through the windows. And as he listened to the silence around him, he realized he heard no air in the vents, no sizzle from the fryers or stovetops. Den Coral was quiet as the grave.

"Marie," he whispered, suddenly very aware of how alone the two of them were. "Get back to the truck."

"Yes, let's go," she replied hoarsely, refusing to open her eyes. "Now, let's go right now, come on."

She clutched his arm and attempted to turn the two of them back out the door, but Jim's feet refused to budge.

"Wait," he whispered, his voice still even, but only just. "We can't just leave, we don't know what this is or what the fuck happened. What if someone needs help?"

"We need help," Marie replied with a hiss, still tugging on his arm. "What if someone came in and shot the place up? They could still be here!"

Jim shook his head, bending his knees so he could kneel down, dragging Marie down with him. He thought about the frizzy-haired woman in the booth.

"No one shot the place up," he whispered, straining to see in the fading light. "That's not what happened. It's not even messy in here. There are people sitting at their booths like normal. I'll bet if we walked around, we'd see people near the buffet line, back in the kitchens, wherever. Going about their night."

"So what?" Marie whispered back, her eyes growing wet and red. "Maybe they didn't even know what hit them."

Jim reached toward her face and wiped at the bottom of her eye before a tear could escape it.

"No one shot the place up," he repeated, stroking her cheek tenderly. He stared into her eyes, panic leaking out of them.

"This is something else," he continued, gesturing at the lights above them. "Look. The lights are off. No A/C. No power. Another blackout."

"The fuck?" Marie whispered, finally glancing around. "We didn't lose power again, we had power when we left."

"Yeah, when we left. I guess this would be number four in five days."

"Shit," Marie exclaimed, closing her eyes again. "What do we do? Fuck, what about Deb and Bruce? You think this is town-wide?"

"Yes, I do," said Jim. "I'm sure their power's out and I'm sure ours is too."

"Let's get home then, let's go right now," said Marie. "And we can stop at their place, make sure they're okay-"

Her words trailed off to a long exhale, her mouth hanging open like a fish. She stared past Jim, out the front door and into the parking lot.

"Baby, what's wrong?" Jim asked, following her gaze. His breath caught in his throat as his eyes locked onto the same thing as Marie.

It was hard to see at first next to the pole of the street lamp. One might've thought it was just their own impaired eyesight in the dull dusk light making a second, shaky lamp pole emerge from the shadows. But it wasn't that.

From the bulb, which was out just like all the others down the street, there hung a black, vine-like tendril. And at the end of the tendril, stone still, were two massive eyes. Bloody, deep red eyes attached to a spindly, shapeless mass of black. It hung there staring at them, like a skeletal possum, dripping from the bulb of the street lamp.

"What the fuck is that?" Marie whispered.

"Death," Jim replied, turning away from the creature and back into the restaurant. "It's death, my darling."

As the light continued to fade, they were easier to see.

Some had moved to the customers still hunched over their tables. Others hung from the ceiling, their impossibly thin bodies stretching to the floor. But all were feeding. Mouths like suckers, enveloping the bloodied ears of every patron, sucking their skulls dry.

Marie's eyes lingered on the lamp post crawler, Jim's on the dead interior of Den Coral.

“I love you, Jim,” Marie breathed, stifling a sob.

“I love you, baby,” Jim answered, holding her tighter. “With everything I have.”

And there they stayed, clutched to each other as the monsters moved in, waiting for it to be over.