Obscura

I awoke to thunder clapping. The wind beat upon the windows like fists against dough. I glanced over toward the clock and it blinked 4:00 AM at me. "Crap. Power must be out," I sighed and rolled out of bed. It was cold, too, I noted before grabbing my robe. The breaker box was in the attic for some reason. Obviously, whoever designed this house had a flair for the dramatic. I picked through the closet and managed to find a working flashlight, one of those long police-types.

The batteries were old, so instead of beam I got more of a muddy filter. Thankfully, there was enough moonlight to see enough to avoid falling down the stairs or stubbing my toe. Which almost happened when the lightning crashed. The wind was still intent on tearing the house down, but thankfully it held. Strangely, there was still no rain, which hopefully meant this was all a show and would soon pass. I figured since I was already up I might as well grab a glass of water from the kitchen.

I set the flashlight down on the island in the middle of the kitchen. There were still pots in the sink, and Brenda was coming back tomorrow afternoon. I added the pots to my mental check list, when the thunder struck again. I almost broke the glass with my grip and I set it on the island next to the flashlight. Glancing out the window I noticed there still wasn't rain, so I popped the door open and stepped outside. No wind. Clear skies.

"What the hell?" I whispered. Moments ago it sounded like the whole house was going to fall down. If it wasn't coming from outside, then... I heard the thunder again. I froze in place for a moment.
Inside?
That wasn't possible. I hurried back inside and slammed the door. The flashlight rolled off the counter and bashed the tile.
"Fuck!" I shouted, then grabbed the light. Broken. "Fuck," I mumbled. I still had to get to the attic.
What I thought was wind started beating again, but it still sounded like fists. I scrambled through the kitchen drawers. Brenda quit smoking six months ago, but surely she left a couple lighters around. 
"Got it. Thank you, Zippo," I said. I grabbed the flashlight, ready to use it as a weapon and made my way up the stairs. I still couldn't figure out where that damn noise was coming from. Each step I took felt like I was making it louder. Was I getting closer, or was it? My heart was beating through my chest.
"Make it to the attic, just make it to the attic," I whispered sharply. I started taking more than one step at a time, the fists getting louder, or faster, I couldn't decide. The thunder cracked again and I screamed my way up the last step and toward the attic entrance. Without thinking I grabbed the pull string too hard and the hatch popped open. The ladder tumbled down, barely missing my head.
I didn't care. The fists were behind me. In my hurry I let the flashlight fall as I climbed the ladder. I collapsed onto the hot wood floor of the attic like a tired swimmer. 
"Fucking...fuck," I managed. I flicked the lighter. It was just enough to highlight how scary an attic is. All the shadows were in the right places to further torment me. I got to my feet and moved toward the breaker box. I popped the metal front plate and held the lighter close. Nothing was tripped.
"What the hell," I squeaked. My throat tightened up on me and I backed up into a box falling to the floor.


I started laughing. This was all ridiculous. I took a breath and started thinking critically about the situation. I'm sure it was raining before and a transformer probably blew out down the street. All I'd done is let my imagination get the better of me. And as if on cue with my restored sanity I saw a beam of light pop into the attic. Relaxed, I picked up the lighter and made my way down the attic ladder. Once I got it closed up I couldn't help but laugh again. Brenda would not be hearing this story; she'd never let me live it down.

I realized I'd left the backdoor unlocked. Besides that I was up now. Now that the power was back maybe I'd clean the dishes now? I hit started down the stairs and something lurched me forward. I crashed into the steps, rolling almost sideways. I felt stabs through my body, each step like a sledgehammer. Finally, the ground broke my roll and I cracked my head on the tile. I lay there dazed, unable to move. My vision was blurred. Was there blood in my eyes? I was laying face down, horizontal to the staircase and I saw the perfect view of the culprit.
The flashlight was right behind me, thudding down each deadly step. The flashlight hit the ground and slowly rolled toward my hand, but the thudding didn't stop. 
"No.. it was the flash...," I barely managed to say anything. The fists were back, louder this time, closer. Blood obscured my vision. I tried to move, but everything felt like mud. The fists got louder, harder. I could feel my bones crack from the pressure. My eyes bulged and my ears filled with blood. I felt like I was underwater. Unable to move or react, all I could do was listen to the fists pound and pound, until eventually they were little more than an echo.