SHORT STORY SERIES - LIGHTNING

It was the storybook neighborhood. A little ranch-style home in the suburbs – quiet, friendly neighbors, even the cliché white-picket fences. Being a recently single dad, this move was more than an escape from the previous year’s stressors and drama. For my three-year-old son and me, it was meant to be the “perfect new start.”

The thunderstorm was a welcome visitor, and a more than appropriate metaphor for our fresh beginnings. Yesterday’s grime and dirt washed away with an impressive show of theatrics, and although the power outage gave him a little shock, my son loved it. Shadows from unpacked boxes elongated and danced in the dark, bare house as flashes of lightning flooded the rooms. It was the first major storm that he had ever seen, and he jumped and squealed as the thunder boomed overhead.

Worked up from all the excitement, it was well past his bedtime before he was able to calm down enough to get to sleep. I ended up carrying him to his room.

The next morning, I found him awake in bed, smiling.

“I watched the lightning at my window!” he announced, proudly.

A couple days later, bouncing excitedly in his bed, he told me the same thing.

“Daddy, I watched the lightning!”

“It didn’t storm last night, you silly!” I told him. “You must have been dreaming.”

He seemed a little disheartened after that, but I ruffled his hair and spun him out of his bed, reassuring him that there should be another storm soon.

But then, it became a pattern. Every few mornings I would find him awake in bed, ready to tell me how, “I watched the lightning at my window, Daddy!” This would happen at least twice a week, despite there being no storms. I figured that it must have just been recurring dreams of that very memorable first thunderstorm.

In hindsight, it’s easy to hate myself. Friends reassure me that there’s no way I could have known, nothing I could have done, but I’m supposed to be his guardian; my child’s protector. The words of comfort are nothing more than useless nonsense.

I relive that morning constantly, making my coffee, pouring my cereal, and sitting down to read about the pedophile that was just arrested by local authorities in the newspaper. The article was spread across the entire front page. Apparently, this man would find a target, generally a young boy, and watch his house for a while. While the kid slept, he would take flash photos at their window. Sometimes he would do more. My stomach sank as I made the connection.

At the time, it was just a game, a child’s imagination. Looking back, it’s the most terrifying thing I’ve ever heard.

About a week before this man was caught, my son came running up to me in his pajamas. “Guess what?” he asked excitedly.

“What is it, buddy?”

“No lightning at my window anymore!”

“Oh, great! Finally died down, huh?” I asked, playing along.

“No! Now it’s in my closet!”

I have yet to see the photos collected by the police.

#shortstoryseries #horror #fiction