I Love Lamp

Thunderstorms. What an interesting phenomenon. Howling winds, incessant rains, and particles splitting the air with the force of three hundred million volts. Such ferocity, yet here in the safety of her home, Sarah found the raging squall cathartic. 

Plugging in her electric car, Sarah considered how minuscule its power was compared to the flash of lightning outside the garage door windows. The vehicle was a gift to herself; the final purchase from the paid-out life insurance policy on her late husband, Daniel. He would approve, of course, for he was a car guy, and had made it clear the insurance money was for more than simply paying debts. After the funeral, the estate paperwork, and months of mourning, Sarah decided to keep living and buy herself something nice. That worn out Corolla was just another reminder of him anyway.

The metal clank of her empty Yeti mug on the granite countertops signaled the arrival of Echo, an excitable German Shepherd whose tail wagged in an almost circular pattern. Sarah greeted him, her angel puppy, who had mourned alongside her and lifted her spirits when life became simply unbearable. Receiving this affection, Echo quickly made his way to the back door and sat expectantly, unaware of the torrent which awaited him. Sarah released him to his business and went about stashing her work bag and changing into comfortable evening clothes.

It did not take long for the soaking wet Echo to return, hoping he could avoid the used towel which sat in the arms of his master. To the pup, it seemed like an eternity, but a mere half minute passed before he was relieved of his shaggy, damp hair and released back into the comforts of their home. Sarah sat down at the television and illuminated the table lamp next to the couch. It was a gaudy, old-fashioned piece you would expect to see in the estate sale of a deceased oil magnate. The Victorian-style, ruby red body was decorated in an intricate pattern of fool's gold, with a bronze lampshade hiding the incandescent bulb from view. The design was peculiar and out of place in her contemporary home, but Daniel had picked it out at a local pawn shop while quoting some stupid Anchorman reference, and the memory was too charming to be rid of the piece.

Sarah turned on the television, hoping to relax after a long workday. However, almost as quickly as the screen came to life, it was darkened by a flash of lightning and the immediate roar of thunder. Echo yelped as he slinked away to his crate, hoping to escape the big, scary dog he was certain had arrived. The entire house had gone dark. Sarah clicked the button on the remote a few times, then stepped into the laundry room to grab the spare candles she kept around. Fumbling around in the junk drawer she came upon the lighter and set about illuminating the main rooms with a soft, orange glow.

As she turned the corner into the living room, she stopped. The table lamp was on. A quick peek at the oven clock showed the power was still out, and a few more clicks of the remote confirmed as such. Confused, Sarah walked over to the plugged-in lamp searching for an internal battery to explain its peculiar behavior and found nothing. Perplexing was one word for it; freaky was another. Sarah went to unplug the lamp, wondering if something wonky had happened when they wired up the house. As her hand touched the socket, the lamp began to flicker rapidly. Sarah quickly pulled her hand away, startled. The lamp returned to its steady state, and Sarah wondered if she had fallen asleep on the couch and into this strange dream. One quick pinch and a failed attempt at superhero flight confirmed she was awake. Sarah reached to the plug again, resulting in more frenzied flickering from the lamp. 

Sarah's eyes widened; her heart thumped inside of her chest. She hurried to the bedroom and rummaged through an old drawer, pulling out a string of beads with a silver cross attached. She hoped to be forgiven her years of agnosticism in the presence of this demon-possessed décor. Standing several feet away, she held the cross in front of her and prayed as best as she could remember. 

"Our Father, who art in heaven...thy will be done...give us this day our daily bread, and deliver us from evil, yes, deliver us from this evil..."

At once, the light ceased. The hair on the back of her neck rose. Whatever had possessed the lamp seemed to be gone, but where was it now? Her terror turned to curiosity as the lamp began to flicker again. But this wasn't the unhinged flashing from before; there was a pattern. Sarah watched for a minute or so as the light twinkled on and off, almost randomly. She could not place it, but there seemed to be a purpose to its illumination. 

Then, her curiosity piqued, she asked, "Are you trying to tell me something?"

The lamp responded with several varying flickers.

A cold sweat began to form as goose bumps enveloped her body. "W-What are you trying to say?"

More random flickers.

Sarah's breathing turned shallow. What manner of witchcraft was this? Surely the lightning must have done something to the electrics. But to this lamp and nothing else? That seemed impossible. 

As Sarah's mind began its slow descent back into fear, the lamp flickered in a familiar pattern. Three short flashes, followed by three long flashes, and three short flashes once more.

"Holy shit!" she exclaimed. She recognized the phrase 'S.O.S.', as she and Daniel had watched many survival adventure shows together. "You are speaking to me in Morse Code!"

The lamp flickered in a pattern which ended in three short bursts. Sarah knew that meant "S", meaning the lamp had responded with yes. "Oh my God!" she exclaimed, dropping the beads, and grasping her head with her hands. "You can understand me!"

The lamp flickered in the same pattern as before.

Sarah could not believe it. She was talking to a lamp! Excitement replaced her fear as she pulled out her phone and searched for a guide to Morse Code. She ran to the kitchen and pulled a notepad and a pencil from the junk drawer. "What do you want to tell me?" she asked as she sat on the edge of the couch nearest the lamp.

It flickered, "Hello, Sarah."

She scribbled the letters onto her notepad as she compared the flickers to her online guide. "How do you know me?" she asked.

"I live here."

More scribbles. "Are you a spirit?"

"In a way," the lamp responded.

Sarah realized that this form of communication was long and arduous; her questions would need to lend themselves to short answers. "Do you have a name?"

"Yes."

"What is your name?"

"Daniel."

Sarah held her hand to her lips, tears forming as her face became warm. "My Daniel?"

"Yes."

She could not hold back. Tears flowed like the rains upon their roof. Echo emerged from his crate to comfort his sobbing master, his kisses attempting to soothe the inconsolable pain of loss. A joyous disbelief mingled with the sorrow of her lament.

"I miss you so much," she choked through her weeping.

"I miss you," he said.

Tears stained the notepad as she wrote, afraid to miss even a single letter of this blessing. Page after page they talked, she with the spoken word, and him through the deliberate twinkling of light. With each patterned glow Sarah felt her soul emerge from a darkness she had not even recognized. Daniel was reaching out from beyond to bring light back into her world.

Hours passed and the storm rolled on, though its effects remained. The television hung darkened, and the oven clock sat mute. Time was an illusion. 

"I must tell you," the lamp flickered.

"What is it, sweetie?" Sarah asked.

"We have little time. I leave soon."

Her heart sank and her face became downcast. "Why? Why must you go?"

"I do not want to. My time is short."

Sarah began to cry once more. "No, please. I can't lose you again."

The lamp began to glow with a soft radiance. It did not blink like before; it was steady and soothing, as if Daniel was trying to comfort her.

"Sarah," he said.

"Yes?" she asked, choking on her tears.

"I love lamp."

She chuckled. Even in the afterlife he still had his goofy sense of humor.

"But I love you the most."

As the final letter was penned in her notepad, the television illuminated, and the beeping of kitchen appliances signaled the awaited return of electricity. She turned to the lamp, that beautiful, precious lamp, its radiance steady and true. Sarah sobbed as she read through her notes, wondering if this would be their last conversation in this life.

As the bronze shade gave off its tinted glow, Sarah felt a warmth emerge from her belly and into her soul. She smiled and extinguished the now unnecessary candles. Sitting down on the couch again, she called to Echo. She sat there petting his soft fur, her face wet with tears, awaiting life’s next storm. Hopefully, it would come soon.