WHEN THE LIGHTS TURN OFF

My name is Tom, I live in a pretty safe town where most of the neighborhoods are constituted by people of different colors and races, hobbies, shapes, sizes but it seems like everyone likes each other. At least in my circle of friends and in my family meetings, there’s no unnecessary gossip, we don’t have anything bad to say about our acquaintances, but they do have many good things to say about us. My mom and dad have the tradition to host a Christmas celebration at our house every year. After the morning cult in the church, everyone knows what to do: brush the turkey with butter, leave that bottle of old wine half unscrewed so as not to be embarrassed when trying to open it and of course, the candies. Who doesn’t love biscuits covered by sugar that looks like snow or chocolate and those sweet straws?

I was listening to the sermon with an ear in my friend's conversation. They were nearly entirely in the backseats, far from their parents, planning the combinations they would do when the food table was in front of them, discussing gifts from video games to travels that were likely for them to receive.

During the few times I reflected on the fact that the end of high school was getting closer, my stomach dropped; I had to enjoy whatever appeared no matter what. So, when the ritualistic festivities came to an end, to reach my friends I passed by tens of usual frequenters but also non-frequenters who could be visiting mainly for the proximity of the church with an interstate road, nothing strange. I took the freedom to invite all of my classmates to go to my home at that exact moment, because following my logic the more hours we had to share our stories and work, the more we would be wishing for each others’ company at the university. My parents obviously didn’t oppose that, they would never offend my friends, we just needed to walk.

And we walked, laughing and pointing at every Christmas tree and decorations that multi-colored the sidewalks. The street where my house is situated fits cars parked on both sides and yet allows other vehicles to drive without any complications, the backyards shelter gardens, mini playgrounds, pools, house trees… I was always taught to feel grateful for what I have and share with others. My group and I went to craft some improvised balls before the pool, then helped my mom with some food and objects wrapping at our barbecue spot next to the garden. They say time runs faster when we do something fun, and that proved to be correct.

Our guests were punctual, more and more faces crossed the door to greet their hosts and join the food with the banquet that waited for them. With them came the boys and girls from varied ages. Their subjects of interest were too diverse to match, and with couches and the tv blocked there was not too much resting to be done, but there was a way of liking people without knowing them: playing games. Everyone who was younger than 19 left the spacious living room dominated by adults and went downstairs to the basement.

- Do you have time to play with all of it?

That was the question of a little boy enchanted by the toys I kept on a high shelf. I gave as an answer the kind of polite smile one gives when they don’t know much about what to say. It touched me too, I couldn’t deny that while running my eyes over the playstation 4 gathering dust in a corner, or the boards of game of life and monopoly sustaining a lampshade. For the next three or four hours we separated ourselves in teams and used every source of joy our glance was able to catch.

I was acting like an owner, going from one side to another, giving my friends the attention they deserved on the pool table in the center, and then going to watch the kids pretend they were barmen and clients in the mini bar they had at the edge of the room. My senses were totally blurred, I didn’t hear my belly roar until my mom screamed at the top of her lungs: “Tom, dinner is ready!”.

We got back from the kitchen with plates that imitated real mountains, the steps of the stairs became infested with chickpeas, raisins and rice. When I was full I still managed to find a place for dessert, which forced me to go upstairs again.

I was crossing the dinner room to go to the kitchen when I saw my uncle Jack sitting on a poofy and surrounded by other relatives of mine. He was laughing so shrilly that I thought there was no better time to talk to him. So I approached his shoulder and as he looked at me, I understood what was the funny thing there.

A man dressed in what resembled Santa clothes, but was more modest and without frills. He had a consistent beard, clear skin, widened eyes and a beer belly.

- What a beautiful boy we have here - those hairy fingers touched my cheeks, his voice got softer as if I was a kid.

- Who are you? - I had forgotten about my uncle.

- Bob, your new friend. - he extended his hand - I’m a new resident of St. James, I’m loving to know more people.

- Who invited…

- Your uncle was saying how good you are at school.

That same irritating voice got back, as if I was a child, and my uncle corroborated. I accepted all of that, but not for much time. I was determined to ask my father about who that man was, and headed my way through our books room, corridors and I was about to call him to talk at the bottom of the second floor stairs when a noise erupted behind me: broken glass spread throughout all the ground. The jug had fallen from the column between the hallway and the dining room.

Even though I wasted my strength to tell I didn’t do anything, he didn’t believe me and just screwed me to be more careful. But anyway, everything occurred ok after that, I didn’t see that guy at all, nor my cousins or other uncles he couldn’t conquer.

After saying goodbye to a whole crowd, all of us went up and we fell asleep in our beds pretty quickly. Just the results of the food. But strangely, I got up fast, my body was terribly tired and I didn’t have any idea of what could’ve woken me. I put my arm out from the blanket and let it rest next to the floor. A tongue licked my hand, rough, slow. My dog was under my bed.

I entered a second stage of sleep. It was relaxing, recovering, but it faded into a nightmare: my dog dying when hit by a pickup truck and bleeding to death. I woke up with a dry mouth and heavy breath. It took a few seconds for me to process that all, but in the end it was just a dream… Or no… My dog died one month ago… So what licked me?

My heart sank when that question echoed in my head, but couldn’t decide if I wanted to know the answer. A million thoughts rushed in my mind; “Whatever it is, it can catch me when I leave my bed”, “If I stay it’ll definitely catch me”, “If I run it’ll chase me”, “What if I was just dreaming?“. I felt so much sweat run down my head that it was able to fill a pool, but as a man, I had to do something, and the possibility of being just a dream was recomforting, I clung to her.

I took my cell phone and turned on the flashlight, it would be the dumbest thing I would ever do, but the bravest too. I sang the chorus of a few hymns in my brain, a background for my shaken arms. They raised the sheet of the bed very slowly, my torso flexed, almost falling forward. I was ready to fall, jump, scream, or all at once when… Nothing looked back at me. The best sight to ever meet my eyes.

With the flashlight still on, I kinda felt safer to go to use the bathroom. I was really pale and fearful. It was so real that I held myself to not cry, and it worked, but all that adrenaline would probably spend the night with me. I reached the door of my bedroom, scanned everything before getting in and my gaze got locked in my wardrobe. I hadn’t opened the door, not even a single bit. Now, it seemed to have a gap enough for an eye to check through.

Stop this madness, I yelled silently. It didn’t work, I had turned into a statue but inside me, a whirlwind of thoughts attacked me. Movie monsters, creepypastas I read in recent years and him: the Santa guy. Bob could be there, just waiting for me to fall asleep again, but how do you sleep knowing there may be an intruder in your property? This time I had the advantage, I had to run for my parents.

So I ran, each leg in front of the other, a thunderous banging sound. But I heard my feet weren’t alone, and may I be forgiven for having looked back: right behind me was Bob, a maniac grinding his teeth and rushing towards me like a marathon runner.

I turned the key and instantly felt the doorknob twisting together with a beat. It saved me from waking up my parents, but their scare was even worse, I guess.

- I’ll call the police, just don’t let him in - my dad spoke hysterically pretending to be in control after he was aware of the situation.

We had a pretty long visual contact. I knew besides the shock, he thought how I was dumb not to have told him, I missed a basic instinct of survival. I was a little ashamed, but my eyes had to turn away from him. I was almost having a deja vu, the same scenery, the same vision: the wardrobe at my dad’s back was ajar, and I could definitely see movement.

- Dad…

- Shh, hm, yes, 546…

- Dad, the wardrobe.

One second of silence and then the most disturbing scream ever came from my mom. When a man jumped out of his hiding place, she ran and grabbed me to get protection at the corner of the bed.

The intruder and my dad started a hand-to-hand combat, a punch for each one. The knocks on the door were more aggressive, my mom was crumbling in tears.

- Jay, get in! - the man in the bedroom asked.

“Bob” was decreasing his intensity, the fight was more furious, but there was not a declared winner. I used a last impulse of energy to kick the intruder and my dad came over him, suffocating the man while I punched him more on the head. He was immobilized and outside, the wildness stopped.

We heard a muffled noise of boots walking quickly. The defeated man even tried to mumble something at this time, but only spat blood.

Two minutes later, sirens sounded loudly and police arrived. They searched all millimeters possible, from basement to attic, but no one was there or any object was stolen. The suspect was sent to the hospital just for a few stitches in his wounds and he said everything he knew about Jay to the cops, but it seemed to be not helpful, so the case was archived and we just worried about installing security cameras around the house.

To this day, this incident still haunts me. If I hadn’t put my hand out, if I hadn’t ran when I felt something was odd, if I hadn’t helped my father. So many things could’ve happened, but I thank God he blessed us that night, because I could be dead by this time, and so could be my family.