The Lunar Eclipse

The Lunar Eclipse

I opened my eyes to the moon in the distance. Dimly aware of standing up, I took in the world around me. Sharply aware of apparent memory loss, I wracked my brain. How did I get here?

It appeared to be nighttime and that wasn’t the moon after all. It was a lamp post. A beautiful, English village-style lamp post. There were many of them to cut sharp edges through the darkness of this pristine, suburban neighborhood. Everything here looked perfect. Too perfect. I actually had to look around for a few moments, to make sure there wasn’t a cameraman hidden somewhere. It damn near looked like the set of Leave it to Beaver. In a symmetrical design, there were perfectly trimmed hedges, fresh, green lawns, and swathes of houses that were simply different enough from each other to be charming. The strange thing was -- you haven’t seen strange yet -- it seemed abandoned. Now, I have no idea what time of night I happened upon this place. There were no vehicles in sight, no signs of life anywhere, save for a cricket or two, and whatever foliage. Maybe that’s why my initial assessment was that it was a movie set. It didn’t seem solid.

I suddenly missed my parents. They were the two people who had been there for me through every breakdown in my miserable, sickly life. They hated seeing any kind of mental illness permeating their little girl’s, usually sunny, disposition. I knew I’d been a tremendous burden to them, and thanks to those rotten chemicals in my brain, that is the only way I ever thought of myself. Right now, though…Right now, I’d give anything to be their burden. If I could just have the chance to escape from this situation of the unknown, I would be a better daughter. I wouldn’t let the darkness consume me. Accept your fate.

Funny, looking at all of the lamp posts and noticing all of the different angles of light that were created. The neighborhood a blank canvas, the shadows depicted a modern-art masterpiece Picasso would envy. Deciding that I was in no immediate threat, I walked forward on the clean sidewalk. A child’s red kickball lay on the path to visit my “moon.” Walking toward the light, I felt a sudden urge to kick the ball. With a powerful surge, I backed up, ran forward, and launched, and…nothing.

My heart started to pound; my mind was racing. I made contact with the ball. I felt it. It simply vanished. It vanished once it touched the light. As I stood gazing at this wall of light before me, I wondered where the ball actually went. I wasn’t about to try anything out on myself. Backing up further into the shadows, I let my eyes adjust to the darkness. In someone’s yard, a baseball bat caught my eye. I crept through the darkness, borrowed the prize, and made it back to the light. Curling my hand around the very end of the bat, I held it straight in front of me and slowly moved it into the bright. Startled, I dropped what was left of the bat. The clean end that still remained was in embers and covered in char. Holy shit.

After I calmed down, from what must have been the mother of all panic attacks, I was consumed by the sensation of being drained. What happens when the sun comes up? I decided the only way I would get some answers would be to talk to the inhabitants of this bizarre suburbia. I would wait until morning but play it safe by taking refuge under the lazy branches of a massive evergreen, serving as the neighborhood’s center. I didn’t have a phone though. I didn’t have a watch, no way to know the time. Mentally noting the position of the North Star, I hunkered down until sleep found me, hours later.  

I felt rested when I opened my eyes again. I needed food, and a quick whore’s bath, at least, to get the dried drool off my face. I glanced over at the street, and to my surprise, the sun wasn’t up yet. Disoriented, I looked up at the stars and the North Star was in exactly the same place as it was prior to my nap! How is this possible?  I needed to think.

So, the people that live here are either dead, or they’re too afraid to come out of their homes. Or, maybe no one has ever lived here, and this is staged. Growing more suspicious of this scenario with every passing moment, I readied myself. Then, as quietly as I could, as terrified as I could, I slinked through the shadows until I was in between two houses, and well concealed. I spotted something in my peripheral vision. I turned to see small pinpoints of light emanating from the center of the block. Flashlights!

The flashlights swept through the darkness, cutting through with laser precision. I heard a small clatter, almost like a door closing, and a child shrieking, “No! Millie!” A streak of orange raced past me so fast, I didn’t have time to grab it. Looking over at the house it came from, I wondered who in their right mind would have a pet door installed, let alone live in this place. I ducked further into the shadows as one of the “flashlight people” passed by with his search beam. Search and destroy, more like it. Quickly, I realized that it wasn’t a flashlight at all, but some kind of high-tech generator. What was it even plugged into? The “flashlight” itself was huge, the lens being the size of one of those rainfall showerheads.

In that moment, I felt a sense of gratefulness wash over me. Gratefulness for the conifer that had sheltered me through hours of uncertainty and a dream-free nap. Gratefulness for moving between the houses. All of the cords for the beams were plugged into the tree! This way, the group was able to radiate out into the neighborhood. What were they searching for? They couldn’t have been looking for me. A deep, loud voice made me jump in the darkness. “We got a live one!” All of them converged their beams in front of the speaker. I watched, helplessly, as an orange tabby was cut in half. There was a sickening sizzle emanating from both halves of the poor feline. In the distance, the muffled sound of a child sobbing.

Being in a position to watch this horror unfold, certain things became more prominent: Each member of the kitty-killing group was wearing, what appeared to be, protective suits. They had no regard for life. Why they were terrorizing the people who lived here was far beyond my comprehension. I did know this: I had no idea what I was doing there, how I got there, or how to get out. The latter was a necessity and saving the people, equally so. As my legs started cramping from remaining tense and still, while in a crouched position, my balance faltered. I not only fell but landed atop the worst thing possible at that moment in time--a squeaky toy.

I could almost hear the sound of the group’s heads turning sharply, simultaneously in my direction. Like soldiers. That one, unison movement synchronized with the heartbeat I tried to keep quiet. I did the only thing I could think to do, as the unknown enemy walked my way. I ran. I jumped on eaves of houses, I ducked, I rolled. Each direction I went, to fake out this small army of light, managed to bring them closer. Finally, out of shadow, I found myself cornered. Back at the original lamp post, my moon, I came to an abrupt halt at the angle of light projecting outward from it. The group was behind me. What would happen if my whole body went into the light at once? Would I burn?” I’d rather that. It would be a quick death, and who knows what these people would do to me? Also, there was a chance that I could get out of this place simply by doing something this brazen. This was not your average neighborhood.

I took a deep breath, and heard a familiar, anguished voice say, “Please! Don’t do it! We’re trying to help you!” It’s never going to get better. It was too late. I jumped into the lamp’s brilliance all at once, bedazzled by its light, only to find myself in a plain, stainless-steel room. The only thing in this room was a switch. It looked like the main power switch for something. The only indicators were a sign at the top reading, “On,” and its counterpart on the bottom reading, “Off.” I was going to shut that whole mess down, so no one could be hurt there ever again. I needed to save the others, however many that may be. I heard the voices from the group of people ever-so-faintly from my metallic chamber. “…did everything we could…” “…we almost had her…” I walked to the switch, pulled it into the “Off” position, and heard everything stop, heard the world around me become the darkness, become nothing.

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“Mr. and Mrs. Luness, I know the decision has been a tough one. No one should have to decide the fate of their child. Last night, she suffered from what we can only deem ‘terminal lucidity’ where a terminally ill patient will suddenly seem coherent, lucid, almost as though nothing was wrong at all. These bursts of sudden life never last long, however. When the nurses were alerted, they ran in only to find that the door had been locked and barred, and the lights shut off. It appeared that she got up and unplugged the ventilator herself. We tried to get her back, but she was already gone. It was a tragic accident, you see. Our deepest condolences to you both.”

Mrs. Luness collapsed on the floor, in tears, grieving for her lost daughter, hating herself for the part of her that felt relieved. Mr. Luness stood there, glassy-eyed, an instant shell of a man. Out of his own head, he walked up to his daughter, remembering how she used to smile, kissed her forehead, and tucked an old childhood toy, her orange kitty, under the frail arms that would never cling to him again.