The revolution of a storm

As a young boy, Jonah found comfort in rain and storms. He had glow in the dark stars glued to his ceiling and his mom had painted clouds for them to peek out from. He remembered every moment he spent in that childhood bedroom, hours and hours just lying on the floor, staring up at them. Some of his favorite memories were days when he could just lie there and daydream, the ambience of the showers pouring outside padding his thoughts like a warm and cozy comforter.

He found that there was something poetic about the revolution of it all. The rain would fall and be collected by all the bodies of water. The bodies would then evaporate and rise to the sky, becoming big and thick clouds. Those clouds would keep collecting water until they were full to the brim and then, all at once, with vigor and excitement, at its climax, the downpour would be its release. Then, the whole experience would start all over again.

It has been raining pretty hard for a few days now. It felt like this storm had been building for weeks. Weeks of dry skies. Weeks of humidity growing and growing until the clouds couldn’t hold on any longer and finally, the rain could finally break through. It was therapeutic.

Jonah lies awake in his king size bed, years later, the pitter-patter of the rain like a metronome bobbing back and forth. His heart beat on tempo.

Badoom. Badoom. Badoom. Badoom.

He took deep breaths in and let his lungs slowly deflate, air passing steadily through his nostrils. He relishes moments like this. The calm. The silence. He didn't mind being alone. He had been alone basically all his life. He was happy though. He had his hobbies.

His eyes were closed as he lay in his bed, red and black circles went from big to small, playing like a movie on the backs of his eyelids. A flash of lightning lit up the room and interrupted the pictureshow playing in his head. The boom of thunder seconds later was accompanied by a chilly breeze pushing through the open window. He inhaled deeply, the smell of frozen earth and crisp ozone flooding into his lungs, followed by a long audible sigh.

An unfamiliar creek from the other room made him open his eyes. He stared up at his starless ceiling and then tilted his head to look at his open bedroom door. Nothing there.

Another creek.

He sits up and the sudden feeling of cold, damp air touches his skin. It causes goosebumps to flow all over his body. His bare feet touching the hardwood floor as he gets up sends a shiver down his spine.

A loud crack startles him as the overgrown cedar branches from the tree on the front yard billow against his windows repeatedly; the rain and wind getting stronger as the night continues to get darker.

Three knocks come from somewhere outside his bedroom.

Was that the front door? Jonah thought to himself as he turned his head towards the noise.

He got up from his bed and made his way through the empty hallway, nothing but the pitter patter of the rain and the loud whispers of the wind orchestrating his movement. His footsteps were quiet, innately catlike. He closed one eye and peered through the peephole with the other. Nothing but another empty hallway.

Maybe I'm hearing things. Jonah smirks, feeling utterly ridiculous. Then two more creeks and the sound of footsteps coming from the guest room.

Odd, very odd.

He glanced towards the dimly lit dining room. He noticed that something was missing from the table, or at least, he thought something was missing. He could have sworn that he had left an unfinished mug of tea there, a short and pointed stir stick leaning against the rim. The stick was gone.

Walking into the dining room, he opened the credenza and pulled out the knife he uses to cut the seal of his wine bottles, just in case. He gently closes the door to the credenza, careful not to make a sound.

Creeeeek.

This time he was sure he heard something. It's always the most quiet when you're sure you've heard something. An eerie ere billowed through the apartment. He was not alone.

He walked to the other room, his heart rate steady. He took his time opening the door, he did not want his presence be known. Yet. Standing in the doorway, he eyed each corner, leaving no part of the room unseen. This wasn’t too hard to do, seeing as how the room was completely empty.

He saw nothing out of the ordinary, until he looked towards the closet door. He was sure he closed that door. It was important that he closed that door. It was important that that door always be closed. Locked. But it was ajar. It was supposed to be locked. He clenched the knife, rotating the hilt in the palm of his hand.

“Hello?” he asked, his voice unwavering.

There was no answer.

“Anyone here that shouldn’t be?” His voice was monotone, emotionless.

Again, no answer.

He stepped towards the closet, intentionally letting his presence be known now. The room was so quiet that his steps echoed off the walls. The storm outside matched the ambience in the room, the thunder acting like a crescendo behind his footsteps.

Cool, calm, and collected, Jonah walks up to the closet door. There he stood, waiting to see if he heard any noise coming from within. He heard nothing, but he did find that stick, it looks like he must have dropped it right in front of the door. How clumsy of him. He moved it away from the door with his foot.

Opening the closet door, inch by inch, he gazed downwards and smiled. Everything is as it should be. Nothing was out of place.

He slowly closed and locked the closet door before leaving the room.

Soon the rain would stop, the sun would come out, and the whole process would start all. Over. Again.