The Stranger in the Lightning

The lightning strikes were close. I could tell because the thunder crashed instantly after each bright crack split the sky, the rumble resounding through my bones. 

I had always loved thunderstorms. The feeling of apprehension as the black storm clouds rolled in, slowly being overwhelmed by the looming darkness, the wind slowly picking up before gusting, turning a still afternoon into a sudden violent torrent. Then of course watching with anticipation for each bolt of lightning that would brighten a dark sky, turning a black night into daylight as your heart skips a beat.

Of course, thunderstorms are most enjoyed from the comfort and safety behind a pane of glass with a sturdy roof over your head.

This storm had been different from the start.

The first thing that set it apart was that there was no warning.

It wasn’t in the forecast, as I checked the weather network daily, and there had been no text message alert of the impending danger.

Because of this, I wasn’t prepared in the least. I was caught in the awkward position halfway between my apartment and the grocery store, having already made the mistake in my estimations on the weight of my purchases, the straps of the fabric bags cutting deep into my wrists.

My tank top clung to me, drenched in sweat that had navigated itself into every crack and cranny on my body, as I tried to keep from panting or gasping, as the air thick with humidity.

My earbuds played the latest true-crime podcast and I tried to lose myself in the details of the presenter’s story, but my mind was still deep in thought about the last customer. He had been a particularly misogynistic douchebag whose comments, which I could normally brush off, had stuck with me for whatever reason when the storm had rolled in.

My first warning was the sudden drop in pressure, that sudden sinking feeling that everything wasn’t okay, as goosebumps ran across my arms and shoulders like little sprinters fleeing for the hills.

Looking up to the suddenly darkening sky, which was quickly clouding over radiant blue sky and bright summer sun, as I stood transfixed, a child caught out in a situation that they were completely unprepared for.

Now I could hear the distant rumbling of the thunder over the soft tones of the podcaster’s voice whose story vanished from my mind just as quickly as this storm marched on.

The trees and branches began to come alive, swaying gently at first before an especially strong gust sent them billowing into the air, like fingers clawing towards the sky and nearly knocked me to the street.

I knew that I was stuck, still several blocks from my apartment, but I decided to make a break for it, fear nesting its way into my belly, fleeing from some unseen specter, like the moment you turn a light off in a darkened room and run towards the next light switch.

My legs carried me as quickly as they could, but the weight of my groceries seemed to double with every step that I took before one of the bags slipped from my wrist crashing to the sidewalk and spilling the contents of beans and canned tomato soup.

Leave it!

The thought was crystal clear, the flight response in full effect, but the rational side of my brain dissuaded it, I wasn’t going to leave perfectly good food on the sidewalk because of a little storm.

The calming breath I took to steady myself, did nothing of the sort as I bent and collected the strewn cans with shaking hands.

Then I heard it.

The indistinguishable sound of thousands of watery droplets descending from thousands of feet to pound against the ground. This wasn't a soft drizzle, this was a deluge.

I watched in dismay as the inevitable wave began approaching me from down the street, a slow march that with each second brought the assured flood that I was about to be inundated in.

I steeled myself, finally placing the last can back into the fabric bag, and turning away from the torrent setting my shoulders for the watery pounding that I was about to receive.

It hit me like a tsunami.

If I had been soaked with sweat before, I was thoroughly drenched in rain the moment it first descended upon me. It was as if I had been blasted by a firehose, the force of which knocked the wind out of me.

Another gust of wind blew now as I struggled forward, blinded by the blowing wind and rain and I realized that I wouldn’t make it home through this, so instead, I sought shelter.

Visibility reduced to feet around me, as the homes and buildings that I knew so well that lined the street disappeared into a grey swirl of blowing rain and billowing trees.

Pushing through the thick rain, I stumbled towards the nearest building, a three-story white stucco apartment complex, to seek shelter in the arched entryway. My journey lasted no more than a dozen paces but the storm fought against me with each stride, willing me away from any sort of respite.

Finally, I crashed into the entryway, quickly huddling in the narrow refuge offered by the overhanging pergola and glass doorway, which blocked at least some of the wind and rain.

My body had begun shaking uncontrollably, the numbness and cutting pain from my bags long forgotten as everything went numb. My teeth began to chatter like a machinegun, and the more I tried to clamp my jaw closed, the harder they rattled.

The first flash of lightning was distant and the crashing of the thunder moments after assured me of this, as I pressed myself into the corner of the entryway. However, with each succeeding snap, the time between lightning and thunder decreased, until they were nearly simultaneous.

I don’t know how long I stood in that alcove, shivering and rattling when I saw the figure, distantly walking down the middle of the street. The closer they approached, the more they looked as if they were out on a leisurely stroll, not minding the massive storm that pummeled around them.

My heart pounded in my ears, everything screamed at me to run. To sprint home, lock my doors, and hide under my bed, and not come out again until the sun was shining. But instead, I tried to make myself smaller, pushing vainly more and more into the corner of the entryway, the bumps of the stucco pressing into my cheeks.

As the figure drew nearer, I began to pound on the glass door of the building, pulling on the locked door handle as if I could miraculously develop the strength to rip it off the hinges. Finally, when I knew that they had to be near, I crumpled to the ground, drawing my knees to my chest and circling my arms around my legs, tears mixed down my cheeks with the rainwater.

It stood in the center of the street and had stopped parallel to me.

I do not know its gender, because I couldn’t meet its gaze, but I do know the sound of its steps, as they echo in my dreams and when I am truly alone.

It approached me slowly, lingering above me, as I tried to push my back through the hardened stucco wall, a mouse caught by the cat. I held my breath as if that would keep me hidden from its gaze.

“It is not a good night to be caught out in the storm, little one.”

The words were spoken with no accent and were as clear as if whispered into my mind.

I said nothing, because I could say nothing.

“No, not a good night at all. You are lucky that this night isn’t your storm.”

I remained silent as the moments stretched out, preparing for whatever came next from this stranger.

“Be careful in the future, because you never know which storm is yours.”

I didn’t hear their footfall as they left, and I sat huddled in the corner until the storm passed and a kindly old lady hit me with the glass door of the apartment as she was coming out to search for her cat who had gotten out during the storm.

Brought back to reality, I scrambled home the fastest that I had ever covered those blocks.

The next day the news was full of stories from the storm, but the one that stood out to me was the disappearance of a girl my age, who still hasn’t been found.

To this day, when I hear a storm coming, I make sure that I am safely away and will never be caught out in a storm again.