Shadows in the Dark

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John Frances Johnson

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When the storm hit, she was attempting to dye her hair
Cover the grays that would certainly take up the majority of her head had she chose to let it go natural. 
But at sixty-eight, approaching the big seven zero, her life long vanity would not allow it. 
And so, as the portable radio blared, she began her bi-monthly ritual over the bathroom sink.
 She had just cut the tip off the dye bottle, when the lights went out. 
"Oh Jesus, no!"
 Holding the bottle in her left hand, she reached out into the dark with her right
Feeling for the ceramic counter beneath the mirror
Finding it, she carefully placed the bottle down and then turned to search for the doorway that would
By memory, lead her toward the phone next to her chair in the living room
A straight walk of about twenty feet.
As she made her way toward the door, she noticed the radio had cut to half volume. 
Yes, she had thought, with the electricity out, the batteries have kicked in.
But obviously the batteries need changing. 
Now where the hell do I keep the damn batteries? 
More importantly, where do I keep the candles
Well first, have got to see if the phone's out. 
She found the door without a hitch, then, through the darkness
Began to make her way toward the chair, when Maxwell - her four-year-old German shepherd 
Tripped her up. She fell to the floor and on her way down hit her head on the corner of the coffee table, knocking her unconscious
While she lay there in the dark, Maxwell, whimpering, licked her hand over and over, instinctively trying to revive her.
Meanwhile, the radio made several announcements. 
The first, about the severity of the nor'easter that had unpredictably hit the island
And the second, about the warning of an escapee who had just broken out of the high security mental institution not five miles from her home
"Secure all windows and lock all doors. This man is considered extremely unstable" 
Suddenly the phone began to ring. 
She opened her eyes slowly, and at first, did not know where she was. 
She saw black, could hear the wind whipping wildly across the porch outside, rain pelting hard against the window above. Her head was pounding.
"Oh, my head", she moaned again and again. She could feel Maxwell licking her hand, just as he would do while she watched television on any normal night
She could hear him crying. 
"Okay, boy. It's okay. I think I'm all right." 
She lifted her hand to examine her head and felt the wound, the warm blood and said, "Oh my, I'm hurt." 
Then slowly she rose to her feet and asked Maxwell, as if he could answer, "How long was I out, boy?" 
The phone continued to ring, endlessly. 
It finally registered to her that the phone was still working. 
Thank God, she thought, then staggered in the dark several more feet to the chair. 
She sat, felt for the wailing phone and picked it up.
"Hello?" 
"Grandma it's Robert." It was her grandson, calling from Manhattan. 
Out of her immediate family, he lived the closest to her, and that was twenty-five miles away. 
"Oh, Robert, isn't this storm terrible?"
"Yes, grandma but listen - have you been listening to the radio?"
"Yes, the one you bought me last Christmas. But I've lost my electricity again and I think the batteries need changing and I don't know where"
"Never mind the batteries, have you locked the doors?"
"I always do, Robert. You know that. Right before I go to bed."
"No, grandma! You must"
"Oh, did I tell you, Robert? In the dark, I tripped over Maxwell and took a spill. 
Nothing serious I should hope. But"
"Grandma, please listen! Right now I want you to"
"Yes? Robert? Hello?"
The line was dead.
Suddenly, a flash of lightning streaked the sky and shortly after, thunder began to rumble from afar. 
It was mid September, and as she stared aimlessly through the dark toward where she knew the television was, she counted on her hand how many Fall previews she would miss that night. 
She cursed. "Damn weather." 
Then brought her hand back up to her head, and felt the gash, contemplating on whether or not she should work her way back to the bathroom, to the medicine cabinet. 
Better not, she decided, might take another spill and never get up again. So there she sat, hoping before long that the lights would come back on. 
She noticed, apart from occasional thunder, that it had become quiet, as if something was missing
 "Maxwell, where is he? In the bedroom, I bet, under the bed." 
She called for him to come, could hear him scamper up the hallway, whimpering all the way. 
"Come here, boy." He sat on the floor next to her chair and began licking her hand. 
"The radio, Max. I can't hear the radio. Hmm, the batteries must have died. Well, now it's just you and me, boy
Together we'll wait out the storm."
Then, more lightning. But much closer now - the center of the storm quickly approaching from out of the northeast. And thunder, crashing loud, much louder than before
Too loud for Maxwell, who got up and ran off, deserting her in his wake - retreating, no doubt, back under the bed. 
With each flash of lightning, a millisecond of illumination cast eerie shadows on the walls, sending a shrill up her spine. 
Thunder rumbled the earth with such turbulence, she feared the house would come down. Now, she too was scared, feeling coldly alone. 
Suddenly, with the last blast of thunder, she heard Maxwell shriek, almost human like - a blood-curdling scream. 
"Max! What's the matter boy, you all right? No reason to be afraid, the storm will pass!" 
She began to cry, pleading for him to return to her. "Come here Maxwell, we'll comfort each other!"
She waited for the familiar sound of his footsteps pitter-pattering from up the hallway, but she heard nothing. Only the sound of thunder in the distance, way off to the south. 
"Oh, thank God, I think it's moving away. Soon the lights will come back on."
 Suddenly, she could feel Maxwell begin to lick her hand, which hung limp over the side of her chair. "Oh, Max, there you are. You can sense the storm has moved off - your not scared anymore now are you?" 
He continued quietly to gently lick her hand.
But she heard something, a familiar sound inside the house. And the further the storm moved out into the Atlantic, the more distinct the sound. Water. 
It was water, dripping from the ceiling, splashing onto the hardwood floor not far from her chair.
 "Oh, Max, the roof has a leak. I'll tell Robert. He'll take care of it for us." 
Suddenly the radio began to blare from the bathroom, and then the lights came back on. At first she became excited, but then quickly became hysterical when she looked up, eyes bulging out of her head. 
Maxwell was dangling by his leash from the ceiling fan. 
His throat had been slashed, his stomach cut open! It was his blood that had been dripping onto the hard wood floor. 
Screaming, she looked down to see what was licking her hand and saw the face of a madman on his knees, a sinister smile radiating from his face, Maxwell's blood on his lips! 
She screamed again and closed her eyes, wishing that somehow this would all go away. But when she did, she could feel his mouth begin to close around her hand, his teeth dig into her skin. 
She drew her hand back and tried vigorously to get up, but feeling faint, dropped to the floor. 
Keeping her eyes closed, she prayed aloud, "Oh, dear God, make him go away. Please! Make him go away!"
She could feel her hand, again, inside his mouth but this time not biting, but pulling
She dared to open her eyes, and there, to her astonishment, was Maxwell. He had dragged her some fifteen feet to the phone, and had successfully revived her. 
But while knocked unconscious, she had one hell of a nightmare

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