Episode 1: Blackout

Blackout. Written by Fanny Fleming. Read by Drew Grimm.

I woke up instantly. The air conditioner was off, the sound machine too. Nothing but silence and complete darkness. Shit, I thought. It's a blackout. Thank goodness my hearing aid runs on batteries. While light is welcome when I'm awake, becomes my mortal enemy during sleep. My heavy-lined drapes didn't let a sliver of it through.

I slowly reach for my hearing aid, set low for the morning. I'm quite impressed with how quickly I gather myself out of bed. When you're 97 years old, it's the little things that amuse you. It was so dark in my room that even glasses wouldn't have helped. I pulled back the heavy panel and parted the drape. Yep, it's a blackout.

In the shadows outside, only one light is visible, flashing in five second intervals from across the street. It's coming from Hannah's house. Two years ago, her parents tragically passed away in a boating accident. leaving the house to her. Hannah, a kind and lovely 19-year-old girl, was born deaf. She moved into the neighborhood 10 years ago, and we bonded instantly.

I had learned sign language at the local VA center years ago to pass time. We choked and laughed about my special ears. During the summers, I would help her set up a lemonade stand. or sell Girl Scout cookies. Even as Hannah grew older, our bond never faded. She delighted in showing me technology and teaching me how to use a phone. After Hannah lost her parents,

Our friendship even grew stronger. She had lost the people closest to her. And as someone in my 90s, I could relate on a level few could understand. When you live as long as I have. You end up losing everyone. The flashing lights came from a previously installed generator and hearing-impaired light system. Hannah was probably still asleep. and I make a mental note to beg for coffee if this drags on. Our small town of Roseport is about 50 miles from Alexandria.

It's the kind of small town where participation in church and local sports is both welcome and almost expected. Everyone looks out for one another here. This is the kind of place you could spend your whole life. I certainly did. Standing at the window, I watched the pulsing light from Anna's living room. The neighborhood was silent and dark, except for those five-second bursts of light.

My mind wandered to something dreadful. I smiled at my foolishness. I've been a fan of horror stories since before color TV. My mother, a teacher. let me read anything I wanted at the library, and nothing thrilled me more than reading Dracula or Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. Something was bothering me now.

I could hear an unfamiliar, disturbing scratching sound. It was like metal scraping over a chalkboard at a rapid and slower pace. I turned my hearing aid to full blast. The sound was distant, but I could still hear it buzzing in my hearing aids. The hair on the back of my neck was damp and stiff, without even summoning the thought. I was transported to 1935, my first official blackout. When I was ten years old, nothing was scarier than my own imagination.

I would listen to Master of Darkness on the radio with the living room light off. I loved imagining myself discovering mummies in Egypt or hunting vampires with Van Helsing. My dear sweet mother would let me stay up an hour late on Fridays. But that night, there would be no adventure for me. All the power in the neighborhood had gone out suddenly.

Just a little half hour past eight, if I recall. I was convinced a horde of creatures was coming for us all. My mother gave me a jar of minced garlic to keep at the ready. when i made it through the night with no signs of monsters i strolled downstairs for breakfast that morning however there was no breakfast for me or many in the neighbourhood

My babysitter, Sherry Como, had disappeared during the blackout. It was baffling. Sherry had been home with her family the entire time, and they were utterly confused. For her to leave unnoticed, she would have had to climb out of a three-story window in pitch black. The whole neighborhood spent the entire summer organizing search parties. At ten years old,

I told my mom I was sure it was Dracula, or the wolfman. She let me keep my jar of minced garlic that summer. Sherry was never found, dead or alive. and the mystery lingered in my mind and the entire neighborhood for years to come. I never learned much about the blackout in 35 or what might have happened to Sherry.

But one thing I overheard in late August stuck with me forever, while eavesdropping on my mother as she talked to a neighbor in our kitchen. Gus Walters, who lived next door to Sherry's house, had a strange story for anyone willing to listen. During the blackout, his German shepherd, Lady Bird, went what Gus described as completely bonkers, not like a dog excited for attention.

thrilled about food or even nervous about an approaching storm or lightning, but completely bonkers. He described how she was frantically pawing at her ears, jumping back and forth and howling at the top of her lungs. It was as if she was hearing something unbelievably terrible. He said it took everything he had to hold her down and calm her. Then Gus added this part.

when Lady Bird finally settled and stopped howling. For a second, just a couple seconds, Gus swore he heard the terrible sound that Lady Bird was hearing. It was like a rusted nail scraping metal. It was something he couldn't quite articulate. As I stood by the window, my thoughts snapped back to the present.

What was that noise? Could it be the trees? Or maybe the machine working on the down lines? I cracked the window slightly. Thankfully it wasn't stuck tonight. At my age, opening anything isn't always a given. The dreadful sound grew louder, and I couldn't be sure, but it almost seemed like it was coming from Anna's house. Probably just my imagination. Still, I decided to get dressed in the dark. I always keep a flashlight in my top drawer of my dresser, and I made my way slowly to the kitchen.

In the kitchen, I grab my favorite coffee mug, just in case Hannah happened to be awake. As I make my way to the doorway, ready to make my journey through the darkness to Hannah's house. My thoughts wandered slightly. I began to recall when Hannah's family moved in ten years ago. New families were always welcomed in Roseport, but this was especially significant for the neighborhood.

Hannah's family had moved into Sherry Como's old house. The Como family had left almost immediately after Sherry's disappearance, and their house had remained unsold for decades. When Hannah's family finally moved in, it felt like the entire neighborhood was getting a fresh start. That awful sound pulled me back to my front porch. Whether it's my imagination or not, I have to check on Hannah. The closer I get to her house, the louder that sound becomes. It's relentless now.

Like steel grinding on teeth, scraping on bone. I can't move as fast as I used to, but I'm still mobile, damn it. I hurry to Hannah's doorway with everything I have. My flashlight illuminates Hannah's doorbell, which is also light activated. Unfortunately for me, pounding on the door wouldn't do much good. Not that I can do much pounding these days anyway.

I peek through the tiny window on the door, and for the briefest moment, I think I see movement. And then suddenly the blinking lights in the living room go out, and a wave of dread washes over me. I stumble a bit while trying to peek again and end up dropping my flashlight. It's now out of reach, stuck in Hannah's rosebush. Dumb old fart, I think out loud.

Why did the lights go off so suddenly? Did Hannah turn them off? Is she awake? Holding my large coffee mug I navigate through the yard and make my way to the living room window. That awful sound is still vibrating in my skull. I turn my hearing aids down to low, but it doesn't help. What I saw. When I pressed my face to the glass froze me in terror. I finally understood what was making those awful sounds. Its eyes were yellow and unnaturally round.

Its body seemed to be made of shadow. It blended in and out of the darkness, and I couldn't make out any facial features, except for those dreadful yellow eyes. And it was smiling. Its teeth gleamed like metal, sharp and jagged like a shark's. Its movement was so unnatural. It wasn't walking, but drifting. Oh, Lord. It was heading towards the stairwell. It's going to Hannah's room. It stops at the stairwell briefly. It's staring at me. Oh God, it weeps.

Sobbing and screaming I pound on the window. I frantically search for something to throw through it. My imagination runs wild. I can't stop picturing what's happening to poor Hannah. Is that thing looming over her, eating her face? Is it twisting her body, crushing her like an accordion? I run to the neighbor's house, tearing through hedges and shrubs.

ripping my clothes and skin. Frantically, I banged on the door, nothing. Did they already leave because of the blackout? Oh lord, now my hand hurts.

I wasn't going to try another neighbor. I'm going home, and I'm grabbing Henry. Henry was my double-barrel shotgun. I hadn't used him in quite a while, but I always kept him clean and oiled. He was a dear friend of mine, and even in my 90s I made sure to take care of him. I grab Henry from my living room mantle. He's already loaded and ready. Every horror story in my mind comes rushing back. What was that terrible thing?

A vampire? A sea monster? Was it even ever human? Those eyes. That smile. Oh, God, poor Hannah. I reach Hannah's front door again. I aim for the doorknob and brace for hell. Henry kicks like a mule. The flash of light and blast knock me on my ass. But I didn't break anything. The door is open now. It worked. I rushed upstairs at a speed I didn't think I could manage anymore. I can't run in shooting. I might hit Hannah. I creep.

Into Hannah's room, shotgun ready. But my finger stays off the trigger. Nothing. Absolutely nothing, anywhere in the house. No monster, no Hannah. Nothing. Not even that awful sound anymore. Was I losing it? Did I imagine everything? A sudden wave of embarrassment hit me. How was I supposed to explain this to anyone? I would and could pay for Hannah's door. But how would people react to the crazy old man wielding a double-barreled shotgun?

As it turns out, I didn't have to explain it to anyone. To my complete shock the next morning, I discovered that no one in the neighborhood was home. even though their cars were still parked out front. I've decided to leave this story for anyone who might find it. It's my testimony. My name is Russell Owen, and something terrible has come for Roseport, my home. Time is running out. I'm the last one left. The power is still out.

The sun is setting, and I can hear the scraping again. I will go quietly, though. Henry and I will be ready.