Welcome back to the daily prompts. The fifth and last for the week. Back on Monday.
No off-switch for the light
Miranda held the single Yale key in the palm of her hand. Tomorrow she would have two more cut, give a spare to her mother, keep one hidden inside the flat.
The flat. Her flat. Excitement bubbled through her. The mortgage was massive, and the payments left little over for things like, well, food. But she started her new job with its salary increase in two months’ time and she could eat then. She giggled. It wouldn’t hurt to lose a few kilos.
Slowly, ceremonially, Miranda inserted the key in the lock, twisted it. The click was a trumpeting of triumph. She pushed, and the door fell silently open.
She stood, peering into a solid darkness which allowed no gleam of street light to enter. The previous owner must have left the curtains. Good, it would save Miranda having to cover up with newspaper and masking tape until she could afford new ones. Wooden venetians was what she had in mind, to fit the early 20th century architecture. A long way off. There was painting to be done first, and new rugs on the old, wide boards.
Savouring the moment, Miranda stepped into the short hallway, fumbled for a light switch and flicked it on. She blinked at the dazzle, squinted up at the unshaded bulb which blazed out white light as if it was in a brightness competition. That would have to be changed immediately, and a shade bought, a cheap temporary one.
She moved towards the open door of the kitchen, diner and living room. No need to find a light switch here. The overhead light glared into every corner, dispensing with shadows like a cat disposed of mice. Miranda frowned, moved back to the hall and frowned again. Where before blackness reigned, now light poured through the two remaining doorways – the bathroom and her bedroom.
As well as key cutting, Miranda would buy new light bulbs tomorrow. Perhaps the former owner suffered poor eyesight. It made sense. Miranda had not met her, but the agent said she was very elderly, had lived in the flat for decades and was moving in with her daughter. The agent had lowered his voice when he added the woman had also gone a little, well, odd, over recent times. Had found Jesus, and was very fervent about the whole thing.
Miranda inspected each room. The kitchen fittings were old, but made of solid oak. The wooden floors appeared to be original, with darker patches where rugs had covered them. The bathroom was pink all over, looking like candy floss in the bright light. Everything was clean. A spot of dust or dirt would have stood out under the circumstances.
Good. Miranda could leave her brooms and cleaning sprays in the car tonight. The flat was ready for the removal men to unload her few bits of furniture and boxes in the morning, and she would spend her allowed moving day unpacking.
Satisfied, Miranda went to turn off the lights, starting with her bedroom. Her hand stayed itself mid-air. There was no switch. She peered around the bare walls. Nothing. Her brow knitted. She moved on to the bathroom. No switch. Same in the open plan area.
Which took her back to the hall. All the lights must be controlled from that one switch. Weird, and annoying. Until she could pay an electrician to sort it, she would have to buy lamps. Even with softer bulbs, having every light on constantly would be expensive.
The things you don’t discover until you move in. Her fingers found the switch by the door. She flicked it, ready to welcome the darkness. Nothing. The flat remained lit up like a Christmas tree. Miranda stamped her foot. If this was a joke, it wasn’t funny. She couldn’t leave the lights on all night.
The consumer unit. She could turn it all off from there.
The consumer unit had no switch marked lights. It did, however, contain a folded note. Miranda opened it and had no trouble reading it despite the spidery handwriting which ran in ragged lines over the page like an injured bird.
Dear new owner,
‘Light is come into the world, and men love darkness rather than light, because their deeds are evil.’
Not here.
Be good. Jesus saves.
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Where was the off-switch? Liam couldn’t find it despite groping with his fingers, all the while being blinded by what seemed like a strong halogen beam.
He tightly squeezed his eyes shut, blotting out the images dancing in his brain. Surely this wasn’t normal – nobody had such strong lights for a hallway, let alone a lounge room.
A voice boomed, seeming to come from somewhere above the ceiling.
“ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK,” reverberating throughout the house. “INTERLOPERS ARE DOOMED.”
“What on earth was going on?” queried Liam silently. “Who or what was this?”
“I am the ghost of the bright light. Turn me off at your peril,” it continued.
A practical joke, surely, thought Liam – one of his mates playing havoc because Halloween is around the corner.
He tried to open his eyes and focus but the light only became stronger.
“Cut it out,” he cried. “Whoever is doing this – it’s not funny.”
Suddenly a loud whooshing sound almost flattened him as a giant bird flapped his uncapped head.
“Geez. What was that!!”
The bird – a giant eagle – swooped for another attack. Liam spotted a loud hailer strung around its neck.
Definitely, a lousy practical joke for Halloween – and he bolted for the front door.
A black ghoulish faced figure blocked his path – large knife gleaming in the strong light.
“Told you, you were doomed,” it cackled, raising the blade high.
Liam violently shoved the figure and fled into the welcome darkness of the night.
Grim! I would have left out the last sentence – leave it to the reader’s imagination, even grimmer!
Will she become a convert or run out of money trying to pay the electricity bills (chuckle)??
Ha! Turn it all off, I guess!