When the Lights Come On: Beyond the Door
Solomon
The apartment felt different now, emptier somehow, like it was waiting for something. Mia wandered the rooms, clutching Solomon close, his button eyes her only constant in a world that had changed in ways she didn’t understand. Outside, the city was quiet, the streets filled with shadows and flickering lights, as though the world itself was holding its breath.
She hadn’t seen her mother or sister in days, not since the last time they’d gone to church together. The pastor had said that only the faithful would be saved, but she’d thought that meant everyone she loved would stay with her, no matter what. Now, as the silence grew heavier, she wasn’t so sure.
“Why did they leave me?” she asked, her voice soft, barely more than a breath. “Wasn’t I good enough?”
Solomon’s voice drifted into her mind, calm and low, like the echo of a thought she hadn’t quite grasped. “Perhaps… or perhaps you’re meant to stay.”
She hugged him tighter, the roughness of his fur a familiar comfort, even as his words filled her with questions she couldn’t answer. Was it true? Was she meant to be left behind? The thought lingered, dark and unsettling, like a shadow she couldn’t shake.
“What does that mean?” she whispered, her voice trembling.
“Sometimes, the ones left behind are meant to see things others cannot,” Solomon replied, his voice slipping through her thoughts like a secret. “Sometimes, they’re the only ones who can understand.”
Mia didn’t fully understand what he meant, but his words settled over her, filling her with a sense of both comfort and fear. She looked at him, his button eyes watching her, unblinking, his face calm, as though he knew something she didn’t.
The days passed in a strange blur, each one blending into the next, marked by the growing silence around her. The neighbors’ doors were open, their rooms empty, as if they’d all simply vanished. Outside, the streets were filled with abandoned cars, their doors ajar, lights flickering, casting long shadows across the pavement.
Mia stayed inside, clutching Solomon, her small world shrinking with each passing day. She didn’t dare step outside, not with the shouts and strange voices that drifted up from the streets, voices that didn’t sound like anyone she knew.
“Why am I still here?” she asked one night, her voice small, barely a murmur. “What if I’m not meant to be?”
Solomon was silent for a long time, his button eyes dark and still. Then, his voice slid into her mind, soft and steady, as though guiding her through her own questions. “Sometimes, faith isn’t about being chosen. Sometimes, it’s about finding your own way.”
The words hung in the air, filling her with a strange, hollow feeling, like she was carrying something she couldn’t quite name. She looked at him, her fingers brushing over his worn fur, feeling the weight of his presence, familiar yet unsettling.
“But… I don’t want to be alone,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
“You’re never alone,” he replied, his voice gentle, almost soothing. “Not truly. Sometimes, it’s just you and the silence.”
The answer made her feel both comforted and sad, filling her with a sense of something she couldn’t quite place. She looked down at him, his face calm, his button eyes reflecting her own uncertainty.
One night, Mia was woken by a loud, insistent knock. Her heart raced as she scrambled out of bed, clutching Solomon close. She moved toward the door, her pulse quickening, a small flicker of hope in her chest.
But as she reached for the doorknob, something made her stop. The knock was louder now, each beat hollow and relentless, filling the room with a strange, heavy weight. She pressed her ear to the door, straining to hear, but all she could make out was a faint voice, soft and pleading.
“Please… let me in…”
The voice was weak and trembling—a woman, breathless and desperate. “Please… my baby… I don’t know where else to go.”
Mia’s hand hovered over the doorknob, her fingers trembling. She looked down at Solomon, his button eyes reflecting the flicker of uncertainty in her own.
“Do you think… do you think she really needs help?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
“Some doors,” he murmured, his voice low, almost coaxing, “are better left shut.”
Mia’s fingers gripped the knob, feeling its coldness seep into her skin. The woman’s voice came again, softer this time, breaking with the weight of a sob. “Please… my baby… if there’s anyone, please.”
Mia’s heart clenched, her thoughts spiraling. “But… what if she’s scared? Like me?”
“Fear has many faces,” Solomon replied, his tone even, yet unsettling. “Fear can make even shadows sound like salvation.”
Mia’s mind spun with questions, with the thought of what her mother would do, what she had been taught about kindness and faith. She took a deep breath, and then, against Solomon’s urging, she made her choice.
“No… I have to help,” she whispered, almost to herself.
Before Solomon could respond, she turned the knob and pulled the door open.
The hallway stretched before her, silent and empty, every shadow deepened by the faint, flickering lights above. She glanced from side to side, half expecting the woman to be standing there, clutching a child, looking for refuge. But there was nothing. Only silence.
“Hello?” she called out, her voice echoing down the empty corridor. “Is… is anyone there?”
No answer. Not even a whisper.
She took a step into the hallway, clutching Solomon, who now seemed heavier in her arms, his button eyes empty, vacant, like the glassy eyes of a doll. The realization struck her then: Solomon wasn’t answering. His comforting murmur, the voice that had guided her, was gone, replaced by a deep, haunting silence.
She looked down at him, shaking him a little, as if to wake him up. “Solomon?” Her voice trembled. “Are you… there?”
Nothing. The weight of his silence settled over her, colder than anything she had felt before. And for the first time, standing alone in the dim hallway, she understood what it meant to be truly alone.
A faint chill brushed past her, and she glanced around, half-expecting the woman to appear, to ask for help, to validate her choice. But there was only the empty hall, and Solomon’s unblinking eyes staring back at her, silent and empty.
The world had left her behind. And now, it seemed, even Solomon had too.
She took a deep, shaky breath, stepping back into her apartment, closing the door behind her with a soft, hollow click. The silence inside felt heavier, more final. But there was a strange peace in it too—a quiet certainty that she had made her own choice, without fear, without guidance.
And as she sat down, holding Solomon close in the dim light, she felt a small, steady strength growing inside her, one that she knew had been there all along.
Departure
Mia stepped out of the apartment, leaving Solomon behind in the quiet shadows of her old life. The air felt different as she walked through the city, her footsteps echoing in the silence, her small bag slung over her shoulder. She kept her head down, her thoughts centered on the road ahead, the distant hope of finding her uncle urging her forward.
At the edge of the city, a small, worn-down supermarket stood half-empty, its windows shattered, shelves looted. Mia moved inside, looking for anything left that could help her on the journey, when the faint hum of a car reached her ears. She turned to see an old Honda pulling up, the engine stuttering as it came to a stop. A couple stepped out, their faces drawn, exhaustion lining their features, but a softness in their eyes.
“Hey, you okay?” the woman asked gently.
Mia nodded. “I’m… I’m trying to get to my uncle’s. He’s in the next town over.”
The man glanced at her, a look passing between him and the woman, as though they understood something unsaid. “We could give you a ride,” he said, his voice kind but tentative. “We can take you close, at least.”
“Or back to ours,” the woman added, a soft, hopeful lilt in her tone.
Mia shook her head with a small, determined smile. “Thank you, but I need to find him. He’s all I have left. He never went to church like the others… I guess I thought… maybe he’d still be there.”
The woman, Cee, looked at her with a flicker of sadness. “Sometimes it’s the ones we least expect to stay who end up left behind.”
They rode in silence for a while, the faint smell of whiskey and cigarettes lingering in the air, wrapping around them like a faded memory. Mia watched the road slip away beneath the headlights, her mind filling with thoughts of her uncle, her only hope of family in a world that had changed beyond anything she knew.
As they approached the outskirts of her uncle’s town, a barricade rose up in front of them, a haphazard wall of cars, debris, and broken concrete. The road was blocked, cars scattered like abandoned toys, doors ajar, belongings spilling onto the asphalt.
Liam slowed the car, his gaze resting on Mia in the rearview mirror. “This looks like the end of the line,” he murmured.
Cee turned in her seat, her hand reaching back to rest gently on Mia’s shoulder. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?”
Mia looked from Cee to Liam, her heart swelling with gratitude, but she shook her head. “Thank you. But I need to go.”
Cee gave her a small nod, a quiet understanding in her gaze, and Liam offered a faint, reassuring smile. “Take care of yourself, kid.”
She climbed out, watching them one last time as the car pulled away, disappearing down the empty road. The silence around her felt heavier now, pressing down as she stared at the barricade that stood between her and whatever was left of her family.
As the road stretched out behind them, the car grew quiet, the hum of the engine the only sound. Liam kept his eyes fixed on the road, his jaw clenched, a shadow falling over his face. He spoke softly, his voice rough with the weight of old memories.
“Do you think… we should’ve done more?” he asked, his gaze flickering to Cee, his voice barely more than a whisper.
Cee looked out the window, her fingers tracing idle patterns along the cracked leather seat. “We did what we had to, Liam.”
He nodded slowly, his grip tightening on the steering wheel, as though trying to steady himself against the memory that haunted him. “Yeah… just like we did before.”
The words lingered, filling the silence with an unspoken truth. It was the night the disappearances began, the memory of that last moment with their next-door neighbors forever etched in their minds. They’d stood in the doorway of their house, watching as the neighbor’s wife begged for help, clutching her child close, her eyes wide with terror.
The house had been empty for weeks, and yet, they both saw it—the dark shape in the corner, a flicker of something that shouldn’t have been there. They’d felt it too, something cold and pressing, watching from the darkness, a presence that filled the air with a quiet, unrelenting dread.
“Please…” the woman had whispered, her voice tight, her eyes fixed on the shadow that seemed to shift and breathe in the dim light. “Don’t leave us alone with it.”
But they’d backed away, closing their door, feeling that same, unnatural presence in their own home, as though whatever darkness had settled in the neighbor’s house had somehow followed them, slipping through the walls, watching from the corners of their own rooms.
They’d never spoken of it, never acknowledged the thing that haunted the edges of their home, a quiet shadow that seemed to linger even in the daylight. They’d done what they had to, told themselves that there was nothing to be done, that survival meant turning away, closing doors, and choosing silence.
As they drove on, the memory clung to them, a quiet reminder of the choice they’d made, the darkness they’d left behind, and the lingering fear that perhaps, it was still with them, still watching, waiting.
“We did what we had to,” Liam whispered, as though saying it might make it true. But the words felt hollow, an echo in the silence, a quiet reminder of everything they couldn’t change.
End