Looking Out

                The lights went out without a sound. The only noise in the house was the cuckoo clock. Sibyl couldn’t find the fuse board with the lights on in the dank basement.

                “Henry,” she called in the darkness, “What is going on?”

                The only reply was the ticking clock.

                Henry was dead. He died several years before, and was alive the last time the power went out. Sibyl put her hand out to find the bookstand and put her novella on it. She slipped her legs out from under the duvet and walked into the hallway. She took ten steps and turned into the kitchen as she had done every day the past sixty years. All while calling for her late husband.  She grabbed at the wall feeling for the phone cord. Sliding her hands up the spiralled plastic she held the phone up to her ear and heard the dial tone. She hit the first number on the speed dial.

                The phone rang several times before someone picked up.

                “Hello?” the man said half asleep.

                “Donald is that you?”

                “No ma’am, I think you have the wrong number.”

                “Check again, his name is Donald Mair, he’s my son.”

                “Oh, ma’am, we bought this house from the Mair’s four months ago. I’m sorry.”

                “Oh my goodness, I feel so silly. Sorry to trouble you at this hour.

                “It’s only 10pm ma’am, it’s all right, have a goodnight.”

                “You too, sorry, again.”

                Sibyl, hung up the phone. She walked into the living room and tried to remember what drawer the matches were in. Her slippers made no noise walking along the carpeted floor as she picked through the cluttered drawers with her dainty hands. She managed to find a flickering flashlight, then the matches. She lit the candles on the coffee table, the tea lights on the dining room cabinet, and one on the windowsill by the front door. The street looked empty. The old trees were swaying back and forth in the wind. There was a tint of blue amidst the storm clouds.

                Jack’s watch flashed 9:30pm. Aaron slammed down his controller in frustration, rattling the empty bottles on the table as he watched Reptile mutilate Scorpion.

                “Fuck this game,” Aaron said.

                “Don’t be a sore loser Aaron, you won the last four.”

                “Whatever Jack, do you have any dope?”

                “No man, parents cut me off, I’ve been mooching off Wendy for a month now.”

                “That’s gotta be sweet,” Aaron said getting up.

                “I know you asked, so you’re tapped too, I’m craving some now, since you brought it up.”

                Aaron looked into the fridge for another beer. “Yeah but I think I have a plan. My brother mows this old ladies lawn. She always gives him a fifty for an hour and half of mowing.”

                “So?”

                “I’ve picked him up a couple times. She’s completely checked out, thinks I’m her son or something. Her house is small, but she’s always decked out in new clothes. Jayson says her husband was a big name engineer or something.”

                “Cool man, why are we talking about this?”

                “We’ll just dip in find her purse and dip out. No one else lives there.” Aaron looked to Jack for some sort of okay. “I’ll drive,” Aaron offered.

                Sibyl was in the basement, dusting what used to be loved: albums, Hot Wheels, and doll houses, but children—and their children—grow up. Humming a song from her adolescence she couldn’t hear the bang overhead. The memories, of her children playing peacefully. Helen in that doll house for hours and Donald racing his cars down the bannister. It was a joy to see her grandchildren play the same way.

--            

                “Lots of birthdays, I guess,” Aaron muttered. Jack punched and shushed him. They cut into the backyard of Sibyl’s neighbor. The gate was half open and Aaron shut it behind him. Jack hopped the fence landing in a prized rosebush. The backyard was immaculate. The tulips were all blooming, the roses starting to bud, the cacti in the rock garden had hues of pink and yellow and, in the middle of the yard, a perfectly spherical orange tree.

                “Whoa,” Aaron blurted, “It’s like a skittle garden. Where’s the back door man?”

                Martell Joseph finished watching television. He yawned and stood up to put his daughters to bed. Until he heard his gate slam shut. He could hear Kristy and Lisa fighting upstairs. He walked out the backdoor.  He could hear the leaves rustling on the other side of the fence. But there was no breeze. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw two kids hopping into Mrs. Mair’s window.

                Back inside, Lisa was crying. Martell walked back inside and phoned the police.