Chapter One

When the Lights Go Out

(From Draft 6, 2/14/2023 — Things may change ;p)

The air was brisk and chilling on that fateful night. Clouds overhead threatened snow, but it hadn’t come yet. Uncovered plants had started frosting over, their tips turning a graying white. Silence pressed like a blanket over the neighborhood. No dogs barked, no nocturnal creature scurried along the fences. It was as if the world could sense the danger that lurked just out of sight. As if it were holding its breath, waiting…

Just waiting.

Street lamps cast their warm protective light along the street. Large, modern houses with grand front yards and tall fences stood strong against the chill. Soft lights shone through upstairs windows as mothers and fathers read bedtime stories to their children. 

One by one, the street lamps flickered and faded out, casting the street into darkness. Soon, all but one lamp was diminished into nothing. Its glow brightened, illuminating an odd little house. Unlike its neighbors, it had peeling paint along its walls and resilient weeds for a front lawn. An old beaten-up truck sat parked in the driveway, and a blue light lit up its front window, dancing in a chaotic pattern.

A family, unaware of the strange behavior of the lamplights outside, cuddled together on an old sofa, watching the TV and eating popcorn. There was a tall, broad-shouldered man lying across most of the couch, his head in the lap of a small woman who played gently with his bright red hair. She had lightly tan skin, narrow eyes, and chestnut brown hair that fell softly to just above her shoulders. Her brother sat on the other end of the sofa, his own long black hair tied in a ponytail. 

Happily nestled between the siblings was a little girl, only eleven years old, with copper hair like her father and a face like her mother’s.

They were watching an old black-and-white musical about Hollywood actors, Fable hadn’t caught the name. Her uncle had found it in the thrift store and had bought it because he and his sister loved musicals. Fable’s dad had voted for an action movie, but Fable had sided with Peter and her mom.

“Pass some popcorn over,” her dad said in his thickly accented voice, holding his hand over his head.

“Shhh,” her mother scolded.

“What? they're singing! Again... no one needs to hear that.”

“Shhh.” Mary covered her husband’s mouth.

“Yeah, shhh.” A coy smile tugged at the corner of her uncle’s face. “Let the TV people sing.”

Fable’s father said something through her mom’s hand, but it was muffled, and Fable couldn’t make it out. She giggled and passed the bowl to her dad, turning her attention back to the movie. Two people were dancing around a moonlit garden, the girl’s dress swinging out in graceful arcs. The man followed, their voices intertwining with the dance.

“What do you think is going to happen?” Her uncle asked, leaning in close, a playful spark in his eye.

“Um… They kiss!”

“Nah, too soon.” He shook his head, scrunching up his nose. “I think something happens just before they kiss, ruining the moment.”

“Peter!” her mom scolded, smacking her brother’s shoulder. “Shhhh!”

“Here,” Fable’s dad said, handing the bowl of popcorn back. He had put a small pile on his stomach.

“Well, I think they’re going to kiss,” insisted Fable, as she took the popcorn and popped a kernel in her mouth. She held her head high, jutting out her chin confidently.

Peter smiled mischievously at her. “Would you care to put a wager on that?”

“Shhhhh!”

But Fable didn’t hear her mother. 

A loud BANG blew open the front door. Colors and lights erupted around Fable, and she screamed ear-splitting pops drowned out all other sound. The sharp smell of sulfur filled the room. The TV exploded, and Fable felt herself pulled down behind the sofa by her uncle, scattering the bowl of popcorn across the floor. 

“Fable, stay down,” Peter commanded.

In one swift movement, he and her father flipped the couch over, and her mom ripped off the thin fabric underneath. Fable’s eyes grew wide. Swords, bows and arrows, throwing knives, and guns lined the underside of the floral sofa, like a hidden armory. Without hesitation, her parents and uncle armed themselves and started firing back at the dark-clad intruders. 

Fable closed her eyes tightly, pressing her small hands against her ears. Electric fear ran through her, making every hair stand on end. 

“Gavin, Mary, get Fable out!” 

“We’re getting out together!”

Another series of gunshots filled the air. Fable could hear shouting, but she couldn’t understand what they were saying past the noise. She cried out as pain ripped across her arm. Protective arms wrapped her. She held tightly to them as they picked her up and ran through the house.

The cold from outside cut through Fable’s pajamas, sending a chill through her body. She felt herself practically thrown into the back seat of the truck. 

“Stay down,” her father ordered before pushing the front seat back into place.

Fable huddled in the footwell, tears blurring her vision. She tried to focus on the old withered french fries and discarded chip bag wedged under the front seat. She felt the rocking of the car as others got in, and heard the pop-pop-pop of her family’s guns as they fired back at the attackers. The car engine roared to life. Fable could feel its vibration through the cold floor, could hear the gravel under the old tires, and the high pitch screeching sound as her father peeled onto the road.

“What’s going on?” Fable sobbed. Her voice sounded so small.

“Stay down!” Gavin ordered.

Fable sat up just a little and watched her mom reload another gun. 

With a horrible twisting feeling in her gut, Fable realized someone was missing.The truck bed, she thought. Carefully she got up on the back seat and peeked out the window.

The truck bed was empty.

“Where’s Uncle Peter?” 

“Fable, get down,” Gavin snapped.

Fable felt the tears running down her face, her vision blurred. “Where’s Uncle Peter?” she demanded. 

But no one answered. 

— — —

The motel room that her father had paid cash for was cold and dark. It smelled of old furniture, musty fabric, and cigarette smoke. Fable stood in the doorway of the yellowish-brown room, unwilling to enter—despite the cold. She pressed her hand to the cut in her arm. It had stopped bleeding, but it still hurt. Everything felt like a nightmare—impossible—and yet she wasn’t waking up. 

“Quick, get in,” her dad said, herding them all into the room and closing the door. “Mary, stay here with Fable, turn off the lights and keep the curtains closed. Don’t—”

“—Gavin, you can’t go back,” her mother interrupted, pulling him to a stop, tears glistening in her eyes. “They’ll kill you!”

“I can’t leave Peter! I’ll… look for him at our meeting spot first.” He redistributed the ammo. “Take this; keep Fable safe. I’ll be back.” Gavin brushed some of Mary’s hair away from her face, then leaned down and kissed her, whispering something gently to her.

“Dad?” Fable sobbed.

He looked at her, his expression pained. 

She ran to him, burying her face against him. “Where’s Uncle Peter?”

“I’m going to find him, Bug. You stay here and be brave.” He gave her a kiss on her forehead before rushing out the door.

The darkness of the room seemed to swallow her.

“Mom?” Fable was cold. 

So cold. 

Her body was shaking and she couldn’t control it. 

“I’m cold.” She shivered. 

“Fable, sweetheart…” her mom wrapped her tightly in a hug and kissed the top of her head. 

“What’s happening? I—I don’t understand.” Fear was taking over and Fable could feel the strange tingling feeling running up and down her arms, raising the hairs on the back of her neck. The dim lights in the room flickered.

“Shhhh,” her mother said softly, holding her tighter. “You’re okay.” A gentle but heavy feeling seemed to press around Fable, calming the electric feeling surging through her veins. “I’m sorry, baby. I know this is scary,” her mom whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

Fable couldn’t tell how long it had been until her father returned. After her mother had cleaned and bandaged her wound, they turned all the lights off and closed the curtains. Fable cuddled close to her mom, shutting her eyes tightly against the dancing shadows that played on the walls. She could imagine all too easily men in dark outfits coming out of the shadows to get her and her mom.

Finally, her Father’s familiar tall, broad-shouldered silhouette darkened the doorway. His posture was slumped as he entered the room, closing the door quietly behind him. He looked defeated. In his hand, he held a large duffel bag that looked full to bursting.

“Gavin?” Mary’s voice was strained. 

“We’ll need to sell the truck and buy a new car,” he said despondently, keeping his back to them. “I was able to get important things… Our papers… photos, anything that identifies—”

“—Gavin!” Mary sobbed, desperately.

He bolted the door. “Fable and I must dye our hair… we’ll hide better if it's not orange…”

“Gavin…” Mary held Fable tighter.

A sick, cold silence filled the room, a monster that couldn’t be killed.

“Where’s Uncle Peter?” asked Fable in a soft, frightened whisper. Silence followed her question. It lasted so long Fable wasn’t even sure if she had said it or merely thought it.

Then her father looked at her, and she could see the answer before he spoke it. 

“Peter’s… gone.”