The Crack of Thunder

A story of a girl and her fear of things that go boom in the night.

     Cylvia dreaded sleeping over at her grandmothers tonight. Not because she smelt of mothballs and denture cream, or the hours the incessant clacking from her knitting needles accompanied by her grandmother humming her favorite songs, horrendously off key. It was the thunder storms predicted to arrive, sometime tonight around eight o’clock.

     Normally the garish, mismatched clothing the weather man wore was enough to lighten her mood. It was what he had said that sounded that was her kryptonite, the equivalent pf the proverbial finger nails drug across the chalk board as it were. “A massive thunderstorm approaches from the north, of the likes we have never seen before.”

    Of course her parents thought it was a good idea to have a ‘romantic’ candle lit dinner this evening. It just wouldn’t be a romantic dinner with their frantic, overly sensitive daughter at home? Cylvia at least argued successfully to allow their ten year old golden retriever ‘Boomer’ to keep her company. Boomer was nearly as deaf, and just as old as Grandma is in doggy years. 

     Cylvia guessed it was the little battle she had won that was what mattered today. She imagined it wasn’t the dinner that was going to be the romantic part of her parents evening. Shivering as Cylvia made a face and silently berated herself for the mental image of her parents having sex that she inflicted on herself.

     Flipping through the thirteen channels of air tv in rural America sucked by Cylvia’s estimation. Her parents refused to spring for cable or even satellite tv, a mobile devise like a cell phone or an Ipad was straight out rejected. That was an argument she learned to avoid if she didn’t want to hear the ‘Back in my day’ lecture her parents lived to parrot at her… for hours. All her grandmother had was an old timey radio with the eight-track feature, or “Gods gift to humanity”.

     Cylvia could even tolerate the ‘chick in the sticks’ comments or the air banjo digs from schoolmates who thought it was cool to make fun of her and how it was too bad she didn’t have a brother to get married to. Ever since she could remember, the sound of thunder was far worse, if everyone new this about her it would only get worse.

     “Are you packed yet? We’re leaving in half an hour.” Cylvia’s mom cried out from the kitchen.

     “Yes mom! My stuff’s already in the car.” Cylvia yelled back. The eye rolling came next, as per usual her mom now gripped about her uncivil attitude. Some would say they could hear her eyes rattling around her skull, like dice in a cup.

     Turning the television off and grabbing her jacket, Cylvia picked up the dogs leash and called Boomer over to her before clasping it to his collar. Boomer’s tail and butt wagged in anticipation of going outside. Patting him on the head before leading him outside, 

     “I’m taking Boomer out for a pre trip potty!” Cylvia yelled out to no one in particular before stepping out the front door.

     The billowing grey clouds formed an ominous looking sky wall as they slowly made their way south. Forcibly looking down at her feet to keep from freaking herself out, Cylvia knew what a death row inmate must feel like right before getting escorted to the electric chair. She wondered if the inmates senses seemed heightened like hers as the faint smell of rain was carried on the wind.

     Hearing her name being called out loud, not once, twice, or even three times, but for a fourth time, agitated Cylvia immensely. It wasn’t as if she whispered what she was doing and when her mother finally walked out the front door with keys in hand before admonishing her daughter for not letting her know where she was.

     The thirty minute drive went relatively smooth, Boomer only had to throw up once. Luckily the traffic was light enough for mom to pull over when she heard Boomers tale tell gagging sounds. Crisis averted. Cylvia thought too bad, she didn’t want Boomer to suffer but a taint on her parents ‘date’ would have been memorable.

     Cylvia walked up to the front porch and woodenly made her way to the door. Her mother was already backing out to leave. Not even so much as a ‘goodbye’ or ‘have fun, and listen to your Grandma’ before she scuttled off like a bug from a light. Cylvia quickly realized the door was locked when she tried to turn the door knob to let herself in. Ringing the doorbell a few times she waited a moment, hoping her grandma had her hearing aids in.

     With no answer from inside she Checked under the pot plant for the key, she cursed under her breath. Taking boomer to the back yard she had to climb the fence in order to release the hatch and open the gate. Once closed, Cylvia hoped the back door was open. If she had to she could jimmy the bathroom door open.

     The back door was locked, so bathroom window it was. Thankfully she was wearing her sweats and hoody, Cylvia didn’t care if these clothes got dirty. Once inside she called out and was answered by silence. 

     Turning on the lights as she entered the rooms and continued to call out, Cylvia hoped thar she didn’t walk in on her grandma laying dead on the floor or something worse. Having sex.

      Finding a note on the coffee table, apparently her grandmother was on a church retreat for the weekend and she should make herself at home. Boomer whining at the back door caused Cylvia to jump before hurrying to let him in.

     “Guess it’s just the two of us champ” Cylvia mused as she let Boomer in. “So how ‘about we turn on the radio for noise?” She said, more to herself than to Boomer.

     Flicking the switch on the radio hummed as the tubes inside warmed up and competed with the static coming from the speakers. Turning the dials Cylvia some sports shows on the AM side. Her grandmother made it so no one could switch it to FM, just in case someone was overcome with the desire to shake ones hips like that Elvis guy.

     No one could convince her that kids didn’t listen to Elvis anymore and heaven forbid someone mention the hip shaking that goes on in the Latina music videos. Of the channels she found, only one peaked her interest and that was the Jazz station. The other two stations had one talking  about alien abductions and the other was playing “The Shadow”.

     Both were a pass, so jazz it was. Now snacks were in order. First, a bowl of water in case Boomer got thirsty, and then Cylvia rummaged through the refrigerator. Grabbing the cold cuts and processed cheese slices, a sandwich it would be. Humming along with the  smooth saxophone solo, Cylvia almost put the whole storm out of her mind.

     A light static came over the radio. The opening salvo as it were in the upcoming war of dominance, right before the storm reached overhead. The neighbors pine trees began to sway ever so gently in the wind like the hips of an islander dancer in a documentary sge enjoyed as a little girl. It wouldn’t be long before the shorter trees answered to the challenge.

     Eating her sandwich in the kitchen, Cylvia jumped at the loud thud of something hitting the kitchen window. She jumped again when a bird flew from below her range of vision as she tried to see what had hit the window mere seconds before she looked. 

     With racing heart, she tried to calm herself. She was reminded of the time she got up late in the night and turned on the television. Alfred Hitchcocks movie ‘the Birds’ was on and it scared the crap out of her.

     Once finished, Cylvia thought she should find one of her Grandma’s oil lamps in case the electricity went out. Going upstairs she had to pass the pictures of long dead relatives, they seemed to follow her with disapproving eyes. Suppressing a shiver, she carried on.

     Several rooms she had checked to no avail. The attic was the most likely place to look. Pulling on the rope handle attached to the rickety folding ladder, she waited a moment in case some wild squirrel made a home up there and needed to get away. She reached the attic when she was sure she wasn’t going to get attacked.

     Luckily there was a pull string that turned on a light from the ceiling. The bulb wasn’t overly bright and cast odd shadows. She should have brought a flashlight, so she would have to hurry. Wiping the dust off her hands she began, and took that first step deeper in the room filled with boxes and her grandma’s sewing dummies she used when making dresses.

     A long slow peal of thunder mocked her from outside as if to say “you are not safe from our clutches”. Lamp be damned, Cylvia got out of the attic quicker than a greased hog running to the food trough, god she hated the sound of thunder.