Before the Lights Went Out

Before the Lights Went Out

The evening had that rare kind of quiet that makes the world feel suspended, as if it were holding its breath. In the small town of Willow Creek, the sun had dipped behind the distant hills, leaving streaks of pink and gold fading into twilight. From the corner of the main street, the old streetlights cast a warm glow on the cracked sidewalks, illuminating the occasional passerby hurrying home. But tonight, something felt different. A tension lingered in the air, almost electric, though the sky held no storm clouds.

Ethan leaned against the chipped wooden railing of his porch, cradling a cup of lukewarm coffee. He watched as children played their last games of catch before dinner, their laughter ringing like fragile glass. Across the street, Mrs. Caldwell was tending her rose bushes, humming a tune that he couldn’t quite place. The world seemed ordinary enough, yet Ethan felt an unease he could not shake.

Earlier that day, he had noticed subtle signs—flickering lights at the corner store, a strange hum in the wires overhead, and his neighbor Mr. Jenkins muttering something about transformers and brownouts. It wasn’t unusual for Willow Creek to experience minor power outages during summer storms, but the sky was clear, the air still. He took another sip of coffee, letting the bitter taste anchor him.

As the last streaks of sunlight disappeared, the streetlights flickered once, twice, and then stabilized. Ethan frowned. He had seen that flicker before, on a night when the power went out for hours. He remembered the darkness, the silence that pressed in like a heavy blanket, and the faint smell of ozone that lingered afterward. Something told him this night would be different.

Inside, the soft hum of his refrigerator and the gentle tick of the wall clock were the only sounds. He turned on the radio, hoping to hear some music, some news, anything to distract him from the growing anticipation. Static. The dial shifted, but every station was gone. Only the faintest buzz remained. A chill ran down his spine.

Outside, the neighborhood seemed suspended in time. Children had gone inside, the laughter vanished. Only the occasional bark of a dog broke the silence. Ethan stepped onto the street, feeling the asphalt cool under his bare feet. The streetlights flickered again, then held steady, but he couldn’t ignore the strange hum now vibrating in the air. It was low, almost imperceptible, but it seemed to move with him, following, wrapping around him.

Across the street, Mrs. Caldwell had stopped tending her roses. She was staring at the sky, her face pale in the streetlight’s glow. “Ethan,” she called softly, though she did not move from the spot. “Something’s coming.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

Her eyes, wide and unblinking, scanned the horizon. “You’ll see. Before the lights go out… you’ll see.”

Before he could question her further, a sudden flash of brightness cut across the town. It wasn’t lightning; the clouds were still clear, the sky calm. It was like a thousand tiny suns igniting at once, and for a heartbeat, the world was bathed in white fire. Ethan shielded his eyes. When he looked again, the streetlights had gone out. One by one, every lamp, every home light flickered and died. Darkness swallowed Willow Creek.

The hum escalated into a low roar that seemed to vibrate through the pavement, through his bones. Ethan’s heart raced. He felt it in the air, in the hairs on his arms—the world itself was shifting. Across the street, Mrs. Caldwell clutched her chest, and in her wide-eyed panic, Ethan understood her warning.

He turned toward the town center, where he could see the faint silhouettes of people emerging from their homes, holding flashlights and lanterns. Murmurs rose like waves, questions shouted into the black void, but no answers came. Something moved in the shadows, something massive and strange, though he couldn’t see it clearly.

Ethan’s instincts told him to run, but curiosity rooted him in place. He had lived in Willow Creek all his life, and though he had heard of mysterious events in the surrounding forests, nothing like this had ever come close. And now, in this strange prelude to darkness, it was all unfolding before him.

From the north, a soft light appeared. Not the harsh brightness of electricity, but a gentle, golden glow that drifted toward the town like a living thing. People stared, mesmerized, their fear mingling with awe. Ethan’s pulse quickened. The hum softened, replaced by a melody that seemed impossibly serene, notes that spoke directly to the chest, the heart.

Mrs. Caldwell grabbed his arm. “See? Before the lights went out… it’s not the end. It’s the beginning.”

Ethan looked at her, skeptical, but there was something in the glow that softened his fear. The darkness didn’t feel empty; it felt alive, waiting. And for the first time in hours, Ethan let himself breathe, letting the strange serenity wash over him.

The lights would eventually return, the world would resume its ordinary rhythm, but in that moment, standing in the darkened street of Willow Creek, Ethan realized something profound. Sometimes, it took the lights going out to see clearly, to feel truly alive in the quiet that comes before revelation.

And as the first stars began to pierce the night sky, the town held its collective breath, suspended between what had been and what was to come.