(I know I’m going a little all over with what I’m choosing to post lately, but this struck my brain owing to the fact that the neighbor across the street has a berserk sensor floodlight. Once I get it out, I’ll finish out the other short about soulmates, and then work on the longer story again)
The neighbor’s sensor light was going haywire. At first Jennifer thought that it only flashed on the occasional nights. She assumed it was windy nights when perhaps something was setting off a much-too-sensitive sensor. But then she realized it was flashing regardless of the weather. And during the day, when the sensor should have realized it was too light out to be necessary. Not only that, but it was bright – brighter than the others in the neighborhood. And it faced Jennifer’s bathroom and bedroom. She would lay awake at night, staring at her wall as it was lit up intermittently. It wasn’t the source of her insomnia – if she had fallen asleep, she might never have noticed. But she couldn’t sleep, so all she could do was stare at the flash. On. Off. On. Off. Through the night.
When she had finally had enough, she angled one of her outdoor cameras toward it. She wanted video evidence of how annoyingly frequent it was. Her plan was to take it to her neighbor across the street and complain. The neighbor in question was an older woman. She lived alone but occasionally had the company of a man about her age who would come by to mow her lawn and take her out for the evening.
It was only while reviewing the video, speeding it up to count how many times it flicked on and off through the night, that Jennifer began to notice the pattern.
Jennifer had learned morse code as a child. It had been her twin’s idea. Jason and her had become adept at it when they were in elementary school, tapping out messages on their bedroom walls at night. When he slept over at his best friend’s house, angled across the ditch and down the next street, he would bring a flash light and they would signal each other to say goodnight. Jason had managed to talk their parents into buying them little devices that would sound off a tone at the bush of the button. They would use it to communicate while playing with their neighborhood friends, making plans and laying traps. Their friends decried this as unfair, because none of them ever learned enough to be as proficient or quick as the twins.
It expanded through middle and high school – sometimes if they were in the same class, she would tap out test answers discreetly on the floor, bouncing her foot as though she were a bundle of anxious nerves. When the history teacher finally caught them, he had been impressed with their scheme. Still, the school had decided on separated them in their classes. Sometimes around their parents they would tap on each other’s shoulders or backs or discreetly communicate to each other.
It had been like their own secret language. Morse code was emblazoned on her brain, as natural as speaking. It always made her think immediately of Jason, so strongly that she could feel her throat constrict, just as it did as she watched the video. She wondered if somehow he was trying to contact her from beyond the grave as she watched the one word repeat over and over:
DANGER
Jennifer didn’t know what to make of it. Sitting and watching the video filled her with more curiosity, strong enough to override her previous annoyance. She wanted desperately to communicate back, because she felt instantly that it had to be Jason. It was too strange of a coincidence otherwise – a sensor floodlight that shone directly into her window communicating in the same way she had always talked to her dead twin?
What else could it be?
mehryment 