Chapter 16
The Power of Light
Remembering Selly's aversion to light, Sally gathers lamps and flashlights. She believes light might be the key to weakening the shadowy entity.
Sally’s breath hitched in her throat, a cold knot of fear tightening with each passing second. Selly. The name itself had become a chilling echo in the house, a shadow that clung to Emily’s every move. But Selly’s aversion to light, that was something tangible, something Sally could grasp. She remembered the way Selly would shrink back, her tall, dark form dissolving like smoke when Sally flicked on a lamp, or when the morning sun dared to creep through the curtains. It was a flicker of hope, a desperate gambit born from the gnawing dread that had settled deep within her.
She moved through the house with a newfound urgency, her usual maternal calm replaced by a fierce, protective instinct. Her fingers fumbled with the pull cords of lamps, her eyes darting to the corners of rooms, half-expecting to see Selly’s gaunt silhouette lurking there. She found a dusty floor lamp in the spare bedroom, its shade a faded floral pattern, and dragged it into the living room, its warm glow pushing back the encroaching twilight. In the kitchen, she unearthed a collection of emergency flashlights from the back of a cluttered drawer, their plastic casings cool and smooth against her trembling hands. She tested each one, the beams cutting sharp, white paths through the dimness. One sputtered weakly, its batteries long dead, but the others shone with a determined brightness.
Emily sat on the rug, her small back to Sally, her gaze fixed on the window. The same window Selly always watched. The same window that seemed to hold a piece of Selly’s unnerving stillness. “Emily, honey,” Sally said, her voice a little too loud, a little too cheerful. She knelt beside her daughter, the bright beam of a flashlight resting on the floor between them, a silent sentinel. “Look what Mommy found.”
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