Chapter One
When the Lights Go Out
(From Draft 7, 7/31/2025 — Things may change ;p)
A suffocating silence pressed down on the small neighborhood. No dogs barked, no nocturnal creatures scurried along the fences, no cars drove down the street. 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.
Darkness crawled out from the small spaces, reaching as if to claim the night as its own. Streetlamps cast their warm protective glow, fending off the shadows, until, one by one, the lights flickered and faded out, letting the darkness win. All but one lamp was diminished into nothing. Its glow brightened, illuminating a little house. Unlike its grand, modern neighbors, it had peeling paint along its exterior and resilient weeds as a front lawn. An old, well-used truck sat in the driveway. Despite the late hour, a warm glow lit up the inside of the small, unassuming home, hinting at the activity inside.
Fable’s bare feet padded excitedly over the hardwood flooring as she raced out of her room, a grin on her face and her honey-bee plush-puppet, Miss Bumble, tucked under her arm. Her two long copper braids bounced as she ran up to the table. Seated there was a tall, lanky man with long jet-black hair pulled back in a low ponytail and dark, narrow eyes.
“How many cards do I deal for Go Fish?” Peter, Fable’s uncle, asked as he shuffled the cards.
“Seven,” Fable answered, picking the chair next to Peter. She tucked her feet under her, then knelt, reaching for the bowl of chocolate chips. It was their family’s traditional ice-cream game night, Fable’s favorite night of the week.
“Ugg, Go Fish? It’s a child's game.” Gavin, Fable’s father, stated with his thick accent. He, Mary, and Peter all had learned English later in life. Of the three of them, Gavin struggled the most with the language. He walked over to the table and plunked his large bowl of chocolate ice cream down. Sitting, he proceeded to pile nuts on top. Gavin was tall, with broad, muscular shoulders and flame red hair in a mess of waves atop his head.
“A Child’s game? That’s insulting! We have a child right here.” Peter grandly gestured to Fable. His accent was non-existent, having mastered English better than either Gavin or Mary.
“I’m eleven!” Fable agreed.
“And she can run laps around me when it comes to this stuff,” Peter added. “I’m the one who needs the kid games. All your strategy games make my head spin.”
Gavin grunted his agreement, eating a large scoop of his ice cream.
“Fable, dear,” Her mom called, poking her head out of the kitchen. She was petite, with pale skin, warm brown hair, and elegant, teardrop-shaped eyes. Her accent was light, but somehow sounded more refined than Fable’s father’s. “What flavor of ice cream do you want?”
“Vanilla!”
“I’ll have what she’s having,” Peter chimed in.
“Get your own ice cream,” Mary snipped at her brother, playfully sticking her tongue out at him.
“Hey, I’m out here doing the hard work of shuffling cards, dealing them, and making sure you all get seven cards. Seven! That’s a big number!”
“Yes, for you it is.” Gavin held up his cards. “I have six.”
“Me too!” Fable piped up.
“Well, I haven’t finished yet, and if you’re both going to complain, then you’ll just have six while Mary and I will have seven,” Peter sniffed, pretending to be offended.
“You are too…” Gavin paused, waving his hand in a circle as he tried to find the word he wanted.
“Amazing? Talented? Handsome?” Peter supplied, dealing out the last two cards.
“No, none of that.”
“Phenomenal? Inspirational? Oh! I know! Magnanimous!” Peter said the last word with a flourish, sending Fable into a fit of giggles.
“You are making up words,” Gavin grumbled.
“They’re all quite real. You can look them up in the dictionary.”
Gavin rolled his eyes, shaking his head, and picking up his seventh card. “Who starts?”
“Me!” Fable sat up taller. “I’m the youngest!”
“Youngest always goes first,” Peter agreed as he surveyed his cards.
“Dumb rule. Oldest should go first.” Gavin said, organizing his hand.
“You’re just saying that because you’re the oldest,” Fable said, crossing her arms.
“Yeah,” Peter backed her up. “You tell him, Cricket.”
“I’ve got ice cream!” Mary entered the room with two bowls, breaking up the age war. Fable excitedly took her own bowl and started piling chocolate chips and caramel sauce on it.
“And I found it within my heart to bring you some as well, good sir.” Mary placed a bowl of Vanilla in front of Peter.
“Oh! Why, your majesty, I must thank you from the deepest depths of my heart!” Peter gave his sister a small mock bow from his seat.
“Well, good sir, your careful shuffling and dealing of the cards has greatly benefited my kingdom. I think I shall need to knight you.”
“Your majesty! You honor me. Shall I bend down on one or two knees for the ceremony?”
“Two, I should think,” Mary said. “And then we shall have you rule over the dishes. It will be your job to clean them and put them in their places.”
Fable resisted the laughter threatening to burst out of her.
“Ah, I may have to pass,” Peter said regretfully, giving Fable a wink. “Knights have too much responsibility.”
“You still get dish duty tonight,” Mary said, playfully shoving her brother’s shoulder. “I’m going to get my ice cream. You can all start without me.” Mary disappeared back into the kitchen.
“As you will it, your majesty,” Peter called, a playful smile on his face.
Giggling, Fable picked up her cards, quickly organizing them by number and type. She was sad to see no doubles, but happy to see her two favorites. The Ace of Spades and the Queen of Diamonds. Fable hugged her honey bee plushie closer to her. “Uncle Peter, do you have a Queen?”
“Nope, I do not have any queens.”
Frowning, Fable grabbed a card off the top of her deck. Another ace she was happy to see, but not the queen she wanted.
“Are these mine?” Mary asked as she sat down with a bowl of chocolate ice cream. She immediately started putting chocolate syrup and chips on top.
“Yup, but are you sure you have enough chocolate there? I think you need some more.”
“Shhhh,” Mary said before taking a small, delicate spoonful of her ice cream.
“Well, it’s my turn. Mary, do you have any aces?” Peter asked.
Fable felt her whole body tense up in excitement. She could get Peter’s ace on her next turn!
“Go Fish,” Mary said, stifling a laugh as she looked at her daughter.
“Ugg, I see I picked the wrong person,” Peter lamented, also noticing Fable’s barely controlled excitement. “Cricket, you need to learn how to bluff. It’s a very useful tactic.”
“My turn,” Mary said, sitting up straight. “Peter, do you have any queens?”
Another shot of excitement raced through Fable’s small body, coming out in a bad case of the wiggles and an uninvited giggle.
“Ohhhh, you were not in the room the last time that was asked,” Peter cracked a mischievous grin, looking at Fable. “I’m afraid it’s not me who has her majesty in my hand.”
“Drats,” Mary grumbled, grabbing a card.
Stoically, Gavin’s bright blue eyes scanned over his cards, then darted to Mary, the smallest smile on his lips. “Mary, my love, do you have a queen?”
Fable felt her heart sink as Mary reluctantly handed over two queens. Instinctively, she clutched her hand of cards closer to her chest.
“Fable.”
“No, that’s not fair,” Fable pouted.
“Surrender your Queen.”
Pouting, Fable pulled out her Queen.
BANG!
Suddenly, the small home erupted in a cacophony of sound, colors, and lights. Ear-splitting pops rang through Fable’s ears. All she could do was scream.
Hands reached out, pulling her down. “Stay down,” Peter commanded.
In one swift movement, he and her father flipped the table over, the ice cream and cards flying. Fable’s eyes grew wide. Under the table, like a hidden armory, were handguns and ammunition, secured in place. Without hesitation, her parents and uncle armed themselves and started firing back at the dark-clad intruders.
Fable closed her eyes again, curling around Miss Bumble. Electric fear ran through her, making every hair stand on end.
“Gavin, Mary, get Fable out!”
“We’re getting out together!” Mary replied.
“I’ll be fine, you need to get Fable out of here!”
Fable clamped her hands over her ears, trying to block out the sound and colors. She cried out as pain ripped across her arm. Protective arms wrapped around her, picking her up and running through the house and out the back door.
The cold cut through Fable’s pajamas, sending a chill through her body.
She was thrown into the back seat of the truck.
“Stay down, in the foot space,” 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, and gravel crunched under the old tires.
“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.
A horrible twisting feeling writhed in her gut. Her uncle! Where was he? 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,” her dad snapped.
Fable felt the tears running down her face, her vision blurred. “Where’s Uncle Peter?” she demanded.
But no one answered.
— — —
The old motel room was cold and dark. It smelled of old furniture, musty fabric, and cigarette smoke. Fable stood in the doorway, unwilling to enter, despite the cold. She squeezed her bee plushie tighter. Everything felt like a nightmare and yet she wasn’t waking up.
“Get in,” her dad said, herding them into the room and closing the door. “Mary, stay here with Fable, turn off lights, keep curtains closed. Don’t—”
“—Gavin, you can’t go back,” her mother interrupted, pulling him to a stop, tears glistening in her eyes.
“I won’t leave Peter.” 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 in her ear.
“Dad?” Fable sobbed.
He looked at her, his expression pained.
She ran to him, burying her face against him. “Where’s Uncle Peter?”
He knelt, bringing himself to her level. “I’m going to find him, Bug. You stay here and be brave.” He kissed her 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 uncontrollably.
“Oh, 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 she could feel a strange tingling running up and down her arms, raising the hairs on the back of her neck. The lights in the room flickered on and off erratically.
“Shhhh,” her mother said softly, holding her tighter. “You’re okay.” A gentle but heavy sensation pressed around Fable, calming the electric feeling surging through her veins. The lights stopped their flickering, turning off completely.
“I’m sorry, baby. I know this is scary,” her mom whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
They closed the curtains, and under a dim light, her mother cleaned and bandaged her wound. Fable cuddled close to her mom, hugging Miss Bumble tightly and shutting her eyes against the dancing shadows that played on the walls. She could imagine all too easily men in dark outfits emerging from the shadows.
Finally, her dad’s familiar silhouette darkened the doorway. His posture was slumped as he entered the room, closing the door quietly behind him. In one hand, he held a large duffel bag, and in the other, Fable’s backpack.
“Gavin?” Mary’s voice was strained.
He didn’t look at them. “We need a new car,” he said despondently, keeping his back to them. “I was able to get important things… papers… photos, anything that identifies—”
“—Gavin!” Mary sobbed desperately.
He bolted the door. “Fable and I will dye our hair… We’ll hide better if it's not orange…”
“Gavin…” Mary held Fable tighter.
A sick, cold silence filled the room.
“Where’s Uncle Peter?” asked Fable in a soft, frightened whisper. Silence followed her question. It stretched, filling the small hotel room.
Finally, her father looked at her, and she could see the answer before he spoke it.
“Peter’s… gone.”