She cracked open the window to invite in the storm. The air smelled of electricity and muck.
The rain was beating down to a hiss. Its mesmerizing droplets spat rudely through the screen, making the pale flesh of her slender arms prickle with goosebumps right up to her delicate neck. Sonja reflexively flipped up the hood of her zip-front sweatshirt and slipped her phone into her back pocket, never breaking her gaze from the thousands of strand-like streams on her bedroom window.
The slam of the front door and angry stomping from her stepdad's return broke the storm's spell.
"JENNY! COME HERE!"
Dean barked each word staccato from the foyer.
"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?" he demanded of her mother, his roar reverberating through the marble echo chamber of a house. "I'm ruined!" he choked out the words in a disbelieving splutter.
Sonja heard her mom's swift footfalls racing to quell her stepfather’s wrath̶ or at least cajole him into his office and have the discussion out of earshot.
"Don't want to upset the child." Sonja sniggered.
Then the frantic arguing, muffled behind the thick privacy doors, raised an alarm in her that she thought had been buried with her father.
In those days, the paper-thin walls of their little blue house couldn't protect her from the daily eruptions—the scathing jabs and sobbing. It was always the same fight, or maybe Mom and Dad would fight about all kinds of things. It didn't matter. It all rolled together. She blinked hard to shut out the thought.
Sonja tensed, listening to the harsh tones and frenzied pitch, the fist slamming and protestations. The pit of her stomach told her this was a marital meltdown. She knew the cues. She just hadn't heard them in three years. Not since she'd found Dad, crumpled and hollow.
This type of arguing was new for Dean and her mom, and it sounded savage, definitive. Dangerous? Should she be concerned? Yes, always. Stepchild of the second wife was not a coveted position.
They were usually all smiles and schmooze. At events, at the dealership, Dean Mann would be sure to introduce his new wife-slash-business manager with a grin and a wink, always with his arm around her. Jenny could hold her own, and they seemed to make it work, easily. She knew what she was getting with Dean 'The Car" Mann. Trade up, trade off.
Sonja was an adjunct, a tag-along and an apt spectator.
Maybe that's when the thought first came to her. No, probably not. And certainly not why.
Abrupt silence. She waited. Nothing. Sonja heaved a sigh of relief and slammed her window against the rumbling thunder—its sound seemed to echo the disquiet in her subconscious. And, to shut out the rain, the never-ending rain.
Torrents had been pelting her bedroom window for days. The worst storm Hadleigh had endured in years had rolled in during the weekend of March break. A frigid mass of low, threatening clouds had shrouded the town from the time she walked home from school on Friday. The dark skies had opened up late Sunday, drowning most local plans and ensuring Sonja was trapped indoors. Not that she would have done much else. No happy family getaway to a sunny destination had been planned. There was no ski trip with friends for the week.
Something was brewing at the dealership that needed Dean and Jenny on-site. Sonja got the sense it was pretty serious. Dean had been distracted, almost moody lately, and her mom had been fussing and brutally attentive. They may have told her, in vivid detail, the specific nature of the problem facing the dealership—their livelihood.
At seventeen, Sonja only wanted to pop out an AirPod just long enough to get the gist. She only knew they'd be busy with dealership woes all March break. Details not required.
Sonja would be home alone. She actually preferred it that way and had the perfect sanctum for today's high-functioning introvert.
Her room was airy, simple, and easily accommodated her most treasured possessions. Her granddad's giant mahogany armoire with the worn spotted mirror and the creaking hinge—a sound permanently etched on her memory. She wore its skeleton key for one of its drawers as a pendant.
Sonja would often stare absently into that worn mirror from her wrought-iron bed, the second of her most treasured possessions. Her mother had insisted that a good night's sleep was invaluable, and she had not resisted. The result: a queen pillow-top with crisp luxury bamboo sheets. Good call, Mom. It did nothing for her sleep. That was beyond linen quality. But at least she could struggle in style.
The last treasure was all Sonja—her enviable gaming setup. Triple high-end monitors, and she was always updating components and accessories. This had been her passion and her salvation for forever, seeing her through every kind of childhood chaos from boredom to social isolation to family destruction.
It was her neighbour Gavin, a year older and two inches shorter, who first tried to teach her all about computers and gaming. She was scrawling something in chalk on the driveway when Gavin's red hair, seemingly ablaze, backlit by the sun, appeared above her. He introduced himself as most eleven-year-old boys would—"Wanna check out my new setup? it's so awesome."
"K," she remembered answering coolly, though unsure what she was about to see. Not wanting to interrupt the day's spat, Sonja left her parents a note in chalk and took off. Gavin led her down to a small room in his wood-panelled basement smelling of chips and cleaner. His pride and joy was installed at the far end of the room, on an old black IKEA desk just big enough for the components.
"Check it out!" he said excitedly as he ran over to hog the only chair. Sonja was instantly hooked. She stayed three hours that first night and spent most afternoons over at Gavin's after that. Two months later, her knowledge had surpassed that of her friend. After six months, with the help of Gavin's dad, a collector of old PC parts, she had built her own PC. It worked. It was magnificent-ish.
Sonja's latest build was close to perfection—funded through returned gifts and birthday cash. She placed her setup beside her room's large bay window, overlooking the garden and, beyond it, the river. In any season, she took breaks from her onscreen world to lose herself in the view.
Today, though, even this idyllic nest couldn't completely offset her anxiety. This storm had been incessant, unnerving. More severe weather was in the forecast, and there was a flood warning. Freezing temperatures were to follow. Peering down through the slats of her blinds, Sonja could see a burgeoning stream filling the road as the sewers struggled to choke down the excess rainwater.
As she pulled off her headset, Sonja shivered at the high-pitched howl of the wind tearing through Hadleigh's streets. She felt her heart pounding in her chest. She paused, settled. But the roaring wind wouldn't leave her in peace. Tree branches lashed the house. The ragged, erratic slapping jarred her, amplifying her unease.
Sonja heard a deep, growling rumble. A blinding sheet of lightning ripped through the sky. It was answered instantly by a sharp whip-crack of thunder and then a massive, bone-rattling boom.
Blackout.
A scream pierced the air.
© 2026 Nerissa Murray. All Rights Reserved.