The Shock Of...

The Shock Of The Lightning

Sean Parks was crossing the building site on his latest property development when his mobile phone rang. He picked up and listened as maintenance worker called Devon, from an apartment block on Salford Quays detailed the latest issues he had. One of the concerns was that the lifts were making awful groaning noises. The elevators creaked under the strain of moving, even when nobody was using them. Residents were complaining. 

Sean listened and said he would look into the issues. He found that being in the property business was a matter of juggling. It was just a matter of keeping the balls in the air and your hands moving as quickly as they could.

Yes, corners were cut, but it was the business they were in. You had to keep your overheads as low as you could, while charging top whack from your tenants and customers. The lifts in the apartment blocks did probably need servicing, but Sean knew a guy who worked for the council. For a reasonable fee, Sean was provided with the up-to-date certificates despite service and repairs not being carried out for a good couple of years now. 

Okay, technically the lifts did need servicing in the Salford Quays apartment block, but that was just red tape, paperwork and procedure. He always found that a lot of these procedures were put in place as a way for engineers to make money. It was a scam, a racket. He played them at their own game by having dodgy paperwork. It was like playing chess. They made a move, and he made his move. 

Business was good, he was working on a new-build estate that, once the work was finished, he would rent out. The houses on the estate could bring him in millions by the time he was done. It would be a life-long dream fulfilled. He just had to keep on going, ducking and diving, cutting corners, bending rules, obtaining bent safety certificates. It was all about keeping on going. You had to keep moving forward. Was he really expected to focus all his attention on one property, get that ship-shape, before moving on to the next project? Forget that. If you wanted to get anything done, you had to charge full steam ahead. 

One Thursday morning, Sean’s mobile phone rang. It was the Salford Quays maintenance worker. Sean rolled his eyes. What on earth did he want now? 

‘Devon, how’s it going?’ Sean asked.

The response was a barrage of noise as Devon screamed and shouted down the phone. Sean held the phone away from his ear as Devon hollered at him.’

‘I can’t understand you, mate. What are you saying? Slow down.’ Sean said.

He heard the maintenance worker take a deep breath before explaining again. It was then that Sean realised the full horror of what he was saying. Devon detailed the accident. That the lift had finally given up and dropped the full length of the apartment block, hurting the only person in the elevator, a visiting electrician. The police and the ambulance were on site presently.

‘I’m on my way.’ Sean said and hung up.

As he drove across the city, he telephoned his city centre office, speaking to his PA, a woman called Sally. He explained that there had been an accident at the Salford block and that she should hold his calls for anything unrelated.

‘And if the newspapers call you, then say nothing. Say you have no comment and that a statement will be issued in due course.’ Sean said. 

Sally agreed, yes, of course, absolutely, adding that she hoped everything was okay. Sean ended the call. Things were not okay, he sighed, in fact, far from okay. 

When he pulled up outside the tower block, the police and ambulance were already there. Officers and paramedics swarmed all over the scene, the blue lights from their vehicles still flashing. As he looked on, the paramedics brought out a body on a stretcher, a red blanket covering the figure completely. 

Devon rushed over to him. He looked pale and upset, he was clearly in shock.

‘He’s dead. The fall killed him.’ 

Sean said nothing, unable to find the words. 

‘The police want to talk to you.’ Devon said.

‘Yeah, of course.’ 

The police officers took a statement from him, and went through all his paperwork. It was all present and correct, but only thanks to the work of corrupt members of the council. The police had seemed satisfied but their sympathies went out to the family of the deceased, Barry Walton. There would be an investigation, but they did not think there would be any come-back on Sean and his business. Everything seemed to be in order. 

Sean thanked the officers for their time, telling them to get in touch if there was anything he could do. This was just awful. He told Devon to take the rest of the day off. He decided he would do the same. The property business could wait until the morning. His heard hurt with the stress and emotion of what had happened.

On the way back his home in the leafy suburbs, he turned the car radio up, in an attempt to drown out the thoughts going round his mind. The accident had just been awful. While of course it hadn’t been his fault, as it happened in one of his properties, Sean felt partly responsible. Maybe he could have done more to improve the safety of his buildings, but he was a businessman at the end of the day, not a welfare officer. He came to a stop at a set of traffic lights.

  The pedestrians filed across the road in front of him. One of them slowed as he crossed the road, finally coming to a stop in front of his car. The figure, a man in work overalls carried a tool-box and had a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. He stopped and simply stood in the road.

The lights changed to green. Sean was just puzzled. What was the guy playing at? Was there something wrong? Was this a prank? The car behind beeped their horn, as Sean hadn’t moved.

Sean glanced behind, and shouted in frustration. When he turned back the figure was gone. As he set off, Sean looked at the pavement but couldn’t see the guy with the tool-box. Very strange. 

Back home in the house he’d moved in after the divorce, he went to make himself a cup of tea. He filled the kettle and as he switched it on, there was a spark and a loud bang. Sean pulled his hand away in shock. He switched the socket off for a moment before trying the kettle again. Thankfully this time the kettle worked as normal. 

He flopped on the sofa and sipped his tea. What a horrible morning. Following the tragic death of Barry Walton, things just seemed off-kilter somehow, like the world had shifted on his axis or something. 

Sean spent the rest of the afternoon dozing on the sofa. He drifted in and out of consciousness, before finally falling asleep.

When he woke just after five o’clock that afternoon, the living room was in darkness. It took him a moment to figure out where he was. Then the events of the day came flooding back. He sighed, it was all just awful. His thoughts were disturbed by a harsh beeping sound coming from upstairs. He recognised the noise immediately. It was his alarm clock. He jogged upstairs and switched the alarm clock off. It was odd that the alarm had gone off then, rather than at six-thirty in the morning when it was set for. Maybe it was time to get a new clock, he’d had this one for a few years. He told himself to set an alarm on his mobile phone just in case the clock did not go off and wake him up in the morning, and headed back downstairs.

He was switching on the lamps when he noticed movement outside. He turned. There was someone at the window, a figure peering in. The figure was wearing what looked like overalls and a baseball cap. He darted across the room and yanked back the curtains fully, to see who was there. He stared in confusion. There was nobody there. The street was completely empty apart from a woman trying to control a bouncing golden retriever across the road. While the dog owner was dragged away down the street, Sean closed the curtains. 

His head hurt. He had more on his mind than an unruly retriever puppy. Ever since the accident at the flats that morning, he’d had the strangest feeling. He was sure it was simply his mind playing tricks, but things seemed to be slightly off. He had seen the figure with the tool-kit and random things like his kettle and alarm clock were playing up. Things that would have normally gone unnoticed, today seemed to have almost a sinister vibe to them. 

That evening Sean struggled to get to sleep. He just couldn’t get the events of the day from his mind. When he did finally drift off to sleep, he had such strange dreams. He dreamed he was stuck in a lift with the figure with the tool-box, and then the lift dropped. Sean woke up with a start, breathing hard. 

He showered and dressed and headed downstairs. When he entered the living room he was stunned by the sound. The television came to life, the radio switched on, blaring out tinny pop music, and the lamps flashed on and off, creating a strobe effect. With panic gripping him, he dashed around the room, switching the TV and radio off, and yanking the lamp plugs out of their sockets. 

He stood in the middle of the now-silent room, breathing hard, still stunned by what had just happened. He looked around, checking things were as they should be, that everything was back to normal. His thoughts were disturbed by a noise from the kitchen. 

He went through, to discover that the microwave oven had started. The clock on the display suggested it was cooking for twenty minutes, but there was nothing inside, the plate rotating was empty. Sean swore to himself and unplugged the microwave. 

There was clearly a problem with the electrics. He would have to call someone out. Maybe the place needed rewiring. He would make a few calls and get it sorted out. A shiver went through him a thought came to mind. What he needed was an electrician. His mind instantly went to the poor chap who had died in the lift accident. He had been an electrician. He shook his head at the suggestion that this had any connection to the accident. The notion was just preposterous. Wasn’t it?

That afternoon, as he was heading to a potential new property on the other side of the city, he pulled up and parked where he could find a space. The parking in the area was shocking. There did not seem to be any spaces at all. He ended up having to park three streets away. If he purchased the property, he would have to check out either parking permits, or nearby carparks. 

As he turned into the street. A car alarm went off. The high pitch beeping made him jump. Sometimes these car alarms were just so sensitive. He recalled a comedian once joking that they were thinking of getting a car alarm, so they could tell when someone was walking by their car. 

He walked on down the street, towards the premises. As he passed the next car parked at the kerb, the alarm went off. And then the next, all three alarms blending together in an awful high-pitched din. People came out of their houses to see what was happening. They stared at the cars, and at Sean in confusion. 

As he walked away down the street, every car alarm went off as he passed by. It was so surreal, it was like those hidden-camera shows you see on television. By the time he reached the end of the road, every car on the street had its alarm blaring. 

Sean ran and ran, each alarm starting as he passed. His ears were ringing at all the alarms going off. He seemed to be surrounded by the sound. It was as though the noise itself was a hostile entity stalking him.

In a complete panic, he crossed the road, heading for a supermarket. Maybe the staff behind the counter could help him somehow. As he was about to step over the threshold, the automatic doors slammed shut in his face.  

He ran on down the street, feeling the sheer panic grip him. He found himself down a back alley, quite unsure what to do. As he wandered down the cobbles of the alleyway, he tried to figure out what was going on. Then it occurred to him. 

Since the electrician had died in Sean’s apartment block, electrical things had been flipping out. Were the two things connected? Was this really happening? Was he imagining the whole thing? Even if this was all in his head, he had to do something.

He knew what he had to do.

He pulled up outside the terraced house. He paused for a long moment, trying to figure out exactly what he would say. He knew he had to speak to the electrician’s widow. He would visit her and offer her a sum of money, a contribution to her, a donation, in light of the accident. Hopefully that would help with whatever strange thing that was happening.

He took a deep breath and headed up the path to the front door.

Lilly Walton had that sad look in her eyes that only the recently bereaved have. She looked like she had been crying constantly.

‘Hi, love. Sorry to trouble you. Your husband was working on my building when he had the accident. I was wondering if I could have a word.’ He said.

Lilly nodded and showed him through to the living room. As they sipped mugs of tea, Sean said how sorry he was for her loss. He said if there was anything he could do, then just let him know. Lilly nodded. 

‘Would you allow me to give you something, a donation?’ He asked. ‘I know it won’t bring your husband back, but I thought it might help.’

‘You really don’t have to. It was an accident. The police say the lift was fully serviced and conditioned. Nobody’s fault.’ She said.

Sean felt a pang at the words. He had forged the service record along with a lot of documents.

‘Please, I insist.’ Sean said.

He handed her a cheque for twenty thousand pounds. Lilly’s eyes widened when she saw the amount.

‘This will really help. Thank you so much.’ 

‘Don’t mention it. And if you need anything just let me know.’ Sean said. 

Sean stepped outside and walked back to his car. He stopped and looked around, listening. There was no car alarms going off, no electrical equipment acting bizarrely. He hoped that things had returned to normal. On the way home, he stopped off at the supermarket. He walked warily up to the automatic doors, preparing for them to not slide open or slam shut as he was about to step through. 

The glass doors slid open as he approached. Sean stepped through the doors, smiling. It looked as though his good deed had paid off. Whatever had been happening, looked as though it had stopped. 

A few days later, as he was leaving his city-centre office, Sally, his PA, gave him a message. There had been a call while Sean had been in a meeting. She read from the note she had made. Someone called Lilly Walton had been in touch, something about a cheque that had bounced.

Sean swore to himself, he had forgotten to transfer the funds to that account. Having written the cheque, he should have transferred the funds from one of his other business accounts to make sure there was enough to cover it. 

Well, he had tried. He had made the gesture. That would have to do. It had been a fine gesture, but now that it came to actually paying out, his generosity had run out. When he had written the cheque, he had every intention of paying out, but now the moment had passed, he was having second thoughts. The strange incidents had stopped, and he wondered if he’d simply imagined it all.

He had written the check sincerely but the moment had passed. He had meant well, but he wasn’t a charity after all. The widow would be fine, wouldn’t she? There would be an insurance pay-out. She really didn’t need his hand-outs. No, she would be fine. And Sean would be better off spending the money on his business than for this woman to squander. 

He scrunched up the piece of paper, shaking his head. 

‘If she rings back, tell her I’m not here.’ Sean said. 

Sally nodded, understood. Lily Walton would be on the list of callers who didn’t get put through. Endless messages would be taken, calls never returned. 

Sean climbed in his car and headed out of the car park. He arrived at the security barrier. He buzzed down his window and reached out to press the button at the barrier. He was about to press the button when it happened. 

The lights on his car dashboard started flashing on and off, the brightness startling his eyes. The radio came to life, blasting out a 1980s pop song at full volume. Sean was stunned. Startled, he stared in confusion at the dashboard, frozen to the spot, his arm still hanging out the window. 

The car window shot straight back up, in a flash, with such force, like a guillotine blade, slicing his arm clean off. Sean screamed in agony and shock as the blood spurted from his wound, gushing, covering the car’s interior.

In the hospital in the days that followed it was the song that had been blaring out of his car stereo that really troubled him. That was why he had just arranged for Sally to process the payment to the widow, and had actually followed through on his promise. It was the song that haunted him. The song title and the singer belting out the chorus. It just chilled him to the bone, and was on his mind even more than his missing limb. 

Don’t You Forget About Me.

By Chris Platt

From: United Kingdom