Aurora_Borealis.jpg

A short horror story.

Olivia was curled up on the couch with a glass of wine and Graham Norton for company when Liam called her from the back garden.

"Liv, come quick, you have to see this!"

Stepping outside onto the dewy grass, Olivia was greeted by her husband and the cool night air. Stretching across the sky was the celestial spectacle that was the aurora borealis in all its splendour, dancing in vibrant hues of green and purple. The couple found themselves spellbound by this rare gift bestowed upon their humble garden.

"It's beautiful," said Olivia. "Can you take a pic?"

"My phone's dead," replied Liam.

She needed to immortalize this moment on social media but as she reached for her iPhone, her fingers met empty pockets.

"Ugh, left mine inside."

Liam shrugged. "Guess we'll just have to enjoy it without documenting every second for once."

"Good one," she joked, playfully punching his shoulder. "I'll be right back."

After a quick kiss, she dashed into the house. In the kitchen, she checked the countertops, the dining table, beneath scattered mail and behind cereal boxes, but the iPhone remained elusive. Undeterred, she moved through the living room. She sifted through cushions on the couch, her fingers brushing against loose change and a crumpled TV guide, but still, her phone remained out of reach. Frantically, she continued rummaging through every nook and cranny of all the downstairs rooms of their quaint home.

When she returned to the garden, Liam was still gazing up at the shimmering lights dancing across the night sky, somehow content in the knowledge that some moments were meant to be cherished, not captured.

"Can you remember where I had it last?" she asked.

"No idea."

"Well it must be here somewhere, like!"

As she jogged through the yard towards the garden shed, her foot caught her son's bicycle, sending her sprawling to the ground with a sharp cry of pain. Clutching her injured leg, Olivia gritted her teeth against the searing agony, her breaths coming in ragged gasps as she fought to regain her bearings.

"Will you watch where you're going, Liv!" shouted Liam.

With trembling hands, Olivia slowly pushed herself upright, her vision swimming with dizziness. Every movement sent waves of pain radiating through her body, but she knew she couldn't afford to give up now. She checked the shed. The musty scent of old tools filled her nostrils as she scanned the cluttered shelves and workbenches. Still no sign. With a heavy sigh, she left the shed empty-handed, the weight of her failure pressing down upon her. But as she stepped back into the cool night air, a flicker of determination ignited within her. Turning back towards the shed, her eyes fell upon an old axe leaning against the wall. The weight of it felt foreign and heavy against her palm, but she knew it was her only chance at reclaiming what she had lost. With the axe in tow, she made her way back inside the house, her steps measured and deliberate.

Upstairs in the bedroom, she stripped apart bedsheets and duvets. She searched both bedside tables. She took her frustration out on her wardrobe, taking its doors off its hinges with the axe. She fell clumsily to her knees, enduring another bolt of pain from her injured leg, and looked under the bed. Nothing there but dust and Liam's slippers. She pulled herself to her feet again using the foot of the bed, and hobbled back out to the hallway. Her dreams of capturing the aurora borealis for her social media followers were slipping through her fingers like grains of sand but there was still one place she hadn't searched - her teenage son's bedroom.

"Jack, open the door."

"Go away. I'm on YouTube!"

"Jack, unlock this goddamn door now. I won't tell you again!"

Olivia screamed his name, and this time when she swung the axe, a long splinter of wood jumped from the door and clattered off the carpet. The next blow brought a sickening, splintering crack, the sound of dry kindling under a hatchet. The axe head, now splintered and gouged in its own right, bashed through the new hole in the door, was withdrawn, and came down again, sending wooden shrapnel flying across the room.

Jack screamed, "Ma, what's the matter with you, ye weirdo?"

The axe crashed through again, widening the hole, and then Olivia's hand groped the bolt. She charged through, bellowing.

Jack watched on from his bed as his mother started breaking things up. The animal sounds of destruction went on and on, accompanied by thick shouts of "did you see my phone anywhere?" There was a thump as Jack's TV was overturned, a hollow crash as his PlayStation 4 was smashed. She struck the walls indiscriminately with the axe.

Liam ran into the room and couldn't believe his eyes. There was nothing of the real Olivia in that howling, maundering, petulant voice. It alternately whined in tones of self-pity and rose in lurid screams; it reminded him chillingly of the screams from horror movies. Senile dementia. Olivia wasn't here anymore. Liam was hearing the lunatic, raving voice of a demonic presence missing their iPhone camera.

Liam turned to his son. "Jack, go downstairs and take a picture of the sky with your phone."

"But why should I?"

"Just do it!"

Jack sulked and left the room. At this point, Olivia was curled up in the fetal position at the end of her son's bed, shivering violently, mumbling a prayer to Saint Anthony.

Liam sat next to her. "It's going to be okay, love," he whispered, rubbing her forehead.

The shaking started to slow. While she may not have found her phone, she was finding herself again. Jack returned and handed her his phone. Olivia's heart swelled with gratitude. She stood up and gave her son a massive hug. The embrace soon turned into a group hug when Liam joined in.

"I'm so sorry, you guys."

"Don't care,' said Jack. "You're buying me a new telly tomorrow. And a PS5!"

Olivia laughed through snots and tears. "Of course, pet! Whatever you want."

She sat back on the edge of the bed and glanced down at Jack's phone to take in his photography. But the results were underwhelming. The pixels seemed slightly blurred, the colours less vivid than she had hoped. It slowly dawned on her what type of phone she was holding. This wasn't an iOS with advanced lens technology, better low-light performance and improved overall image quality. This was a low-end Android phone.

"Well," said her husband, smiling. "What do you think?"

She didn't respond, couldn't respond. The cheap phone fell onto her lap, and with her empty hands, she picked up the axe again.