The Lights

By Carrie Pack

It's winter break and Molly Monroe is content to enjoy her town's annual Festival of Lights with her girlfriend Chelsea at her side. But almost immediately after the lights go up, the town's children begin to act strangely, especially Molly's own brother, Roger. When their next-door neighbors are killed in a grisly double homicide, Molly begins to suspect the incidents are linked. Now she must convince her parents and the rest of the town to take down the Christmas lights before everyone gets killed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Carrie Pack
• Release date: Dec 11, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386370680

Carrie Pack

Carrie Pack is an author of books in multiple genres, including Designs on You (2014), In the Present Tense (2016), and Grrrls on the Side (2017). She is a recipient of two Foreword Reviews INDIES Book of the Year Bronze awards: in 2016 for In the Present Tense (science fiction) and in 2017 for Grrrls on the Side (young adult). Grrrls on the Side was also a finalist in the Bi Book Awards. Her novels focus on characters finding themselves in their own time—something she experienced for herself when she came out as bisexual in her thirties. She also hosts the BiSciFi podcast and is creator of the #BiSciFi Twitter chat. She’s passionate about science fiction, feminism, and red lipstick. Carrie lives in Florida, or as she likes to call it, “America’s Wang.”

Book preview

Chapter One

Before the horror that was my darkest Christmas, the lights were a welcome sight. In fact, in our town of New Brighton, the holidays did not officially begin until the Festival of Lights, when the lights would be strung around town, in homes, and on trees. The twinkling lights that danced along gutters and dotted shrubbery in sparkles of red, green, yellow, white, and blue painted a joyful portrait of the season.

When I was a little girl, Dad used to carry me on his shoulders so I could see the tree in the center of town. It seemed like the biggest tree I’d ever seen and the most magical, too.

Looking back, I wonder if the lights brought us too much joy; perhaps this was the world’s way of righting itself. I wonder if we worshipped them just a little too much, relied too heavily on their glow to put us in the holiday spirit. And so the lights fought back.

I remember when I first saw the difference. It was the blue lights. The previous year’s pale turquoise orbs had been replaced by piercing points of cobalt.  It was a chilly November night just after Thanksgiving, and the streets were already hazy with twilight. Chelsea and I were walking home from lacrosse practice and my legs were achingly tired from the pre-season drills and weightlifting Coach had us doing.

I gazed up at the new decorations being strung over Main Street. It was a new design this year, an archway of blue and white lights centered over the south end of the square that spelled out Happy Holidays in a cheerful script. Once lit, it would greet visitors to New Brighton’s Festival of Lights and frame the giant tree next to the gazebo at the center of the square.

But first, there would be New Brighton’s annual candlelight processional. Nearly everyone in town would gather and light a single taper with a paper holder and walk from Jefferson Avenue to the town square, singing carols as the candles lit our way. Then the mayor would flip the switch, and the town would be aglow with the splendor of the season.

Mom looked forward to it every year. She said the holidays didn’t start officially until the candlelight processional. In fact, she wouldn’t let Dad put up a single light or sing a single carol until that night. My little brother, Roger, was mostly excited for presents, but I think he liked the lights too. It was just that age. Toys were more exciting than twinkle lights.

This year, I had plans to celebrate the start of the festival with my girlfriend, Chelsea. Mom and Dad had agreed she could meet us at the processional and we could go out after. I glanced over at her, picturing us holding hands as we strolled through the multicolored wonderland of the square, our cheeks and lips pink from the cold, Chelsea’s deep brown curls brushing the edge of the pale pink cashmere scarf I’d bought her for Christmas.

As we passed under the arch, I waved to Jerry Adler. He’d put up the lights every year for as long as I could remember.

New lights this year, Jerry? I called out in a white puff.

Yup, he said. Mayor’s trying to be more eco-friendly; she’s switched us over to them fancy LED lights.

Cool, I said even though I wasn’t a fan. Mom had bought some LED icicle lights last year and they were so bright they kept me awake at night until the timer kicked off around midnight. This year she promised to pull out the old lights.

Okay, Ben, try it now! Jerry shouted.

The strands of lights burst to life, and I noticed giant white snowflakes framed the edge of the arch. That was a new addition this year too, but it was the blue lights that gave me pause.

I squinted as I looked up, unable to focus on any of the individual bulbs. Something about the way they glowed seemed to burn at my eyes and forced me to look away after only a few seconds.

But then the lights switched off as easily as they had gone on. The spell was broken, and Jerry descended the ladder, ready to move to another part of the street.

I have to get home, Chelsea said. Mom wants me to distract Chloe while she wraps her Christmas presents.

See you tomorrow, I said and kissed her on the cheek.

She smiled at me and then bounded off toward Market Street and her house. She moved like a dancer, with thick, muscled legs and graceful steps. I still couldn’t believe she was mine. A grin split my cheeks, taut and chapped from the cold.

Down the street, Jerry pulled out long strands of red and green lights that would be strung between trees and twisted around light poles. I wondered if all of the lights would be the piercing LED strands. But unlit they looked exactly the same as last year’s lights, especially with Jerry deftly threading the lights through the branches of one of the maple trees that lined Main Street. It was obvious he’d perfected his method over the years. And I knew from experience that when he was done, the lights would cover the trees all over the square. I couldn’t wait.

THE night of the processional, Mom, Dad, Roger, and I huddled in the pharmacy parking lot as we waited for the volunteers who passed out candles. I’d forgotten my gloves at school, so my fingertips were numb and aching by the time we got our candles. 

Molly, you look frozen, Mom said.

I’m fine.

My hands shook as my Dad used his candle to light mine.

Here, take my gloves, kiddo, Dad said, handing me the pair I’d given him last Christmas. He held my candle while I slipped them on. The gloves were still warm from his hands, and the fleece lining felt soft and comforting.

Thanks, I said and kissed his cheek.

Molly Monroe! a voice shouted. And I turned to see my girlfriend, Chelsea Turner, come bounding across the parking lot at us.

She scooped me up in a crushing hug that caused my mom to clear her throat. At just a hair under six feet tall, Chelsea towered over both my parents. It was comical to see her defer to my Mom’s old-fashioned ways. Mom insisted we keep the PDA to a minimum around her, and Chelsea was more than happy to comply. I, on the other hand, liked to push the limits, so I grabbed a handful of Chelsea’s perfectly toned butt and kissed her firmly on the lips.

Her face flushed a deep magenta and she apologized to my family. Stop, she muttered through a smile. Your mom’s still probably pissed about catching us in your room last week.

Roger snorted behind his thick scarf.

Molly, really, Mom said. It’s a family event.

I rolled my eyes, but I kept my hands to myself. Chelsea was right. Mom and Dad had been pretty annoyed with me for making out with Chelsea in my room. Well, it was more involved than just making out because I was almost naked and halfway to an orgasm. Chelsea had her top off. I was a little embarrassed but mostly thought it was hilarious. Chelsea was absolutely mortified.

Dad handed me a lit candle and I used it to light Chelsea’s. She smiled at me as the flame flickered to life and I watched the breeze catch a few strands of her curly hair. I was still amazed she felt the same way about me as I felt about her.

We’d been best friends since third grade and practically inseparable already, but last August I confessed my feelings had changed. I’d had a crush for ages and had finally worked up the courage to tell her. I didn’t even know if she was queer. I just knew I couldn’t go another day without telling her how I felt, even if she completely rejected me. Instead, she kissed me. Now we were a different kind of inseparable.

The people around us began to line up, and we followed. A short, fat man nearby began to sing. His voice echoed off the tall buildings as others gradually joined in. Chelsea held my hand and I listened to her deep alto as she belted out O Come All Ye Faithful in perfect harmony. The flames from our candles illuminated our faces, giving the cluster of people a warm glow that surrounded us completely.

We were toward the back of the crowd and among the last to reach the square, so I had to stand on my tiptoes to see the giant tree at the center of it all. By this point I was so cold, my toes had begun to ache, but I knew there were hot chocolate, cookies, and most importantly, a date with Chelsea waiting as soon as they got that damned tree lit.

I handed my candle to Dad and