Lights Out Book Review Novels & Stories

I looked at him as he opened it. Of course, his mom would find it quite weird if she discovered that we hadn't been sharing the same bedroom. "You can start unpacking. I've got a conference call to deal with." Justin left as I stepped into the dark-themed, aesthetically designed bedroom. The walls had a stunning midnight decor and there was a luxurious tufted bed, an elegant chandelier, vintage furniture, a gallery with a TV wall panel and soft golden lighting. This was definitely Justin Martínez's sanctuary.

No one has found the bodies yet, though, so theres still a lingering hope out there that they're alive. I sigh as I crawl under the thick quilt, flicking on the lamo beside me as I pull out my latest find at Barnes and Nobels: The Winter Garden by the famous Kristin Hannah. This woman's books are truly amazing. Then, after an hour long reading session, I find my eyes beginning to shut against my will, so I set down the book on the bedside table and shut off the lamp. ~ The next morning...

I feel around my bed to look for my phone so I can use the flash. After finding my phone and turning on the flash light , I see my bed slightly disheveled but not slept in. I realize that my night light had not been turned on , and my college books still lay open on my desk. My laptop is closed , but by the light that peeks from the on switch I know that it was never turned off. I place my thumb at the side of my head while rubbing my forehead with the rest of the four fingers. I think hard , thinking back to when I decided to nap. I recall never wanting to nap , or deciding to.

Resting her head against her knees she fell asleep. Later on, she woke up with her body aching from sleeping in that position. She opened the closet door to see the sky dyed pink, red, orange and a hint of purple. She wasn’t sure what time it was. She opened the door to the room that lead out to wards the kitchen. the Clock on the stove blinked 7:45. She knew from the place the sky filled with color that she had slept through the night. Her head throbbed with pain. Everyone inside was asleep. This was her chance to leave. She crept to the back door. There was a security pin on it. this was something new.

The words danced before her eyes under the warm glow of the golden bedside lamp, drawing her deeper and deeper into their dark worlds, until it seemed as if she were slipping into her haunted depths. A faint scent of paper, mingled with the musk of age, filled her nostrils, and the rustle of each folded page added a strange mixture of familiarity and dread to the atmosphere. But as the sentences crowded her eyes, her eyelids began to grow heavy. Sleep crept into her mind like a slow tide. She yawned softly, closed the book with a weary movement, and placed it on the small table beside her. She reached out and switched off the lamp, and a pale gloom, punctuated by silvery threads of moonlight

Cold sweat drenched my body as I curled under the blanket, trembling. I wanted water. I forced myself up and staggered toward the stairs. The living room lights were off, but I saw a shadow on the sofa. Jonathan sat there, motionless. A cigarette burned between his fingers, glowing faintly in the dark. I didn’t dare make a sound. I tried to slip back upstairs quietly. "If you’re awake, come here." His hoarse and exhausted voice came from the darkness. I had no choice but to walk over. "Uncle Jonathan."

It pulsed softly, throwing the spines of countless books into sharp relief and sending long, distorted shadows dancing across the floorboards. From the corner of my eye, I saw Cassius’s silhouette, still and watchful as ever. I moved to the central desk, my boots echoing in the vastness. My fingers, acting on memory alone, found the worn leather pouch. The flint and steel felt cold in my hand. A sharp strike, a shower of sparks, and a single flame sprang to life on the wick of the main candle, painting the room in hues of gold and amber. One by one, I lit the sconces that lined the curved walls, the growing light a physical weight pushing back the oppressive dark.

I looked at him in the porch light, the same light he'd said he left on, and thought about all the weeks this light had been burning without anyone to walk up to the door, and the week it had taken for everything to shift into something that resembled an answer to it. "Go Get some sleep," I said. He kissed me once, brief and warm. "You too." I walked to my car. Drove home. Lay in bed with my notebook open, and this time I wrote something I actually remembered in the morning—not fiction, just a sentence, maybe two. *The thing about people who leave lights on is that they always planned for someone to come home. The light isn't hope exactly. It's just a person who decided not to close the door

So, it's now to enjoy my little freedom or never. I refused to go out for lunch or dinner; the meal was brought to my room while I read away time. The book was so thrilling and filled with unbelievable tactics you can use to get a man wrapped around your finger. Light out soon took its turn of the day; I slid out of the bed to take a quick shower, then dressed up in a nightgown before sliding back into the bed, taking the book into my hands again. However, it didn't take long before my eyelids started to get heavy. I glanced at the door, hoping for something—for someone to be precise—then I dozed off after the disappointment.

Thorne's POV He left the light on. He never does that. The prey dorms are dim by default—soft, low lights that don’t burn the eyes, all part of the "comfort design." But his lamp is on. Still on. Casting a thin, syrupy gold glow over his desk, the floor, the foot of his bed. I don’t know if it’s a mistake. Or if he’s scared. Or if, somehow, somewhere deep down, he wanted me to see him like this.