The Rave Light

The girlfriend and I recently moved into an apartment near campus. It's spacious, shaped like a giant rectangle, and has air conditioning. It's basically everything we could ask for, minus the occasional bajillion legged insect.

We've made minor repairs to things here and there, acting like we own the place as opposed to rent it. We put up curtains, posters, moved shelves, and dressed it up to our heart's content. However, there was one problem.

The lights in the bedroom are on a track system in the middle of the ceiling. There are three of them. The outer two turned on without fail, but the middle one appeared to be burnt out. We noticed this early on, and I pondered how we'd go about solving this problem.


And then I forgot. My memory only responds to interrogative prodding, not attempted recall. I quickly became busy with the state of my desk and left the light to its dim fate.

A few weeks later, the girlfriend commented on the darkness of the bedroom. I heard her shouting from the other side of the rectangle, and came to find her checking out the light. I am convinced, now, that had either of us any sense we would've realized what was happening.

The light was left off for a reason. The previous owner had realized the satanic powers that rested inside that metallic canister of hedonism and had defused its intentions at the source. I left the room for a moment, and I'm now certain that while I was away the light implanted directives in the girlfriend's brain.





She grabbed a bulb and asked me to put the light in. Being foolish and naive, I obeyed. I perched on the edge of the bed; I could feel the canister writhing with anxious joy. I screwed in the light, and the girlfriend flipped the switch.

But then everything was fine. The terror I had felt washed away and the room was normal, bathed in a new vibrant light.

This peace lasted a few short minutes. The light quickly reached full strength and began to strobe like mad. Out of the deepest rings of hell came an UHNTZ that reverberated around our bedroom like the explosion of Krakatoa. Within seconds ravers poured in from the windows and we found ourselves awash in a dance party.



Though we've been raving upon entry into the bedroom for months, we have yet to extinguish the life in that satanic device. While its hypnotizing attempts at starting dance parties are tiresome, I've found it gives us a solid reason to save electricty. The environment is of little concern to me when a rave demon is UHNTZing his soul out in our bedroom.

Wherever he goes when we extinguish him, I hope he's happy.