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It started when the lightbulb above the dining room table kept going out. They didn't think of themselves as being afraid of the dark, but something about the way the shadows moved unsettled them. After a week of the light going out every day, they started to keep a box of lightbulbs on the dining room table so they could replace it quickly. This helped for almost a week. Then it started to spread.
They lived in a studio apartment, so there wasn't very much for it to spread to, but it had originally just been the one light above the dining room table and now it was the kitchen lights, the lamps on all the tables, the one yellowed lightbulb in the bathroom that had never quite been bright enough anyway but “kind of dim” and “can't see your hand in front of your face when the is door closed” are two entirely different things. They called maintenance but nobody was available, not for weeks at the earliest. It wasn't an emergency, they said. As long as the refrigerator and the plumbing and the thermostat and the stove kept working, it wasn't an emergency, they said. If any of those broke, they could have someone up within the next few days. And so they kept replacing light bulbs.
Sometimes the fresh lightbulb would work for a few hours. That was the best they could hope for at this point. More often than not it would be out again by the time they looked away and back again. And they could swear that even when they lasted they never quite lit up the space the way they used to. They bought another lamp for their bedside. They put a candle, then two, then three, in the bathroom alone. They said (they told themselves, they told the shadows) it was because they liked the smell. One was vanilla, one was coffee, one was pumpkin pie. They did like the smell. But it was choking in the small space. They moved two of the candles to the coffee table. (They left the coffee candle in the bathroom. Their version of a joke. Trying to lighten up the atmosphere.) They went to the store to get new candles because the old ones were burning fast. There was a buy one get one free on an overstock of colorful Christmas lights. They went home with a dozen fresh scented candles, a container of tea lights, two packs of tall, thin, white candles, and a dozen boxes of Christmas lights. Oh, and three more boxes of replacement light bulbs. They turned up the heat in the flat, as recently they had been feeling a little bit cold.
They put the lights up with tape, knowing the landlords would have their hide about the wallpaper but not quite being able to care. It didn't matter. All that mattered was that it was getting dark, and they were cold, and the bulbs in their now-numerous lamps were never enough to make the shadows retreat. The lights went up on every wall, the candles sat on every surface. The smell was suffocating, but it was better than the cold. They didn't sleep that night because the candles might burn the place down. (Because when they closed their eyes it was dark.)
It got dark so early in the winter, and the few windows in the apartment faced away from the sun. It had been nice- they never had to worry about getting sun in their eyes, but now they longed for the glaring pain of the star, because then their eyes would drink their fill of light. It would be worth it.
The Christmas lights flickered strangely, and the candles were almost down. The air was thick with pine, gingerbread, cinnamon-apple, lemon, coconut, sandalwood- everything all layering on top of everything else, until they considered putting a wet rag over their mouth in order to breathe. But that would make them cold, and they did not want to be cold.
When the end came, it came slowly. It had no need to rush. The door was locked from the outside as the lamp behind them buzzed angrily and went out. Then half of one of the strings of fairy lights. Then another lamp. They tried to replace the first lamp’s bulb, but their stiff fingers- glass shattered on the floor. Another strand of lights fuzzed out. When had they closed the shades? The broken glass reflected the candlelight. It reflected the shadows too. Then the shards frosted over, and reflected nothing.
Blue-tinged fingers fumbled with a lighter, but a breath that was not theirs extinguished it. Had the sun set already? They could feel the dark pressing over their face. What was the time? Their eyes were open wide shut as they stared into nothing.
Somewhere, something was burning. They could smell smoke, though they could not see it. Nor could they see any fire, or feel any warmth. Lying down sounded nice, they decided. Had they decided? Or had they simply always been on the floor? Did it matter...? It probably didn't matter. They tried to brush at the softness blanketing their face, but there was nothing there at all. Their numb fingers couldn’t feel anything anyway. The nothing caressed their face, and the darkness smiled at them. They didn’t move much after that. Why would they?
—
“Well, that’s odd,” the coroner muttered as she jotted something down.
“What’s… odd?” the coroner’s intern asked.
The coroner’s brow was deeply furrowed. “Cause of death,” she said.
“What’s odd about… dying from fire in an apartment fire?” the coroner’s intern asked, wondering if this was some sort of hazing ritual.
“The victim didn’t die of burns,” the coroner said.
“Smoke inhalation, then?” the coroner’s intern guessed hopefully.
The coroner shook her head. “No,” she said. “I’m pretty sure the victim froze to death.”