I grew up in the eighties, back before cell phones and the Internet, back during a time that when the power went out, you truly got the sense that you were disconnected from the world—especially at night—in a storm.
I was home one Friday night with my daughters—Cassie, ten, and Carmen, eight—and Carmen’s little friend Missy. Missy was a sweet little girl with fire-red hair and freckles, and a pleasant disposition that couldn’t have been more contrary to her appearance. We were sitting around eating popcorn and watching some silly movie about teenage vampires when all the sudden, a storm rolled in. We lived in an old farmhouse just outside the city limits and surrounded by a stand of pine trees, and we often lost power during storms. Sure enough, right after the first big flash of lightning and crash of thunder, the power went out.