Low rumblings of thunder sounded off a far distance from the bedroom where Taylor Momsen was resting. She was seated in bed with her pet Maltese, Petal, asleep by her side; neither of them were fazed by the torrential downpour tapping on the window or the occasional flashes of lightning piercing through the black of the night. The only reliable source of light came from the lamp on the nightstand beside Taylor's bed, which she was using to read a book of poetry that she was almost finished reading. She was holding the book open with one hand and petting her sleeping dog with the other when the lamp began to flicker on and off.
No big deal, she thought. She'd just go get another light bulb. Then she remembered something that left her concerned. That was a brand new bulb she had only put in two days earlier, so this wasn't something a new bulb was going to fix. Before the bulb could blow out, Taylor bent the corner of the page she was on, put the book down beside the lamp, and then turned the lamp off. Her dog lifted her head and turned to face Taylor after the woman shrieked and jumped in a panic.
The rain outside seemed to start falling even harder, pounding on the window loud enough to drown out Taylor's racing heartbeat and terrified breathing. When she had turned off the lamp, a handprint appeared on the lampshade that wasn't there before. The residue was colored a faint shade of translucent white, but it otherwise appeared to be a normal human handprint in shape and size. Needless to say, though she had previously had experiences that she attributed to the supernatural, Taylor still had trouble sleeping that night.
Cautiously, she tried turning the lamp back on and found a small source of relief in the fact that the bulb still worked. Not knowing how much longer the bulb would last, Taylor decided to use her time productively while she had some light. She opened the drawer in the nightstand, put her novel in it, and took out the book she used to write lyrics and other song ideas. She closed the drawer and opened the book to the first page. Inside was a ballpoint pen being hung by its clip over the top edge of the inside front cover. She retrieved the pen and pressed her thumb down on the thrust device. Once it clicked on, she turned to the first empty page she could find and began to write.
Early the following afternoon, Taylor went out to do a little shopping. If there was a ghost in her house, she wanted to be prepared for the next evening. If there wasn't and her exhausted mind was just conjuring stuff up, then at least she had a good time shopping that day. She came home with a new lampshade, a package of lightbulbs, a pack of ballpoint pens like the one she used, and a new notepad.
The weather outside was much better that evening. The rain was pouring down once again, but as a gentle drizzle, and the rainclouds courteously stayed out of the way of the moon. With her dog at her side, the pajama-clad Taylor sat contently in bed, reading the final chapter of her novel by the light of the lamp. Beside the lamp was the new notepad, which had one of the new pens resting upon it. Taylor gave the notepad and pen a glance as she opened the drawer of the nightstand and put her finished novel away next to the notepad that was already in use. She closed the drawer, then turned her attention to Petal.
The dog had its attention squarely focused on the wall opposite the bed. Petal's senses of smell, sight, and hearing had weakened with age, but from the way she looked at the wall, it was clear to Taylor that she could sense something was there. And something did indeed turn out to be there in the form of a handprint on that wall exactly like the one on the lampshade. Taylor quickly grabbed the new pen and notepad, taking the latter in her left hand and the former in her right.
