Clap, Clap

The inn was simply called The Inn, as there was no other place like it within a two hundred mile radius. Or at least, according to a quick internet search, there was no other place like it close by. Many that visited The Inn were often willing to wager that there wasn’t anywhere else quite like it in the entire country. The Inn was a novelty. It was unique.

After the original owners were bought out and renovations began, everyone that passed through the place marveled at how miraculously well preserved it was for being almost a hundred years old. It was thought that the largest majority of its patrons would be lovers of the obscure who would stay a night or two before packing themselves back into their electric, self-driving vehicles, to head in the direction of their next destination.

Much of the structure’s original character was preserved in the renovations, as was its vintage curb appeal. The Inn’s new, history buff of an owner, wished to attract travelers off the state route with The Inn’s mid nineteen-nineties charm and its close proximity to the in-person shopping centers that were popping up in the area. These were trending again after a forty year dry spell that almost wiped out the industry entirely. It was also near an up and coming self-serving pho restaurant with an artificial intelligence preparation shtick. Time itself was moving forward into an era where the population would thrive off of progress, and luckily, in this case, progress would also encompass an appreciation for all things old and timeless as well.

Coming across a building from this particular era that was in such pristine condition was a very uncommon occurrence. The Inn’s new owner referred to it as his “unicorn” in conversations with his friends. It was like a giant time capsule had plopped down in his path.

It was his wish that as much of The Inn’s antique charm be maintained as possible. In a world where all things were kept digitally, one of The Inn’s oddities was the presence of physical books in every room. He had once read an ebook that had mentioned the existence of magazines, and he was delighted to find some of these as well. The televisions were large brown cubes, and had buttons built into them that he assumed were used to control the channels and volume. He tested this theory by attempting to turn one of them on, and was unsuccessful.

An unforeseen dilemma arose during the renovations that stumped the local electricians that had been hired for the job. Every light in the house was switch-operated. This, which was widely considered to be old-fashioned and slightly dangerous, would be upgraded by the electricians to A.I. operated lighting. The owner questioned why the switches could not be kept to maintain the retro vibe of The Inn, and the electricians humbly explained that switches were not their area of expertise, as the method was considered to be antiquated. New wiring would need to be installed, as would the modern A.I. operated lighting. While the owner was disappointed by the fact that the switches would be replaced, he ultimately agreed with the plan. Rather than flipping a switch, one would simply just have to verbally ask the room for a light to be turned on or off, and he was fine with that.

During this process, the workers came across a room that did not have lights wired into the ceiling. A small lamp sat on a bedside table, but that was the only evidence that lent to the fact that the person who had inhabited this room did not prefer to dwell in constant darkness. The lamp was plugged into a small box that appeared to be plugged into the electrical outlet in the wall.

The electricians took their lunch break at a diner across town. They ordered their food off a menu on a hand held screen, and talked about their lamp debacle. They would likely need to wire a light into the ceiling of that room, but what in the world is that box that the lamp is plugged into? They decided that they would have to resort to questioning A.I. when they finished eating. A call was placed to the owner of The Inn, and he let them know that he would do some research on the strange box as well.

As they talked among themselves, an older gentleman approached their table. He had overheard their conversation and thought that he may be able to assist them. They studied the man, and realized that he was not much younger than The Inn itself. If one had to guess, the man was likely eighty years old, maybe even eighty-five. He stood with a slight stoop and walked with a cane, but was well dressed and fashionable for a man his age. His wrinkled face was kind, despite the mischievous glint in his eyes that was nearly undetectable. He seemed to exude an unspoken wisdom that can only be obtained from a long and well-lived life. Amused, the other men agreed to let the man follow them back to The Inn.

On their return trip, the owner called the electricians. He unfortunately didn’t find anything out about the box or the lamp in his research. Everyone remained puzzled.

Once they arrived, they led the old man to what they had started referring to as “the lamp room”. It was dim, lit only by the mid-afternoon sun, which was winking through the curtains of the single window on the opposite wall. The old man bent forward to examine the box that the lamp was plugged into. He paused, deep in thought, and then made prolonged eye contact with each of the men as he slowly straightened. Without saying a word, he gave two loud claps. As he did this, the lamp illuminated the room with a soft, sepia glow.

“Clap light,” he explained.

And with that, he turned on his heel, cane in hand for balance, and shuffled toward the door. He tipped his hat at the men, and left.