The Night Station

It started at night. My wife left — she took the kid. I was alone. Leslie, my latest replacement for my wife, said it was over. She had enough of my demands. I could hear the wind ripping at the shingles on the roof. I heard voices in the rumble talking about me – lambasting me – taking me to task. Then they fell silent with the dying wind – the electricity went out and the night invaded like a predator. I’d been drinking. It was 3 a.m. The house was beginning to get cold – there was no power to start the furnace. Even through the haze of alcohol I felt the chill like a knife. I could feel the walls of the house closing in, locking me away in a dark impenetrable tomb. I feared Time had stopped, frozen — but, I was sadly mistaken because I saw the reflection of light in a window across from where I’d been sitting – the sickly, yellow glow flared up like an electric arc. Several lights began to appear in the field across from my house. No one knew what the ramshackle structure was supposed to be. It had always been there behind a fence topped with razor wire. It wasn’t a house – it was too large, built from sheets of metal and plastic like some kind of mechanism. The street lights were dark, the power was still out. I saw warped shadows flickering through the yellow glow coming from the structure across the street. The night surrounded the structure like a  black void as if the world disappeared – and everyone was dead. (to be continued)

Night Station

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