The Lights Are Out

 

Clickety clackety clickety clackety.

An odd assortment of noises carried down the dark lane, past the dusty windows, broken doors, and peering eyes. The squeaking of unoiled joints, the squelching of wet rubber and the groaning of wood resounded, siphoned through the street from beginning to end, beyond. Carried by strong vibrations, they were felt even before the figure was realised. The air was damp, foggy, chilled, and saturated with fearsome anxiety, given away by frantic murmurs and the shuffling noises of poorly hidden movements.

The sounds became louder as the shape moved closer. The air seemed to thicken and tighten in on itself. Particles of dust, seen in the dim beams of light from the street lamps, ceased their frenzied movements. More shifts of cloth against cloth, cloth against skin, and scraping of shoes could be heard; terror took hold and feet moved in the opposite direction, away from the windows, doors, and other unknown orifices of the building. The silhouette was now upon the first house. The door opened, as if on a gentle breeze, and light flooded the street, carrying upon it, neatly floating, the irregularly quiet form of a baby. The dark shape slowed as it came into the light. It could now be identified...

A wheelbarrow

As the illuminated body floated through the air, life seemed to rapidly drain from it, limbs going limp, the fluid under the skin losing to gravity, turgidity gone. The now corpse-resembling mass of flesh was delicately lowered into the moving container. There were no screams. The lights in the house went out. The street was dark, foggy and poorly lit once more.

The sounds started up again, less creaky, more clackety.


I don't know what I'm doing. This came from nowhere. There's more, but I don't think here is the place to post it.