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Three months passed. True to her word Mother Fry rostered him on nights only, until one evening he found a note in his cubbyhole whilst making tea in the staff room. It contained a single line etched in the rhythmic ink of a fountain pen. You are to remain after your shift ends for your…
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The brick compound loomed out of the mist, blackened by damp, dusk and soot. Reginald Unwin stopped at the gate. For a moment he thought the building had no windows. Then the mist shifted and they appeared: long rows of them, dark and blind beneath stone lintels, reflecting nothing of the evening. The walls seemed…
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The first sound was always the wind. Not the clean kind. Not the breeze forever rushing along the riverbank. Or the sudden gusts that rattled the rooftop vents. This sound was slower, heavier, steady in compulsion, like breath. Air moved slowly inside the building’s ribs. Slid along the steel girders, like a bow drawing across…
