The Archive

The digital display on the microwave in the kitchenette cast a thin, sea-green light across the linoleum, dying three feet short of the doorway. Beyond that threshold, the hallway sat in total blackness, cold and narrow as a trench.

James lay awake waiting for the radiator to knock. At 01:30 it had done so; at 01:50 the last bus had gone past, rattling the sash. He knew these things because, lately, he knew the timetable of everything that could wake him. He checked the time: 02:14.