Ghosts and Shadows Walk the Streets

Ghosts and shadows walk the streets.

           Some run late for work. Late for school. Some plod home from the night shift. Echoes of tyres and treads mark the roads and sidewalks where the bustle once bustled. Where the chatter once blended with the natural cries of traffic.

           Zach sees the city thrive. Or the memory if it at least. He cannot tell any more. There is only him now. As he wanders down the main street, spectres of once-citizens give way as they pass each other by.

           Left behind. He has one job. Had. It’s all the same now, isn’t it?

           Today, Zach takes one heavy step after another until he reaches the street corner. A four-way crossing, where the wind punches him straight in the teeth. Only the wind. Quiet, carrying not the tinned carbon exhaust fumes that once flooded the city, but stale air. Dust. Rot. Decay. Strong-arming his very nose hairs.

           Zach walks left into this vein of town with tread-ipation. He might make it this time. Put things back to the way they were.

           The science museum preserves its wonders. Views of space as if you are suspended far from Earth, fossils of beings so long extinct the skeletons grin just to be remembered. And then… the Department of Technological Advancements. Where it is housed.

           But rubber floors welcome his nostrils with open doors. Empty halls and corridors hold no obstruction before Zach. There are fewer shadows here. The only ghosts, his reflections in display case glass capturing his woe.

As captive as every other person who disappeared when-

           “What are you looking at?” he and his reflection simultaneously ask. “Jinx!”

           It gets funnier every time.

Really.

Zach faces reality, and the sign giving way to Technological Advancements. He gathers breath. Swallows fear.

Chokes.

He turns around to run, but his feet are planted. He shivers like a tree in persistent wind.

“I can’t take it anymore,” he whispers.

Zach does not grab at his terror, so much as clench his fists.

“Not one more day. It’s not fun anymore. It’s not even funny.”

Grumbling from his stomach tickles him. A hollow laugh rattles out.

“You know, Mom, I used to love spam and baked beans. I thought I could live on this stuff. On my own, in the whole wide world. I’ve missed you, and even Dad, for so long. Now I hate tinned food. I can’t stand it anymore I can’t stand it here alone. I want your crappy roast dinners again!”

Zach’s echo scouts ahead.

No one around to reply.

No one around to stop Zach from doing what he must do. Except himself.

He faces the Technological Advancements Department again. He steps forward. Enjoying the feel of looted clothes that fit him.

“It was okay for a little while,” he muses, “doing whatever I want. Whenever I want. Without people… Well, without people!”

He treads water. Fear. the sweat in his socks.

“I need someone to share birthday cake with…”

Daylight flickers like candles before breath. The silhouettes of window frames warp, turning in accusation towards Zach as he walks into that department.

Dusk falls sooner here. The vast room poorly lit from the drain on the power.

Zach walks through open double doors into the dark. He has seen figures, impressions in his mind take form for some time, but now he must become a shadow too, and step into the dark.

“Hello?”

The adolescent echo mocks his loneliness, greeting Zach as he speaks.

“Professor?”

The echo resounds without a new answer. The museum has learned silence since Zach lost everyone.

“I’m going to push the button! And hopefully everyone will be back. And okay.”

Zach approaches the thrum. Hum. Like a pulse. The machine a living, capricious thing.

“But if not… Well… I guess I won’t have to worry anymore…”

Thrumming… Humming… Pulsing… Louder… Closer…

It sits. Unmoved since this time last year. Not one mote of dust has dared to settle on the machine. Two of its legs are spread proudly before Zach, boasting its inanimate lack of fear.

But he has grown since he last saw it. He stills his tremors. It is just a machine, after all.

Dark metal encases the wiring which was revealed before the demonstration. The interior may look like a brain, but the public was assured, it is not. At least, not in the literal sense.

“I’ve come this far,” Zach laments. “Just like at the demo. I push the button. And this time… It doesn’t go wrong, everyone comes back.”

The big, green flashing button.

He steps closer.

The thrumming intensifies with Zach’s own heart.

“What do I have to lose?”

He holds his fist aloft.

Vibrations from the machine shake Zach to his core.

He steps back, dropping his arm. He presses his palms against the shame on his face.

“Everyone… I could lose everyone. For good.”

He faces away from the machine and drops his arms.

“Maybe I can try again tomorrow. What’s one more day?”

He steps away, looking for the dying rosey light outside. And somewhere else to cry.

Behind, the thrumming continues, mocking in time with Zach’s sobs.

“Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha…”

           Growling. Panting. Zach faces the machine, runs up to it and jumps, swinging his arm into the air above.

           Silence. The machine might just know fear.

           Zach hammers down his fist just as the button flashes bright green.

           He lands on his feet while holding the button down.

           The machine moans. It whines. It roars. It glows.

           Everything shakes. Cracking. All is green with the light of the machine.

           This is the end.

Zach’s last scream chases the cursed silence out of the museum.

***

Thrumming. Mocking. The machine looms beside Zach as his eyes open.

           Light. Warm light. Bedding cocoons him, while chatter trickles over the beeping heart monitor. Chatter. Noise.

“Other people!” Zach sits up in the hospital bed.

“Zach!” Mom gets up from the chair and rushes over, throwing her arms around him.

He looks over to the window, down, at the busy street.  “Am I really home?”

They still walk the streets, on the heels of others. Ghosts of the past. Shadows of doubt.