THE NIGHT WATCHMAN

THE NIGHT WATCHMAN

‘And this is where you keep an eye on the whole shebang’.

Unlocking the door in this basement room, deep in the bowels of the building, the night watchman ushered in the old man who blinked in amazement at the sight that confronted him.

‘It takes a while to get your head around it, I guess. I still get confused sometimes’.

Facing both men, an entire wall was taken up by three banks of TV screens, each displaying a different part of the building. The effect was even more mesmerising due to the darkness of the room itself, there being no need for light with the brightness emanating from so many screens.

‘Park yourself. I’m just gonna take a leak’.

Gerhardt took one of the swivel chairs in front of the operational desk below the wall of images. He stared at each screen in turn but, though he had only just been given a guided tour of this entire building, he could not recognise a single place from the black and white pictures above him.

‘Sorry about that. Weak bladder, you know? The loo is just next door if you need it’.

Gerhardt stared at the young man as he took a seat next to him and started to flick a switch. Jewish, of course; unmistakeable. He hoped that he had washed his hands at least. He knew from the camps just how unhygienic these people were.

‘I don’t wanna fill your head with too much, okay? But each of these switches represents one of those screens. You just flick the switch and then the button next to it allows you to zoom in and get a close-up. Course, you don’t really need to do that on account of there’s never anything to see’.

Gerhardt, an elderly immigrant, long retired, had sought out a job, something, anything, that would get him out of the house. Ever since the death of his wife, he had hated to be alone with his memories at night. He needed to be active but, being a pensioner, finding a job that he could do, had proven to be difficult until, out of the blue, the employment agency had contacted him, one day, and asked if had any previous experience working in security. When he had replied positively, the woman had advised that she thought she had just the job for him: pulling shift as a night watchman at the defunct department store, Abelman’s, that inhabited an entire block on 8th Street and had once been spoken of in the same tones as others such as Macy’s, Bloomingdale’s and the like.

‘So, tonight, I show you the ropes and, after that, you’re on your own, okay?’

Gerhardt nodded. For one night, he could affect geniality. Tomorrow, he’d be sure to bring disinfectant and rags with him to clean every single button and switch in this room but, for now, he withdrew pad and pen from his bag and made notes as he listened to the young man drone on.

‘So, basically, the store’s been vacant for almost five years but its location makes it a prime piece of real estate so the insurance company insists on full-time security, 24/7. It’s mind numbing but, hey, what you gonna do? It’s money for old rope. You ever come to Abelman’s when it was open?’

Gerhardt shook his head. Perish the thought. He would rather die than spend money in a Jewish store. How times had changed.

‘Me neither. Guess that’s why it went bust’, the man, Joseph, giggled, pleased at his own humour.

Gerhardt feigned a smile. Only another seven hours in the company of this kike idiot, he thought.

‘I’ve been here since the first night after it closed. Of course, we didn’t have cameras back then and my job was to patrol the store every hour. It was pretty spooky, let me tell ya; all those clothes dummies everywhere. Gave me the creeps and I almost quit a couple of times. When they installed these cameras in the basement, here, the job suddenly became a piece of cake. No more roaming around with a torch in the dark. See, they had to install night lights so’s the cameras could pick up everything. Now, we just sit here instead’.

When Joseph finally stopped talking and fell asleep, feet up on the control desk, Gerhardt checked his watch; only two hours to go. Not a single thing had disturbed the images on the screen and, he realised, even at his advanced age, this was a job that he could do easily and effectively.

That next day, back in his brownstone apartment, he took a rag and some alcohol and wiped each of the keys that Joseph had given him assiduously. Then, he labeled each before placing them in an inside pocket of his bag. Next, he placed clean rags and disinfectant in his bag alongside a novel, in his native language, that would help him pass the eight hours of his shift, alone, that night. Finally, he added a flask of coffee and some sandwiches. Ever since his schooldays, he had been this way; always well prepared and meticulous as was the Germanic way.

As he let himself into the goods entrance at the rear of the store and flicked the switch that Joseph had shown him, operating the night lights that gave the store an eerie glow, he marvelled at the sheer size of this once proud edifice that stretched upwards for three floors. Never one to scare easily, nevertheless, he was grateful that his job did not necessitate hourly patrols such as Joseph had described.

Down in the basement of the building, he shuffled along to the security room and inserted the key.

‘Hey, ‘bout time, man. You shoulda been here a half hour ago’.

Gerhardt apologised, pointing out that Joseph had told him his shift started at six, taking out his pad from his bag to show the angry young man the notes he had written down so as to emphasise his point.

‘Yeah, six is when you take over down here, but five thirty is when those night lights need to get switched on, capeesh? Soon as it gets dark outside, I can’t see a damn thing inside. Jeez, man’.

Once again, Gerhardt apologised and explained that he had not been told this but would ensure it never happened again. Grabbing his bag, the young man, began to leave as Gerhardt stared, disconsolately, at the crumbs that lay scattered over the control panel.

‘Hey, how old are you anyway, man? Really scraping the barrel these days, huh?’

Swallowing the bile that rose in his throat, disguising the anger that seeped from every pore, he thought of the exquisite torture he would have inflicted once but the old man just smiled and nodded and then watched, fascinated, on each screen as the security guard exited and climbed the back staircase, walked through the ground floor, leaving the building at the rear, an external camera picking him up as he walked along the alleyway and disappeared into the darkness of the night. For the first time, Gerhardt had seen these movements captured on screen and wondered at this miracle of the seventies. How easy his job would have been if such technology had existed thirty years previously in Eastern Europe.

That first night had passed uneventfully and Gerhardt was actually looking forward to his next night, making sure to arrive in time to activate the night lights before darkness descended. At the end of tonight’s shift, with daylight emerging, he planned to acquaint himself with every single camera so that he could tell, at a glance, which screen represented which particular location within the store and he had brought sticky labels so that he could apply one to each TV monitor. The same young security guard stared at him contemptuously before leaving without saying a word. Such rudeness; these young Jews needed to be taught some manners. He stared with disgust at the crumbed remnants that lay dispersed across the control panel that he had cleaned meticulously the previous night and, with a deep sigh, withdrew the disinfectant from his bag.

Shortly after midnight, as Gerhardt read his book, a sudden flash on one of the screens made him sit up in alarm. Staring from one screen to the other trying to see what it was that had startled him, he could see nothing. Had he imagined it? He watched intently for five minutes but everything was as normal; no movement whatsoever, and, finally, he relaxed and took his coffee flask from his bag. He thought the imaginary flash had come from the screen on the top tier, extreme left of the bank of monitors but had no idea where in the store that location was. All the more reason why he needed to label each screen later.

As he poured his coffee, he sensed, rather than saw, another swift flash of movement in his peripheral vision, resulting in the spilling of some of his drink on his trousers, the scalding heat causing him to reel back from the control board.

He cast aside the flask and concentrated fixedly on the screens. This time, he was sure that the movement had been on the second screen from the left; the one adjacent to the first monitor. Open mouthed, his heart beating wildly, he stared, unblinking. Suddenly, there was another flash. He was sure of it, this time. Somebody was in the building! But where? What to do? Calm, stay calm. Think. The emergency procedure, what was it? He grabbed for his bag blindly, his eyes never leaving the screens, pulling out his notebook.

Glancing at his notes, turning pages swiftly, he was shaken to sense yet another sign of movement. Finding the number he had jotted down, he reached for the phone on the desk and dialled, his eyes now back on the banks of screens. After several rings, he heard a sleepy voice answer.

‘Hello?’

‘This is Gerhardt, security guard at Abelman’s department store. There is somebody in the building. I...”

‘What the fuck! Is that you, Gerhardt? Do you know what time it is?’

‘Joseph? I’m sorry but...there’s someone in the store. I...’

‘Are you fucking crazy? Who would be in the store? There’s nothing to steal in the store. You imagined it, old man’.

As Gerhardt opened his mouth to protest, all of a sudden, he saw another sign of movement on a screen in the middle tier; then another on the one next to it...then another. Impossible to distinguish exactly, they were like shadows moving within shadows, gathering pace.

‘I...I... see it again...’

‘Where, old man? Where can you see this thing? Focus. Tell me exactly’.

Gerhardt swallowed deeply and tried to calm himself.

‘First on the far left screen, then the one next to it...’

‘They cover the top floor...’

‘Then, the middle tier, just now, moving from left to right...’

That’s the ground floor...’

‘Now, the lower tier...Good God. What do I do? Help me, call the police...’

‘The lower tier? That bank of screens covers the stairs down to the basement, the corridor to where you are. Whatever it is, it’s heading your way; it’s coming for you’.

'Untermensch...'



Gerhardt watched, stupefied, as the shadow paused at the last screen of all. He watched, horrified, as it looked up and he found himself staring at the screaming, agonised faces of all those thousands he had tortured, intermingling, ever changing, then morphing into one; the terrifying golem of his nightmares. He heard the pounding on his door, dropped the phone from his hand and collapsed clutching his chest, the flask of coffee spilling over him, unfelt, as he took his last breath before beginning his journey to hell.