He feels something shift in the past few weeks. Not really any one thing in particular, but some culmination of things that all fell away at the gentle nudge of an autumn breeze through hus window.

And as it always does, the dawn sunrise eases his eyes ajar to a calm, quiet morning. The smell of clean linens fades to an earthen smell that floats in as he opens his bedroom window, soaking in the brisk breeze to further coax his mind awake. The weight of warm dreams draining from his mind weighs at him and draws a heavy sigh, but this does not keep him from going about his morning. It’s best to keep positive.

As he shuffles about his room getting dressed, no cheerful birdsong fanfare awakes to meet him. The morning is quiet, naught but lonely breezes wandering his unending neighborhood, stirring goosebumps on his skin as they blow into his room. The floor creaks as he meanders about, churning facile reminders of the years it’s spent beneath another’s feet. Matter of fact, the whole house speaks to him. He patiently listens to the quiet creaks and groans, many whispering in tongues too garbled to parse. They’ve been the only company he’s had for quite a while now.

He strolls downstairs into the darkened kitchen and finds an odd air about the room. He flicks on the lights, but the shade lingers, a mist of darkened particles soaking up the dregs of his dim kitchen light. A grim sigh escapes him at the notion of another darkness-soaked morning.

Opening the cabinet, he finds a particularly stubborn clump within, leaving the contents of the cabinet shrouded in darkness. He reaches into the mass with an unnerved grimace, hoping to find bread, but is disappointed to be met with yet more coffee.

Begrudgingly shaking the spongy film of darkness off the coffee maker, he pours a hearty amount of hot water in with the grains and turns on the radio for a bit of morning entertainment while the coffee brews.

Rather than any chatty morning talk show, though, the radio attunes to an odd sequence of static and indiscernible screams. He pours himself a cup of the bleak, bitter coffee, and checks his watch. Seems it’s about time.

Then the sound hit him. An earsplitting toll, a great wall of voices like a chorus singing the end of days. The next thing to hit him is a shiver on the Earth’s back, a violent churning of the earth ripping through his house with force befit for a skyscraper. The walls cry tears of dust as they crack, the floor wails crumbles, but the house remains feebly intact.

One of the Great Bells of the unending neighborhood was ringing. The floating shade of coffee gets knocked from the air onto the floor, quickly coalescing into a mass puddle that zips away through a crack in his front door.

He sighs miserably, a long, drawn-out sigh as he wearily eyes the door.

He gazes at the door.

He approaches the door.

He stops at the door.

He steps away from the door.

He finds his heart racing. He finds that this routine never seems to get any easier.

He sighs again.

He sways, and sighs one more final time, stepping toward the door.

He wraps his hand around the doorknob with discontent.

The door eases open ploddingly, groaning with anger, opening to darkness that coalesces.

Behind it is the universe baring its nasty, vicious teeth.

Folds of black bare teeth spinning eternal, gnashing, ripping, closing.

Holes turn into to caverns, turn to canyons, turn to pinholes, all letting in no light and letting out no knowledge. He stands, teeters, inches closer to the maw of the hurling void, and finds no further insight into the terrible fate before him. No matter how he turns, how he stares, he finds naught but the writhing mouth of the sprawling abyss.

He closes the door.

He turns, morose at the disrepair of his home.

He puts one foot after another.

And, as it always does, the evening sunset shuts its sleepy eyelids on his little, lonely house, still busy quietly knitting itself back together.

He slowly eases toward the window and shuts it, letting slip one last breeze to dance about his room as he readies himself for bed. He throws his dust-covered, darkness-ridden clothes into the laundry basket and groggily slips into soft pajamas.

He breathes one last sigh of relief as he drifts back off to sleep.

-Carson Mayeske