Midnight

Midnight

Martha

There was only a silhouette of the moon for the fog had crept in and obscured its light from view, as if saying “This night need not be illuminated.” The air was still and crisp welcoming the onset of fall, and the streets were empty. But they are always empty on this day every year. The townspeople were all in their homes now faced with the tedious task of waiting. Some waiting in anticipation while others in crippling fear but waiting just the same for them to arrive.

                Martha sat at her kitchen table waiting for midnight just like she has done for five years. She sits with her tea waiting for her husband to arrive so they can talk. Sitting here now reminds her of how much she missed those talks. She would be waiting for him to get home from work, so they could sit at the kitchen table and talk about their day while he ate his dinner. Then five years ago at the end of spring he didn’t come home. He had fallen to his death at the factory he had worked at for twenty years.  It was so unlike him, he was always so careful. But as Mr. Tucker, the owner of the factory, said “accidents happen.” He was nicer then. Until he kicked her out of the home she had shared with her beloved David and their 2 children for failure to make the payments on the rent he raised a month after the funeral. She had been making payments on time until this year because of her mounting health bills.

“I wonder if he knows where to find me” she thought. But he did, she made sure of it by putting a card with the new address on his grave.  When he died it comforted her to know that even in death they could still have their talks. She just had to wait.

“What if he doesn’t come tonight?” Martha was lost in thought worried he would not show up even though he had showed up every year since he died. He always comes to see her. So she waited. And she waited.

It was now twelve thirty. “He’s later than usual.” She thought. He always came to see her no later than twelve o five.  “What’s different this year?”

She grew tired of sitting up so she moved in the living room. She sat in his favorite chair and reclined back. “I’ll just rest here for a little while. He’ll wake me when he gets here.” She laid back and waited for some time, glancing ever so often at the back door. Waiting for the knob to finally turn. Her eyes grew heavier with every passing minute until she could hold sleep off no longer.

Much later she was awakened by a prickling cold caressing her check and ruffling of her hair.

“David!” she yelled as she opened her eyes and sat up. But no one was there. She looked over to the coo-coo clock hanging above the fireplace. It was three in the morning. He wasn’t coming and she would have to wait a year before she would ever know why. She turned out the lights, put the fire out and dragged herself upstairs to bed. She tried to sleep but this feeling kept nagging at her and she couldn’t let it go. He always comes to her, always.

“If he didn’t visit me, then where did he go?”