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2024/10/16

October 16, 2024
The old factory room was dark. Too dark for my liking. Heavy beams and wires dominated the ceiling. The mottled gray concrete walls were covered in dust and grime. Some unnamable object—a large metal cylinder with rusty pipes emerging from it—squatted to my right, in the darkest corner of the room. I trained the blinding white flashlight beam on the dirty wall and started in horror, even though I knew in my bones what I would find: that damned mark. The crude red circle, the smile, an O and X for the eyes, the dripping paint. He had been here, sure enough. He was out there. And tonight, I was sure, another dirty wall somewhere would bear his mark.

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    All work © Chris Silverman