| The
Last Shift
by Wendy Fernridge
Jack gave his hands a rub. It was going to be another cold one he
thought, gazing up at the sky. It was such a clear night that it
seemed to him the stars shone with an unusual, almost supernatural,
brightness. The frost, already settling on the ground in a blanket,
crunched under his safety boots like glass. Something, perhaps a
hedgehog, rustled through fallen leaves nearby. He paused briefly
to look up into the night sky once again before turning on his heels
briskly and stepping inside.
His footsteps echoed on the concrete floor as he strode confidently
across the empty factory. It was just a hollow shell now, unused,
silent, dead. Looking across the vast floor space, Jack could remember
what it had been like in the past. Once a thriving business, the
place had buzzed with the sound of hundreds of people working the
vast machines. Many lives had been played out here. He could almost
hear the deafening roar of the pulsating equipment as ghosts from
the past floated in front of his eyes. It was as though the old
place had come alive again. Female laughter drifted across from
the offices and staff room as colleagues shared a private joke.
It had somehow always appeared to come alive more at night. Maybe
it just felt that way against the oppressive darkness outside.
So many things had happened here. Many lives had become entwined
through work or fate, Jack wasn’t sure which. There was the
time when Jimmy had married Pat from Wages. Jack and a few others
had trimmed up his machine with balloons and condoms. They’d
even managed to smuggle in a few cans to celebrate at the end of
the shift and some of the girls had thrown confetti over him and
shoved it down his shirt. He chuckled to himself at this particular
memory and then sobered as he remembered when Keith had a heart
attack right in the middle of a night shift. He could still see
his figure laid out on the floor by the side of his machine, which
was still whirring and grinding as if nothing had happened. Still,
they’d all had a whip round for his missus while he was laid
up in hospital. Never was quite the same after that though, died
three years later.
Jack had done most of his growing up inside these walls. He had
seen many of his birthdays come and go during his service in the
old place. He’d lost his virginity here, round the back of
the garages with Patsy Wainright. She had been one feisty lady!
Always ready for a laugh. His future wife had worked here too and
he’d witnessed three of his own born and then all grown up
during his time here. Six grandchildren was something to be proud
of! The annual summer works trip to the east coast had always been
an important date in the company calendar. Several coaches would
be waiting in the car park outside. They’d line up in an almost
military line ready to take Jack and many of his colleagues, their
wives, husbands and children away for a day of sand, sea, amusements
and fun. Like the annual Christmas party it was never without its
gossip or rumours buzzing around the factory on the following Monday
morning.
Ghosts of stories continued to whisper at him from the shadows.
Despite his thick gloves his hands really were as cold as ice. He
never used to get as cold as this. Taking off a glove to look, he
was surprised to see his hand was as cold and grey as a lifeless
gravestone. The blue veins standing out against his white, almost
transparent skin, added to the illusion that they were made from
marble.
The ghosts vanished before his eyes and he was once again in the
cold, dark, silent shell of the building. The wind was the only
sound rattling through the skeletons of many broken windows.
Then, Jack became aware of another noise underneath the wind. Jack
drew in his breath and held it there a moment, listening. There
– he heard it again. A faint scraping dragging noise followed
by rustling coming from the far end of the building. Jack was not
alone.
All of Jack’s senses seemed to sharpen as he stood waiting,
listening, and praying. Whatever was out there in the dark it seemed
smaller but more agile than himself. Somehow Jack sensed that it
wasn’t human.
Slowly he edged forward shining his torch in the direction of the
noise. Something darted across his beam of light and then disappeared.
A dark shadow briefly and then it was gone. Now multiple rustles
and scurrying sounds emanated from the place where the creature
had darted.
Shaking slightly, he shone his torch again in the direction of the
sounds. A pile of dead leaves and crisp wrappers appeared to be
moving and writhing in the ghostly light of his torch. Dark shapes
scurried beneath the litter. Jack edged closer and them jumped when
the moving mass gave out a squeal. As one of the dark creatures
broke free running towards him he suddenly realised what it was.
‘Christ! Rats.’ he sighed with relief. Relaxing once
again and with a slowing heart he did another sweep of the factory
with his eyes.
Suddenly, out of the night, approaching footsteps crunched briskly
across the frosted yard outside. Multiple footsteps. Jack’s
heart began to race once again making him feel more alert and alive
as he turned on his heels and stepped outside once more.
There were at least six of them, perhaps three girls, and three
boys. The largest of the group raised his arm, beer bottle in hand,
bringing it down smashing just inches in front of Jack’s feet.
With his heart hammering faster now Jack waved his fists into the
air. ‘Bloody kids,’ he muttered. ‘Hey you! STOPPIT.
What d’ya think yaw playing at?’
His protests just produced laughter as stones whizzed past to the
left of his face causing a windowpane to shatter. Glass sprinkled
all around him like sharp raindrops. Cursing, he made a move towards
the nearest lad who seemed so intent on causing further damage that
he didn’t attempt to move or stop his barrage of stones. Jack
thought that the youth today must be stupid to allow him to get
so close. Breathing heavily he was just about to grab the youth
when they all turned and fled. His hand missed the hooligan by inches.
In that same moment he found himself blinded by the headlights of
a car. He moved to the left a bit and as his eyes adjusted to the
light saw two policemen step out.
‘Hurry up! They went that way,’ he said pointing back
down the driveway. He was still panting a little from the exertion.
‘Looks like they’ve cleared off now’, said the
stockier of the two to his colleague.
‘Yeah. Lets get back to the station. No point wasting our
time here we’ll only get bogged down in paperwork. If we’re
lucky we can fit in a nice hot cuppa before we clock off. And if
you’re good I might even shout you to a bacon butty with all
the trimmings.’
With that they got back into their car without a word or a second
glance back at Jack and drove away.
‘Cheeky buggers,’ Jack muttered to himself. When he
was younger the police commanded more respect and would have at
least had the courtesy to acknowledge him. That was just plain ignorant.
And after he’d nearly caught the little vandal too. In his
opinion the police were just too soft nowadays. Too used to sitting
on their fat arses all day instead of doing some real work in the
community. Cup of tea indeed! He blew out a long breath and looked
once again to the sky. It was tinged with pink now as dawn began
to break. It looked like the beginnings of a cold but clear, sunny
day.
Jack took in his last look around the old place. Pulling his cap
down over his ears he gave his hands another rub against the cold
and set off for his short walk home from work for the final time.
By 8.30 the next morning the sun had risen a little more on the
new day and workmen in hard hats, bulldozers and other demolition
equipment surrounded the place. Two of the workmen stood together
a little away from the rest of the group, as they took in their
view of the derelict factory.
‘Did you know the Night watchman, Jack, worked here for over
thirty years? Loyal – never missed a day through illness,
except when his wife died.’
‘Think he’ll come back and say goodbye to the old place?’
asked the second workman.
‘Hope not,’ he paused thoughtfully. ‘He’s
been dead for over ten year.’
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