The Night Job

“It was a dark and stormy night…” he thought to himself, not remembering where the famous line had come from as he stumbled along. It was very dark now—night had come as he had finished his first round through the park. His flashlight beam hit a rock, making him jump. He adjusted his hat and turned to start back the way he had come. It’s only the second round of the evening, he shouldn’t be this jittery already; pathetic Mark, pathetic, he whispered to himself. 1

His feet crunched over old autumn leaves as he attempted to yank the latest book out from his back pocket. He knew he shouldn’t have tried to shove it in there. It came free, sending him onto the ground with his nose pressed into the rotting leaves. Great, just great. You really need to find a new job, maybe one without all the hand-to-back pocket coordination. He pulled himself up, muttering to the trees surrounding him, already thinking about his book. 2

Nothing ever happened in Red Lake, especially not at this hour and especially not at this park. He would walk around for five hours reading and humming until even the god-damned squirrels had gone to bed. Then, off to his abandoned house, the thirteenth on the street four blocks over. And last of all, he could finally go to bed himself. 3

He picked up the book from among the leaves and opened it to the first page. If he was lucky by tonight he’d have read all twenty-six chapters of A Walk in the Dark by J. D. Lang by the time he got off duty. The book was stained with a dark brown cover and some odd computer-generated picture on it, one of those books that you bought in a used bookstore for ten cents and most likely threw in the trash when you were done reading it. Unlike most people, who never got around to actually reading the book, Mark had read every book he had ever bought. And he wasn’t planning on throwing this one away. The paperback wasn’t even torn, and beside the oddly colored stains, it wasn’t in bad shape at all. 4

Something splashed behind him and he whirled around, just avoiding knocking himself over again. He had turned around to see that it was only an otter diving back underwater to its home. Red Lake had a lot of otters. They considered it a wonderful opportunity to make those stupid key chains to sell in gas stations. For years now the town had been pretending to be the tourist hot spot. 5

The odd thing was that the otters never seemed to leave Red Lake. He had been seeing the same three otters for fifteen years now and knew he wasn’t the only one who wasn’t so keen on change, not that there was anywhere else for him to go if he had wanted to. Being alone had made him bitter over the years—change was just too much to handle right now, the damn statue was enough to keep anybody busy. 6

The people of Red Lake were picky and apparently they thought their precious statue needed to be guarded, worth too much money just to leave it lying around in the open. Who knows who could break in and steal it? So, they had called up Mark. Of course they had agreed that he was the best one for the job, alone, quiet, who better to spend his time watching artwork. 7

Aside from the otters, the park was completely empty. Just as it should be. There was a swing set at the far end of the park, surrounded by sand and old mulch, but the rest had always appeared deserted to Mark. Everything in the town had always seemed that way, empty. The one thing that stood out was the statue. The leaves that scattered the ground of the rest of the park had been carefully pushed away from the base, another obsession the town just couldn’t let go of. The statue was of a woman, kneeling, as if about to fall to the ground. She had held a basket, filled with flowers, but in the statue they had been knocked down, crushed, with the basket lying at her feet. It was just about the only thing the citizens of Red Lake had allowed a fence to be put up around and a plaque to be mounted on. Mark had been watching the thing for years and he didn’t even know why; it was getting tiring. 8

He was halfway around the lake by this time, tapping his watch absent-mindedly as he turned the page with his thumb. A tree rustled and he pulled his jacket up around his ears. An otter moved in the lake, making a crunching sound a little ways off as it searched for food. Odd, really, that an otter was worrying about its next meal in the middle of the night, Mark thought, still more focused on his book and who had just killed off the fairy princess in the tower. Maybe the guy at the Mini-Mart from page thirty one, Mark thought. Yes, he decided, that made sense. 9

Something tugged at his shoe as he paused, still reading. Mark tried to shake the branch off as it grabbed him around the ankle. It wouldn't budge. As he looked down to see what he had gotten caught in, something knocked him onto his back. The book fell out of his hands, then thudded hard into a bush nearby as Mark scrambled to catch it. 10

The pages torn from the cheap, used-book-store-book and the hat with his name and “Night Watchman” printed across the front lay on the ground. The hand that had dragged him and his book to the ground moved fast, running a knife across his jacket and in. Mark closed his eyes. At least it would finally give the town something to talk about, he thought, as his eyes opened in time to watch the trees gradually fade away. 11