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 “Late Night Listener”


 P.D. Williams


 It’s my first night working as a janitor at the Milton Building downtown. The place is kind of creepy this time of night, so I put in my earbuds and turn on some music as a distraction. A few hours in, I sense someone behind me, so I spin around to look, and there’s no one there. I shake it off and get back to mopping the floor.

      A short time later, I glance up and catch a fleeting glimpse of someone crossing the long corridor several feet down from where I’m working. I turn off my IPod and shout, “Is anyone there?” There’s no reply.

     My shaky nerves need some assurance that I’m alone, so I work up the courage to venture down to the hall's end where I thought I saw the movement. I look both ways but observe no one. Chalking it up to the willies, I turn the music back on and continue cleaning.

     Almost immediately, I get an uneasy feeling that someone is watching me—sizing me up. I turn off my IPod again and yell, “Where the heck are you?”

     That's when the low, scratchy voice comes through my earbuds and says, “Right behind you.” 


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