Darkhenge

N. NION: ASH

He said my name. Chloe. I don’t know how he knows it. There are no days anymore but he keeps the clocks ticking, and the food on the long table is regularly changed. Sometimes it’s salmon, sometimes hazelnuts or apples. A bird sings somewhere in the building—I’ve thought I heard it, but I can never find it.

The walls are not so thick after all. The trees scrape at them. The trees seem alive, scrabbling up the stones, over the roofs, and two of the windows I’ve found are already overgrown, smothered with leaf.

I think the trees terrify him.

I’ve asked him about it. He won’t say.

But I’m sure he’s scared.