W. T. Leaver

Jinx

A shaft of early morning light drilled through a gap in the damaged ceiling of the old shop, growing in intensity with each passing minute. The hazy illumination afforded her a cursory examination of her surroundings. Machines of unknown purpose stood stoically in the middle of the space, unfazed by the passage of time. Workbenches lined two adjacent walls, meeting at the corner. Tools, trash and other debris littered their surfaces and the oil stained floor. A layer of dust coated everything. She heard, more than saw, a small creature skittering away in the direction of a darkened corner. It was otherwise vacant. It would do.