Against the Dome_Reflected Shadows_Night Spot_Mr Fixer
Catalog Guide:
Against the Dome
Gray tapped at his digital watch in vain as it flickered off. It was ironic, he thowww.onedoor.ccught, and perhaps a little cryptic that his trusty timepiece would die today of all days. He sighed, resting his chin on the butt of his shotgun as he returned his stare to the section of dome he’d been assigned to watch. It had been over six months since the domes—gelatinous-looking shadows which covered huge expanses of land—appeared. At first they did indeed resemble domes, enveloping entire cities and miles of earth in perfect circles. However, they had since expanded and conjoined into one large entity. Now...
Reflected Shadows
Alex LapeReflected ShadowsNeil hurried his pace as he strolled down bustling midnight streets of Sacramento, crinkling his nose as the noxious smell of rotten eggs seemed to well up from its sewage system. The meeting spot designated in the text he got couldn’t be three more blocks from the stoplight he had recently passed. A text from none other than his old friend Alphonse somehow managed to strike an ominous sense of dread in Neil, yet he found himself instinctively drawn to seeing what his former partner/handler sought from him. I’m barely even there, and I could already smell the bullshit...
Night Spot
The world is a different place when the sun goes down. Certain creatures are exclusively nocturnal. Especially some species of humans. The freaks, as they have been so aptly named. I guess you could say that I am of the freakish persuasion myself. Why else would I always be working at night? For all of its chaos. I actually find the night to be more peaceful than the day. Or perhaps I just feel more like myself under the moon. I’ve worked the night shift ever since my very first promotion. I was seventeen and working as the night manager for the movie theater in the local mall. That was the fi...
Mr Fixer
‘One black coffee for you, sir,’ he says, placing the cup in front of me.I look up to see a man with a wave of silver hair swept back from a weathered face. I would guess he’s around seventy-five. ‘Thank you,’ I say with a nod. He starts to wipe down the plastic tablecloth on the table next to me, lifting the salt shaker and sauce bottles as he goes. This place reminds me of my childhood. My mother would bring me somewhere like this as a treat on the way back from visiting aunts and uncles on a Saturday afternoon. It’s a little oasis in this drab part of North London. A handful of tables are a...