the hour of midnight

one

It was about noon. The sun was bright. There was no one around—an isolated place. The ground was red-brown clay. No trees, not even a blade of grass, interrupted the landscape. There were only houses, fully built but incomplete—their brick walls stood bare and unpainted, like coverless books. The architecture was odd, as though each part of the house—kitchen, rooms, washroom—had been constructed separately. One house stood whole, properly built, but even it remained unpainted. It felt as though someone had attempted to start a new housing colony but abandoned it halfway through, disheartened. A strange, unsettling stillness clung to the air, hinting at abandonment.

We were an odd group, too. I was with my younger sister, Ana, and our cousin, Cecily. Although the whole place screamed strange, we were merry. I was not feeling lonely or frightened. It was as if we had come on a planned excursion to a familiar place. Yet, I had no idea why we were here or what we were doing here. It started with me parking the car in the clearing. I didn't even know how to drive, but there I was—getting out of God knows whose car, in God knows what place.