The Cycle

The full moon blankets the highstreet of to-let signs in front of ⅔ of every shop. Everything was seemingly at a standstill, except for a few stray cats walking past, stalking prey as they scavenged for food. A neon light flickers into the street, the 'O' blinking on and off of the Holfield 24/7 Laundromat. While the lights inside were as bright as a hospital's hallway, giving the illusion of peak hygiene, the windows were stained in dirt streaks, poster residue and unknown marks of varying origins. In front of the building, a bundle of covers lay vaguely outlining a human shape. A shabby and rugged cat approached the mound, intriguingly sniffing around various points. The mound moved, a gloved hand poking from the covers and a low groan shooing the cat away. An alarm-like shriek emanated from the little creature, a potential warning to run.

Turning the corner of one of the darker alleyways a woman in days-old clothing, food stains covering her chest and a jacket haphazardly thrown on, carries a basket filled to the brim of dirty clothing. She kept her head down until she reached the glass door of the laundromat. She looked to the open sign, sighing before turning to the once sleeping figure who now had tilted their head towards her. Their eyes were indistinguishable except for the reflection of the light. She snapped back, quickly resting the basket on her hip before pushing the door open and stepping in.

The whirring of washing machines droned on in the empty laundromat. Baskets were strewn on top or to the side, having been left temporarily stranded by their owners. Random socks and crisp packets lined the floor that hadn't seen a mop in a year. The rhythmic clinking of metal echoed from the dryers in the walls, turning slowly, tossing the clothes inside. She let the door close as she looked at the clock on the wall; 2:40am. Confusion filled her face as she looked around the room. All machines were on except one in the back right corner, which she quickly claimed.

Dodging the machines, she placed her basket down on a bench. Unclipping the latch of the circular door, it swings open, bashing against the side and coming to a standstill. Looking to her basket, she loaded bundles of clothes into the machine; Baby clothes, work uniforms, and the odd socks, all piled in until only a small gap was left. Stepping back, she rummaged around in her jacket pocket as she glanced across the walls for a detergent machine. She inserted a coin and pressed the product button. Nothing dropped. With an annoyed sigh, she banged on the box causing the cogs to whir, eventually dropping the product into the basin below. She walked back to the machine, tossing it and closing the door. She pressed the start button and the water flooded in.

The woman sat on the adjacent bench, resting her head against the wall and looking out the window in front of her. From the whirring of the machines, slow ticking of the clock and rhythmic thuds of the metal inside the drum, her eyes slowly closed.

The room faded back into view as she reopened her eyes and sat up, scanning the room for recent entrants. Noone. Clearing her throat; her gaze drifted to the blanket mound outside, only making out the divots of their eyes staring back. She tried to avert her gaze, catching a glimpse of the machine's display. 'END'. She looked at the clock, 3:27am. Standing, she opened the door to the washing machine again, letting the clothes fall one by one into the basket below.

Lifting the load, she looked for a free dryer; the only one being close to the window by the laying figure. She stopped, weighing her odds, but felt safe with the glass between them. She needed to pay them no mind and continue if she wanted to get home before sunrise. She walked closer with her eyes fixated on the machine. Immediately, She tossed in her clothes, wanting to get away from the window as quickly as she could. Half of it was in. Taps on the glass made her jump, she tried not to, but her eyes fell to the figure below. She sighed a breath of relief as the figure was still laying, and the tapping was nothing more than the figure shooing away another flea-ridden cat. Closing the machine, she pressed start. The sound joined the mechanic cacophony and the timer counts down, second by second.

Passing the working machines, and heading back to the bench, she glanced up at the clock; 3:32am. She peered into her previous machine, double-checking if she had missed anything. A stray sock sat at the back of the drum. Frowning, she side-eyed the running dryer and reached in.

Frozen. Her eyes widened with fear. She stayed as still as she could, staring at the jet-black hand gripping her forearm. Spindly fingers wrapped slowly around her skin with long claw-like fingernails digging deep. She could barely take her eyes off of it, following where it could have originated. To the back, much like the outside figure's eyes, the back of the drum was gone, now replaced with a void of darkness. No shadows. No corners. She had no time to think. No time to scream as it held firmly, yanking and lifting her from the ground in one swift motion. She disappeared into the darkness. Nothing left behind. The door slammed shut, the latch locking.

Only the whirring of the machines and the clock's ticks remained in the room, the clock sat still at 3:33am, ticking over to the next minute. The front door swung open, a man stepped in carrying a bag filled to the brim of clothing. He spied the empty washing machine in the corner. With a smile, he walked over.