Midnight Calling

❍ 𝟑 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧

Radio stations across the globe had their feeds hacked by some kind of cyber breach. No one understood how. The stations weren't networked across time zones and continents.

"Once upon a midnight dreary, did I ponder, weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious sigil of forgotten lore—"

The gruff voice recited some bizarre rendition of Poe's "The Raven".

"And the Hours, never flitting, are back to sitting, back to sitting

On the pallid Circle above forevermore..."

In the background, the twang of strings added vibrating punctuation to each line as the voice droned on.

_____

By means of Fourth's computer, Midnight had downloaded his recording into the webbing of the wide world. And his recitation invaded a multitude of radio airwaves like spidery tendrils.

I am the raven.

Thumbs hooked together, an amused Midnight splayed his gloved fingers and flapped his hands. The shadow puppet's wings flew darkly along the length of the bus station platform where he stood.

The sun shone bright overhead, and Midnight soaked up the rays with giddy delight. He'd been relishing the true light of day ever since sunrise. It was why he'd spent most of Fifth to Tenth's watches simply being outside.

He pulled Tenth's cellphone out from behind his breast pocket silk square.

[Text not delivered. Try again?]

So far, every Hour but one had possessed a cellphone. And just about every mortal Midnight observed this morning had one as well. The reverence afforded these devices by humans astonished him. They were the talismans of communion of this so-called modern age.

It turned out the ever practical Tenth's sleek and streamlined phone was also her Clock. Sleek and streamlined... much like Tenth herself in the sham of a mortal existence she'd been living as a professional athlete —a marathon runner in New York City to be exact.

The fleet of foot Hour's attire had been sleek and streamlined as well. Engineered for peak performance, Midnight read off the label of the neon green visor he'd acquired from her after indulging in a little cat and mouse game through the streets of the city. Alas for the Tenth Hour there was no outrunning Midnight calling. He'd ended the game in an alley behind a bodega on 21st Street —Best Sandwiches in Queens! —though Midnight could have done without the pickles in the Sub Haven.

He gave a quick swipe to his chin where crumbs lingered still in his beard.

The Hour without a cellphone had been Seventh.

Flickers of sun and starlight sparked behind Midnight's lenses as he rolled his eyes. A pot-bellied street mime performing in Prague? Of all the indignant buffoonery...

But oh, Seventh's Clock. Magnificent. Midnight had been most impressed. The silent clown of an Hour had made the towering, baronial clock of the old town square his own.

A shame.

The clock was reminiscent of the Circle given the presence it commanded... was, that is. Now? A ruin gutted by feathered cadavers after flock upon flock of convenient pigeons had launched from the town square, and like the good little commandeered suicide bombers that they were, flew hell-bent into the tower's works in barrages of explosive splatters.

Midnight held Tenth's phone at arm's length, the sole Clock he had yet to destroy because of the message on its screen.

A group of teenage boys waiting for a bus behind him murmured amongst themselves.