I trail aimlessly down the endless corridor, knocking on all the doors I pass by. The doors are spread out evenly, 10 metres apart. I lift the lantern I’m holding higher, trying to see the end of the corridor. I know it’s a pointless effort, I’ve tried it many times, but sometimes even the smallest sliver of hope can get you through the darkest of days. Or nights. Or whatever time you are currently constrained to.

I knock on the next door, expecting the usual “Yes ma’am” followed by a ‘Click’ indicating the tenants have turned the lights off. What I don’t expect is to hear nothing in response. It completely throws me off. I’d gotten into a rhythm earlier, and this shatters it completely. Blinking rapidly in shock, I knock again, expecting some sort of answer from the tenant. Again, the response is nothing. I knock again, louder this time. And again, nothing.

By this point I’m actually debating whether or not to break my ‘no talking’ rule and ask the person inside if they’re OK. A shiver runs down my spine, prompted by the cold hand placed on my shoulder. I look back at the person standing behind me, mildly surprised to see the Lord of Nalwin hovering there. I gesture to the door, and they nod in acknowledgement to the problem.

I move to the next door, knocking and hearing the expected answer. Then I move to the next one. And the next. And the next.

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I’ve wandered about 100 metres before I allow myself to question what that oddity was about. I come up with many possibilities, each as absurd as the next. I certainly don’t think that the tenant is late. That would spell doom for this entire block of houses! I imagine that they could’ve been gravely injured, or even dead. That would be a more logical answer than them being late.

I slowly trail aimlessly towards the ‘end’ of the corridor. This is all I do all day, every day. It pays well, I think. I’m not too sure about what something costs anymore. I’ve been here too long to remember details like that.

I often wonder about things on my treks through the corridor. Things like why I need a lantern when there are perfectly good lit torches adorning the walls. They are more than bright enough to light the entire surrounding area, so I don’t know why I have a lantern.

Another thing I think about sometimes is the fact that the first time I remember receiving no reply was… quite a while ago. I’m not sure how long. Maybe a year? Maybe a century? A day? I don’t know what time constructs there are, how to measure them and which one applies here. All I know is that it was a looooooooong time ago. So long ago, that now I know now not to question anything when someone doesn’t reply. It happens often. Too often. Almost every thousand doors or so.

Why am I so situated on the thought of the dead? It is not my problem, and it shall not weary my mind. I focus on my task again, all thoughts of the deceased thrown out of my mind as I wander down the endless corridor, knocking on doors and waiting for a response. Endlessly waiting for a response.