Two black rooks were flying under a gray sky. They were headed far away from here, towards the fields of concrete. Or was it the direction they had come from? You could never know of the youth. They seemed so lonely, flying not far from each other, it even seemed as if their flight paths were circling each other. Seemingly they flew higher than the line of high tension masts heading towards the concrete fields, but still lower than the radio mast anchored into the sky behind the fields and the forests. The crows finally started descending, towards the rain-soaked fields and the old rowan.

They both landed into the fork on the trunk, which was uncharacteristically high on the tree.

The birds did not notice the rowan attempting to crane itself away from them, to entice the tall fir on the other side of the muddy gravel road. But the fir was still proudly staring at the sky, completely ignoring the rowan. But the rooks just sat on the tree and looked around, once in a while shaking the rain water from their plumages. The rain had ended a while ago, but the leaves on trees were still dripping. Soon the rooks were back in the air, leaving behind the desperate rowan and heading towards the proud fir, which offered far more protection from the noise that now moved below them.

The noise that had scared the young rooks consisted of the engine sound of a long stroke V8 and the mud sloshing back and forth in the potholes, as the green boxy Jeep rolled along the road. It had come from the old farmhouse on the corner. Just about the only yard which had not yet become overgrown with rose bushes. It lay on the corner, because the gravel road made a sharp turn there, heading towards a massive rusting gate. This gate had been unlocked and wide open for over ten years now, still probably longing for the times past when it had been closed, and also had had a sentry for company.

But the young man driving the vehicle cared nothing for the rooks nor the gate. He had his own duty and he was going to fulfill it without fail, be it out of love or out of some other sentiment to remain a secret. Often, he looked at the rear view mirror without a real need, grumbling that he had left his face unshaven. But also, he was hoping that at one point suddenly a pair of green eyes along with gray and white hair would appear in the mirror. To his sadness, nothing like this was bound to happen. He pressed down on the accelerator.

I

An unknown amount of minutes later, the car reached a nameless half-derelict border town, which, despite being small and insignificant, had quite a special administrative status. Although that was about the extent that locals could or would speak about this special status. There were only stories, that some years ago there had been an official who said that this town had a special status, and then he was gone again, as if he had never been here. Almost like all other officials who had come from the North for a visit.

Here too, the rain had ended not too long ago. But as the young man parked his car by a grassy patch in front of the only store within this town, it seemed as if not too soon, the rain would continue. Perfectly normal for a summer in this area. He shut the car door and headed towards the store. There was no point in locking the car, there was no chance that there'd be anybody interested in stealing it.

Just about the only person who could have wanted to steal it was old Viki, who once long ago had a habit of bothering school children for vodka money. Of course, the little that the children had, was all used for ice cream, especially in summer. Yeah, Viki would have definitely wanted to steal it, but as Viki had no legs, he was out of luck. In the olden days, he had had a habit of drinking while driving a harvester, these days he was just into drinking.

When the young man entered the store, he encountered some air that made him cough. This made the two people already in the store pay some attention to him. One of them was known as Village Hag no 6. And the other was Virve. Soviet doctrine encouraged women to take up traditionally male jobs, including driving farm equipment, and Virve had been a natural at it. When young, she was already bigger, taller and stronger than other girls her age. And this made her perfectly suited for being the only female driver in the local kolkhoz. Handling everything from tractors to trailer trucks. Of course these days, she was content with keeping her small store of produce and essentials.

After noticing that it was indeed him, they returned to exchanging news. The young man was simply not used to this kind of air. It felt like the store had not been aired out in months. It was full of moisture, smells of sweat, cookies and coffee mixed with industrial cleaning supplies. It was all topped off with an old drinks fridge in the corner. Rusty, banged up and incredibly dirty, but still in working order, somehow. The logos and the paint had long since chipped off, but the glass was intact, as were the rubber seals. The other thing was an old Soviet era radio. Not one of those old valved wonders, but rather something from the 1980s, with plastic case and semiconductor electronics.

The radio was crackling with the sounds of out of tune music and singing by a long since dead and then immortalized village musician, trying to croon a popular love song from the before-times.

"..and did you know? Yesterday, again some men from the North visited Silver and asked about all sorts of things... and it would seem soon he's outta luck too, the militia will come from the city and take the boy to jail."

"If it happens, it happens. But I know Silk, he won't care about some suits from the North. He'll send them packing either way. And if they won't listen to words, a steel pipe about the head will argue otherwise. It has happened before. And when he has sent them packing enough times, I guess they will send somebody else. Hopefully they will also take over the business of selling us the red gasoline."

The young man set some items on the counter next to the cash register. Two loaves of bread, a bottle of vodka, a carton of orange juice and two sticks of rock hard smoked pork sausage.

"There is no milk?" He asked.

"Dumpling Eduard hasn't been here yet." Virve replied with a stiff tone.

"He's having it hard as well." The Village Hag said. "Every time he's in town he complains that every day it is harder and harder to get up. I guess old age has finally crawled into his bones as well."

"That old shit's fine." Virve played it off. "It is his diet. I'm telling you. All those dumplings and not enough vodka. If we could tie him down and pour a bottle of vodka into him, we would bring him right back to life."

"Is there any jam? Or cabbage?" the young man continued.

"There could be jam." Virve ponderously said.

She turned around and looked at the empty shelves, except for one lone jar next to the transistor radio, labeled as strawberry jam.

"But I need to put something on my bread too. And there is no cabbage, Market Hag has not been yet."

"Market Hag is ill." Village Hag said. "She called me earlier, told me her nose is runny and head is hot and asked me if I would not have the kindness to come and light the fire in her stove."

"And did you?"

"Do I look stupid to you? I ain't gonna walk to the ol' Market in this rain to make fire for her! Told her to go to hell!"

While listening to this, the young man laid some crumpled up bills on the counter.

"Hey, you." Village Hag No 6 turned to him. "You look like a good person, maybe the Market Hag will even give you free cabbages if you light her stove and put a kettle on."

"I could use some cabbage." The young man said to himself.

"How's the Corner-Girl?" The Village Hag asked.

"Already better." The young man lied.

"Yeah, It's no joke, going for swim in the forest lake."

He left the two people, who had now found something new to talk about, something much closer to him.

"But those two are weird, First, they buy this green car that sounds the same as a 6 ton ZIL truck. And now, the things that are happening there…"

"Leave it. They might be young, but they know what they're doing. When I was young..." Virve stopped talking mid sentence, noticing her own reflection on the glass top of the counter. This reminded her, that she had not been born as a tractor operator, she too was young once. She too had had dreams and even a lover…

"Let me tell you, if my old man were still alive, he'd show em!" The Village Hag cursed. "Albert left first and them Maiu followed soon after. They were the right kind of people! But this young boy form the North, he really…"

Of course, that what was supposed to be done with him, the young man could not hear. And by now, he was no longer that young, or that "from the North." He had to step out of the store so that Village Hag No 5 with her lilac coat could step into the store along with her trolley.

The young man walked back to his green car. It appeared that during his time in the store, a quick downpour has washed over the car, as the warm hood was again wet. The old Weather Man in the sky seemed to be generous today. Whether or not it meant that it was going to rain for 2 weeks straight right above the farm house, he could not tell. Nobody could tell what the Weather Man was thinking.

When he got closer, he noticed that some of the village kids were wandering around the car, trying to see inside. It was understandable, after all. If the usual toy up until now had been an old 2106 with no lights that they managed to put together and miraculously got started, then seeing a proper V8 engine with automatic transmission was truly a sight. He walked around the car and opened the rear hatch, threw in the stuff he had bought and under the burning eyes trying to memorize each detail visible, he shut the hatch. He then got into the car and started the engine.

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Moments later the green off-roader started moving and left the old Russian car with no glass, no lights and no hood behind. Visiting the Market Hag seemed like a good idea. But he was not planning to head over right away. Before that, he was planning to visit an old friend name Ivo, who was probably still spending his time on the old school building.

The school building was not in use. Up until recently it had been, but in spring, some officials from the North had come. Those especially annoying suits who drove long and sleek black cars from the old days with tons of flawless chrome. They had come to visit the local mayor, who had also happened to be, up until the last storm, the owner of the newest car in town. He was told that they were going to close the school down and the children would have to go to school elsewhere, either out of the county to the North or to the South.

Some years ago the young man himself had finished the school, along with Ivo. However by that time Ivo had already been officially expelled, but still he was spending his 5th year in the 7th grade. Until he was told that he is too old. And not to come back. As a twist of irony, Ivo was now 27 and had been a teacher for the past few years.

II

The young man closed the car door and for a moment, stared at the tinted side glass. Just for a moment, he thought he saw something waving, like some hair. Long, straight, gray... he turned around. Something white was indeed waving in the wind. But it was not hair. Next to the school there was an old storage yard and within that storage yard was a pile of fiber cement roof tiles covered in white plastic. This plastic had ripped and was now being torn and flipped about by the wind.

He stepped over the empty dark beer bottles and old books strewn about, finally reaching the main hallway of the abandoned school building. The doors were left open, some of the windows were broken. But the roof and the walls were sturdy, there was no sign of rain on the inside, only an old alphabet book laying on a weathered wooden door sill had a dew rain drops on it. The alphabet books was the same edition he too had once learned to read from. But the book was here for another purpose too, to keep the front door from being shut by the wind.

Ivo's place of living was not far from the front door. He had to be somewhere around, within these walls and the floor insulated with asbestos. He resorted to following the empty beer bottles, as it was the only true way of finding Ivo. Sometimes he would reminisce and go for a walkabout around the building, leaving behind new beer bottles and breaking older ones, trying to remember how the now empty and windowless classrooms had once been.

"Bother, hi, Let me introduce you to Wilhelmina."

A man sitting in a dirty green armchair in front of and old TV pointed at an empty armchair beside himself.

"Hi, Wilhelmina." The young man said. There was no point in arguing with Ivo when he was not himself, The whole town was aware of it.

"How's your life going then?"

"Same old, same old." Ivo replied. "Those faggots from the North haven't reopened the school yet. They keep saying it is dangerous. Let me tell you, the only thing ever dangerous around here was teacher Algae who never labeled his chemical solutions properly. It was always one thing with him.

"Oh, I wonder what's in this little bottle? Student Martinson, please come here and open it up. Oh no, I don't think the contents will explode in your face. Let's be honest, it is barely noticeable that half your face is now in bandages and you're missing an ear. Come on now. You know the old saying right? That when a student does not come to chemistry, chemistry will come into the student." Fucking Algae!"

Ivo spat.

He had done his best to imitate the sickly sweet tone of professor Algae, but it ended with a fit of cough, bringing to mind something big, yellow-green, sticky and not at all pleasant. Ivo's talent in imitating voices, which as known all around the school, had finally left him. Pity, since it was hated by all teachers, especially Virve who had taught shop back then.

"Anything new here?" the young man asked.

"Not much." Ivo replied. "As you know, we haven't had telephone connection to the external world since the last storm. And I am pretty sure the people from North are not too keen on repairing it. Why would they care about us anyway? And of course the thing still makes everybody laugh, that Pete is no longer the owner of the coolest car in the town. He was adamant about not moving it, complaining that it would thus get unneeded wear. But in the end the shitbox was towed to the town wrecking yard for 200 cash. And that in turn went to Carl to dispose of the fallen tree."

"Why town wreckers, not here?"

"Pete is not stupid. If he left this thing here, then before the month is up, the parts of his ride would end up within several Oh-Ones, that the local youths drive around. Those things are nothing but communal coffins anyway. Militia or the cops never show up here either. I doubt they care. Remember, our last constable also died of boredom. Yeah, yeah, I know, he put a bullet into his head, but he did it out of boredom."

Ivo shut up for a moment.

"Also, people say that, these days, there have been a lot of sightings of Them."

"Them?" The young man asked. "You mean them, right?" He pointed his finger towards the ceiling with a crack in it.

"Yeah, they are saying that the Market Hag is not ill because of a cold and a runny nose and whatnot, but instead because one of them came for a visit. But you know how they "come for a visit," right? First they make the room blindingly white, then you can't move a muscle and then the next moment there is some two meter tall thing with no eyes or face but with a silvery glowing skin standing in your bedroom. Showing some unhealthy interest in your TV or radio.”

"Are you sure?" the young man asked. "It is hard to believe. Usually they don't come in the heart of summer."

"You have no idea what goes on around here, you're living in your own world. But, god damn it! I know why they're here."

"Why then?"

The only sounds that accompanied their conversations were the wind beating the door against the book and a metal pipe on the other side. The metal pipe was just about the only thing keeping the wind from completely detaching the door from the frame. And of course the unending rain once again beating down on everything. This time it felt especially hard. For a time they both listened to the rain, trying to discern any discarnate voices within the rainfall. But there was nothing, only rain beating down on the flora.

"They like waves." Ivo continued. "Electric waves, radio waves. The air is full of them. Not long ago, a pair of lights spent a couple of hours hanging above the radio mast. At the Substation. Other times they hover above high tension lines. Always where there's lots of current."

"Would they have any business above the concrete fields?" the young man asked. His thoughts were however still with the girl lying in bed on the upper floor of the farm house.

"Maybe, Eduard is still going on about how these craft originate from the concrete fields, that these are toys of the Ruskies. Old Aida, who kicked the bucket years ago always talked how the lights flying in the sky and the sky people were here long before the Ruskies. That her granny had already been aware of them."

Ivo stopped for a moment.

"Hey, tell me, how are things with the girl, what was her name again? Rhey?"

"Rheya." The young man said.

"Yes. Rheya. How are things with her?"

"Unchanged, still in bed."

"Oh well. Anyway, if you have to go, I'm not gonna keep a hold of you."

"But I don't have to go."

"You think so?" Ivo asked. He scratched his long black and dirty beard and then pointed outside the window. "This is just a small pause. There's gonna be a lot of rain today. And the Old Weatherman has nothing to do with it."

III

Before returning to the farm, the young man decided to take a little detour to the Substation. To be fair, nobody had ever stepped into the Substation, it was something higher, something more important than the North or the Nameless Town. Substation was just about the only reason this place could be called a town. Substation was the town. A massive pastel gray building with tall windows so dirty that they had long since become opaque to everything but faint light. And right next to the Substation, there stood the mast. Radio tower which some very intelligent people had erected a long time ago. And still it stood, in the cold winds and rain.

People in the town liked the Substation for one very specific reason. Next to the Station there was the tower and next to the tower there was a massive pool full of cooling water for the transmitters. The transmitters were powerful enough to make the whole pool give off warm steam, even in the coldest winters. The pool was not too deep, only a few meters, but it was ten meters wide and nearly 25 meters in length. Substation itself had received its name back when it still housed the old analog telephone exchange. A place where a dry old man with a fading voice switched the cables between sockets. But this was a long time ago.

Anybody could tell that for this little town, the Substation was too big. And going by the stories, it had always been locked up. Nobody ever went in, nobody ever came out. These same stories told that Substation was full of endless dusty halls in permanent twilight. That the part seen above ground was just a small portion of the whole facility. There were massive support pillars adorned with forged arches and other ornaments, not some raw 20th century framework, but earlier from 19th century, when even industrial had to look beautiful.

Others said that although in the past, there had been all the equipment, these days it was nothing but a graveyard, all the equipment and unknown tech had long since stopped working, all that was left was some metal mechanisms, chains and gears, electric motors and several floors of scaffolding. Despite the different theories regarding the long lost purpose of the Substation, there was one thing that the people agreed on. That somewhere in the halls of this facility, there was this elusive something that had kept the radio mast powered on for decades now, had kept the pool steaming hot year after year and peoples' lives unchanged. That is why the town carried such a significance to the slick officials from the North.

It was also clear that whatever it was that had been hidden in the Substation, the sky people also wanted a part of it.

He left the car near the door to the Station. He then headed towards the pool where legless Victor was having a swim. His wheelchair along with his clothes were left by the pool. Viki was a frequent guest at the pool, because although being a cripple and an alcoholic, there were times when even he had clearer moments and wanted to wash the dirt off. Especially as this was a prerequisite to get some food stuffs from the Market Hag. For the vodka he had to get his own money. And once he received his monthly pension, the drinking started. Sometimes he was joined with every drunkard within town. And most of the townspeople were fond of alcohol to some extent.

Even the young man himself had enjoyed the cooling pool. Before all this happened to Rheya. In winter nights, when the air was 30 below and the pool water was at least 40 above. When one could not spend too long out of the pool for fear of freezing. So it was common to leave one's car engine running and pop into the pool for a quick soak. Some even decided to walk to the pool in heavy coats, do their swimming and then walk back home, donning the heavy coat one again.

"Hey Viki!" The young man called out. "Do you know anything about the lights?"

Victor swam closer and shouted to reply. "What the fuck would I know about them? They keep hovering here, interfering with people's lives. Just yesterday, when I cam fro a swim, one was sitting still above the mast. Well, it did not concern me, so I went for a swim regardless. Silver has been saying that he often sees them on the roads. Apparently they want something. This probably means that soon, the heavenly slick suits will appear."

"Heavenly slick suits?" The young man asked. "Who are they?"

"You know, just like the slick suits from North, just way weirder. They drive their long black limos in the dark of night, they stop by your house, enter through the locked doors, they say there are no lights, that we are just insane, and to top it all off, they threaten our lives. And then they leave some weird contact card which I have tons of in my wheelchair bag. They want to leave us an impression that they are the boys from the North, but I think those bastards are the sky people or the slick suits of the real Center Station. I can't even say which is worse. They should both just stay where they are, when they're not here. Would be better for everybody. Now, either get away, or come into the water, it is cold outside the water."

IV

The Jeep was driving fast on a wide yet rarely-used gravel road. This road was part of the road going towards the concrete fields, cutting through an ancient sprawling forest. There were but few reasons for the road to be so wide. Firstly to allow wide military vehicles simultaneously traveling both ways. And secondly, to allow for an emergency landing strip for aircraft. Now, years after the concrete fields had fallen into disuse, this road was still fine, despite crumbling from the edges and patches of grass growing on it.

The young man mashed the pedal and forced the vehicle to move faster. There had been something unnerving. Something that was still circling around in his mind. Whether it was Ivo, or Viki or Market Hag who flinched at every small noise. It was not clear to him, what it was. It wasn't even that important. But still he felt that something was looking at him, trying to follow him. To find out where he was going.

A moment later hew saw how far ahead of him in the road, a glowing orb the width of the whole road descended and hovered above the ground. Moments later he had driven inside it. And as he could not see anything, he desperately slammed the brakes on. But nothing happened. He felt the car accelerate and then the engine died.

The next moment he was turning the wheel of the car to drive into the yard of the farm house. The engine was on, the car seemed to be fine. He sat in the car, dazed. It was dark outside. The engine was still running. He turned it off, but that was of no help. The silence was deafening. Time was not uniform. What had just happened?

He had started driving back towards the farmhouse in dusk when he could still see outside. Then, a few kilometers from the farmhouse, he had driven into a glowing orb of milky white fog. And then suddenly he had turned into the driveway at home, and it was dark outside. Only then did he think about looking at the clock on the car's dashboard. It was nearing midnight. He had started back slightly before 4 in the afternoon. Somehow, 8 hours had gone missing.

He open the car door and stepped outside. He then used one of the boarded-up windows to get into the building. On the lower floor, trinkets and other small items had most certainly changed places again. It was always happening as if some unseen force was teleporting them around when nobody was looking. But that was not all.

A strange feeling had assaulted him as soon as he had entered the house. But now he had confirmation. As soon as his head rose above the surface of the second floor, he froze. He now understood it. He was alone. The bed was empty. The bedding was cold. She was long since gone. When she had left and what she had taken along, the house could not answer.

With heaviness in his legs, he fell sitting on the bed. His body was stiff and heavy, he was tired. His loved one had disappeared into the unknown and he had lost 8 hours of time which he could not remember. Life could not be any better, he thought.