I missed my stop. Just dozed off. The train just kept going and going until the brakes hissed. I got off, assumimg I was still in Brooklyn. Instead, it seemed like a huge abandoned mall parking lot. Hundreds of elderly, dressed in black, moved in a circle. I was told they were waiti g for someone.
In the center was a stark maypole.
A car pulled up. Three burly men dragged a smaller man out. He was handcuffed and blindfolded. Others brought over boxes of books. The man was tied to the maypole, the book scattered around him. The people began chanting in a strange language. I backed away slowly, not wanting to draw attention. I must get back on the train.
Suddenly a fire was lit and smoke enveloped everything. I could smell burning flesh. On my way back I saw one of the books lying on the ground. I picked it up and looked at the title. Wolfden, by an author I'd never heard of. I put two and two together. This was worse than a bad rev iew. I said a prayer and raced to the platform just as the train arrived.
I guess even the elderly need a hobby.
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