On nights when I am unable to sleep, I find myself going down into the basement, to the “time machine”.
Most nights, I just sit and watch, looking for some blinking light, listening for a sound.
Last night, for the first time I put my left ear to the sealed compartment, hands on either side of my head and closed my eyes.
I don’t know what I was hoping for, but amid the humming and subtle vibration reverberating through the metal, I heard sing-song voices, much like those of children playing in back gardens somewhere in the suburb, in late afternoon light that filters down through the trees.
I listened until, through the almost imperceptible sounds, I heard my name:
Soft and whispered.
At first I though it was my imagination, but I heard it again, this time, more certain, more audible.