I found myself wandering the other day around a somewhat derelict industrial estate on a sunny but chilly weekend afternoon. An eery silence engulfed the quiet surrounds, a silence only broken by the scraping of my shoes against the gravel and the piercing, creaking squeals of an old loose street sign; soon to detach quite fully from its hinges. A saccharine sweetness hung in the air, carried delicately in the breeze from the maple syrup biscuit factory that dominated the skyline a short half mile away. It was peculiarly tranquil.
To a less agile and creative mind, and perhaps one birthed from a simpler time, this stillness would have held no menace. It would have simply soothed, calmed and placated.
Having watched too many films, and as a living and breathing byproduct of Generation Y, I can honestly say that throughout my near silent walk around the estate there were but a few moments that I did not feel the ominous presence of eyes upon me. Eyes which were, quite assuredly, not there.
As I stalked hurriedly towards the murmur of passing cars, in the distance, it struck me that the surrounds I had strayed into were strikingly similar to those found in zombie films just before the undead dine on the living.
I quickened my pace towards civilization, uninterested in a confrontation with an ex-human flesh devourer that wasn’t really there.
(Photo – Eli Woodbine, Canada 2016)