[ WP ] Every night , as long as you have lived there , a man stands under the streetlight outside your window and leaves in cab 302 . One night the man does not come . Instead there is a letter addressed to you telling you to be in the in that spot , at the exact time , and leave in cab 302 .

Clockwork. Just like clockwork. 
 
 I've lived on Westminster Ave for 13 of the 19 years I've been alive. You know how in movies they portray the suburbs as a predominantly white upper middle class area where the most excitement it's residents receive is from the annual “ Concert in the Park ” featuring stay at home moms trying to relive their glory days in college? Well yeah, that's where I live. 
 
 I consider myself a pretty good kid, above average grades, ran track and played football, good group of friends. I'm even committed to attend West Virginia University in the fall. That's not to say I do n't enjoy my share of partying, especially with summer still in front of me, which i might add I'll be spending half swimming in beer and girls, and the other half soaking up as much California sun as possible before moving halfway across the country. 
 
 Back to the exceptionally boring suburbs I live in, the only semblance it has to the city I live so close to is a small stop where cabs will pick people up as the sun dances at the tops of the mountains before settling down. My room overlooks the streetlight where the continuous flow of suburb weary residents wait to indulge in the fast city life. 
 
 The only peculiar thing about the place I live is that at 10:00 p.m. a man will be standing under the streetlight, bathed by the soft yellow glow, but still hidden beneath oddly convenient shadows concealing his features. Cab 302. Every night, like clockwork. Watching this man became somewhat of a ritual to me before going to bed, but I never gave it much thought. That all changed my very last week of high school. 
 
 Be under the lamplight at 10:00. Step inside cab 302. 
 
 I read the letter over and over. I had found the letter resting upon the side of my bed when I came home from school earlier that day. I glance at my phone, checking the time. 
 
 8:24 
 
 A strong sense of curiosity overcomes me. I go downstairs to eat dinner with my family, but my mind is not present at the conversation at the table, it continually drifts toward the letter 
 
 We finish dinner, I help my mom do the dishes, then I walk back upstairs to my room. I glance at my phone again to check the time 
 
 9:32 
 
 Fuck it. My mind has been made up, I'm gon na go. A million different scenarios run through my head. The seconds on the clock tick slower and slower, as if time itself is slowing down to allow me to think. 
 
 9:58 
 
 The front door closes behind me and I walk across the perfectly manicured, damp lawn to my destination. As I reach the lamplight, I check my phone. 
 
 9:59 
 
 I glance to the left of me, and a pair of headlights materialize out of the dark street. Cab 302. The cabs speed slowly declines until it comes to a halt, perfectly aligning myself with the rear door. I reach out to open the door, lightly pull it open, and climb inside. It's surprisingly nice inside: intact leather interior, no strange smells. Quite honestly it's rather spotless and immaculate. 
 
 I glance up at the driver and to my utter surprise, it's the man who waits for the cab every night. His face is still hidden in the shadows, but a small shift in movement casts the shadows elsewhere, revealing his features. Ruggedly handsome with stubble peppering his face. High cheekbones seemingly carved out of marble, with a small imperfection, a scar, tracing a small part underneath his eye. 
 
 The man shifts again, revealing to me his eyes in the rear view mirror. A strange chill creeps up the base of my spine, almost a feeling of recognition flares in my brain. 
 
 “ Hello Adam ” 
 
 Despite this stranger knowing my name, I oddly feel no surprise. 
 
 Questions bubble up, but only one seems to pique my curiosity more than the others 
 
 “ Why do you stand under the lamplight every night?'' 
 
 The man glances downward, exuding a subtle sense of sadness. A moment of silence follows my question. The stillness in the air foreshadows something dark. Ominous even. The man clears his throat 
 
 “ I've stood under this lamplight every night since I was 18 ”, the man pauses, and draws a deep breath. “ 13 years ago, I was murdered. I caught just a slight glimpse of my killer in the reflection of the television as a gun was raised, followed by three quick flashes. Three bullets, one for each of us. First my father, then mother, then me. It ended faster than I had the chance to scream.'' 
 
 I sit there in the back seat, an odd feeling creeping up from the depths of my stomach. Strange. I've never heard of any murders taking place in this area, especially my own neighborhood. 
 
 The man continues on. “ I had my whole life ahead of me, committed to college, about to finish my last days of my senior year, looking forward to Summer, and someone ended it all with a quick flash out of a barrel. Adam, this next part is going to be hard to hear and difficult to understand, but you must bear with me ” 
 
 “ When I died, everything went dark, then I woke up. Everything around became a blur, as if everything was moving, but I was stuck in place. The movement became quicker and quicker, turning into a tunnel. Then everything stopped. I was able to move, but I quickly realized I could n't go anywhere further than beyond this small street I lived on ” 
 
 “ Adam, I am you. I died, but something happened. My soul never moved on, I've been trapped in this time, aging in body, but not being able to escape this twisted version of reality ” 
 
 The man, or me, or whoever the fuck this man is, pauses. My brain is in overdrive. My lungs do n't respond to my bodies desperate plea for oxygen. Everything becomes a blur. Why am I freaking out? Why should I even believe a thing this man tells me? 
 
 I muster up the focus to look at the time on my cell phone. The screen adjusts to the darkness and my struggling vision and what I see baffles me. 
 
 9:59 
 
 That has to be the wrong time. I've been in here for at least ten minutes... 
 
 The man, me? senses my confusion and rolls the back window down just about halfway, and a cool breeze chills my skin. The clock has changed, 10:00. Then, piercing the dead night like thunder, I hear them. 
 
 CRACK 
 
 CRACK 
 
 CRACK 
 
 I sit up, feeling as if I've woken up from a deep sleep. I look over and see my parents next to me on the couch 
 
 `` You okay hun''? my mom asks concernedly. 
 
 The TV is on. The movie Hook is on, the part where Captain Hook is showing Jack his prized collection of clocks which no longer work. 
 
 I look at the time on the DVR display. A ghastly orange glow looks back at me. 
 
 9:59 
 
 Clockwork. 
 
 Just like clockwork. 

