The Night Watch Ledger

After sunset, one place in the world disappears. It doesn’t collapse or burn down. It’s simply gone. The next day, the sun rises as usual. The houses are still there, and so are the people, but no one remembers them. They’re not on the map or in any records. You’ve been there, but you can’t remember it. The only thing that can hold it back is the night watch. The night watchman walks from dusk till dawn, calling out names at every house. Whoever he calls is still there. Answer “Here,” and you remain on the books. If you don’t answer, he marks you missing. There are forty-seven households on this street. My ledger has forty-seven boxes. For every name I write down, I have to cross one out. The day my father died, he told me: a night watchman isn’t in the ledger. Someone else has to call his name for him. No one called his name. For thirty-seven years, not a single person has called his name.