Mr Smith rocked gently in his chair as a sudden gust blew through the dilapidated shop that was once Bob’s Lighting Emporium. He sat in darkness, a bible clutched in one bony hand, the foreclosure notice in the other.
Thousands of spidery eyes kept watch, sparkling jewel like in the moonlight. The blanket of cobwebs that festooned the unsold lamps on the dusty shelves fluttered silently to the tune of the creaky chair.
He’d been dead for twenty years and despite his efforts, it seemed that the people of Newtown had failed to see the light.