Day 551

The builders lock themselves in for the night.
There is much work to be done and the day fast approaches.
All the neighbouring houses can hear is the sound of their tools and their echoing cries of agony.
Misfires are all too common on that site.
They just aren't wanted there.

There is always an ambulance on standby, just for them.
They would feel lucky they are so well cared for but they are well aware that the medics
expect bodies, not patients - so few survive the night.
Those familiar black bags they keep are well used.
None of the local builders are left.

The whole crew is composed of outsiders - either out of town or out of country.
They don't question why they are treated so well by the townsfolk at first.
It takes a while to realise that they are more a useful sacrifice than a workman.
The accidents always occur too fast to prevent, no matter what they try.
There is always a cable unchecked, always a faulty hardhat, always someone rushed out too late.

Ninety-four so far - though there are no official reports.
No news of the site has ever gone public beyond the immediate families of the deceased.
The site is always in progress, the closing in of the builders each night slowly becoming a ceremony.
Like a final goodbye the townsfolk sometimes gather in crowds to sing each night.
Partly to ward off bad spirits but mostly to cover the screams and sounds of machine through bone.