Graveyard Shift by Jenn Gori


			by Jenn Gori aunted by both past prosperity of the Industrial Revolution and current economic hardship, Warehouse Point has become a wasteland of forgotten dreams and hopelessness. One institution has weathered the changes of Warehouse Point: The State Receiving Home. The Home dates back to the early nineteenth century when it was an orphanage for injured children who worked in the local factories or were abandoned by negligent parents. Many weary children passed through the doors of the Home during that century. Some children never left. When I started nursing school, I signed on for the graveyard shift at the Home so I could make money while I studied at night. My studies were only occasionally punctuated by a bed wetter or a bad dream. On Halloween, I started nodding off over one of my biology texts when the lights started to flicker. I decided to stretch my legs a bit, to make sure all of the children under my watch were tucked in. Halloween night was always the hardest; many of the boys, anxious with excitement, sneak out of their rooms to play pranks on each other or the staff. As I walked down the West Corridor, all seemed clear. The usual pranksters were sound asleep in their beds. The emergency lights in the hall silently hummed in time to my