The Watcher on Redwood Lane

The Last Light in Denver” Every night at exactly 1:14 a.m., the streetlights

on Redwood Lane in Denver flickered—except for the one outside Clara Hensley’s apartment.

It glowed brighter than the rest, humming like something alive. Clara,

a quiet resident who worked late shifts, always felt watched as she walked past

it. One night, the bulb burst, plunging the street into darkness.

Relieved, she laughed nervously—until the hum continued. Slowly, a tall,

thin figure stepped out from where the light once shined, its body made of twisting wires and

glass shards. “Thank you,” it whispered. “Now I can move.” Clara ran,