Black Smoke Streetlamps and the Iron Bolt

Black Smoke Streetlamps and the Iron Bolt

I was walking back from the grocery store at twilight, carrying a paper bag that kept getting heavier. The route was just my normal walk home, but the streetlamps were burning with this thick, tarry black smoke instead of regular light, casting everything in deep violet shadows. My neighbor Dave was out raking his lawn, but his face looked entirely carved out of pale ash, completely hollowed out, though he just casually waved like nothing was wrong. I tried to hurry, but my boots felt stuck in wet clay that wasn't there. When I finally reached my front porch, the wooden door was rusted iron and the lock had no keyhole, just a cold iron bolt shaped like a jagged thorn that stung when I touched it. I realized I was locked out as the sky turned pitch black and all the porch lights down the street blinked out at the exact same second.