The last living breath leaves with a sigh. Chased away by the swift hands of time. Skittering skirts of crisp flame chatter as they stalk the last remaining shoe. A final parting jangle and snap of metal; the museum holds its breath. It seems to be waiting.

Waiting for the swirling tourmaline cloak to be snapped defiantly, snuffing out all remaining whisps of weak light, save for a few brave lanterns. There will be no tangled ball of silver light suspended on invisible strings, not tonight. Just the cold desolate whistle of the tuneless wind that wraps and curls itself into the smallest spaces. Bringing a shiver here and a tremble there, a reminder that the Earth is still watching. Always watching.

A sprawling map of huts and illusion. No one knew of this place. A quiet ghost town that knew far too much. Not even after the final tolling of the church bells, when the doors were locked, and the inhabitants slipped away back into society. Forgotten and known, a paradox of belonging. After all knowledge… is power.

Catching and feasting on the secrets that spread like an intricate gossamer web across the globe. Spinning out deceptions like strands of irresistible silk, a prize the enemy craved. Back then they were the crouching obsidian spider that everyone feared, but no one knew about.

Somehow, they knew.

Knew much more than they let on.

They were a perfect blend of military and civilian. Genius and madness overlapped but ultimately rewards were reaped. And the ghosts of the past live on.

Cautiously, you emerge from the shadows, breathing in the silence before the nightshift begins. It’s long and hard work, yet it is vital that the time is filled with a busy beehive of activity. One by one your colleagues materialise. A brief pause and then life floods back into the echoey halls.

Hut 3 is your domain, the place you know best and one of the most secretive of all; joined to Hut 6 by a tunnel, passing papers of unspeakable notations between. Smartly you move down the slim corridor, turning your back to the wall to allow a co-worker to pass. A scuttling pass of two crabs on a determined trajectory, a curt nod of acknowledgment and then you slip into your office.

‘Office’ is a bit of an exaggeration, it is merely a room in which you work shared with one other person, whom you get on with perfectly fine. A mutual relationship, never quite blurring the lines between colleague and friend, though you wish they would entertain your intermittent pattering.

“I’m going to get a cuppa,” was all she said as the weary wooden legs scraped across the bare boards. Slipping on a strangely patterned cardigan she click-clacked her way out of the door.

Shaking your head, you wondered if she would ever loosen up, or even to offer to get you something from the canteen. Momentarily, you stared longingly at the chipped cup and saucer, with dregs of bitter coffee congealing in the bottom and horrid snakes of brown that slithered up the sides. Civilians seemed to forget that this wasn’t their war, this was everyone’s war.

Why else would you find yourself in a room with uniform cream walls, two stout desks and chairs, a monstrous tower of draws overweight from all the paper they had consumed and a neat set of coat hooks by the door? Sworn to secrecy and reminded as such by the leering posters that were hung almost innocently on the wall behind your desk.

“You alright, love?” A concerned voice rolled in with the fierce northern wind, shaking you from your thoughts. Turning your attention to the young man hovering in the doorframe, you could tell from his attire that he was a military man- not that mattered when there was a single common goal.

Smiling as brightly as you could, you managed out a shaky reply, “Er, yes, thanks for asking. I got lost in thought for a moment, how daft of me when there is so much to do.”

“I bet it don’t help when your company is a dull as a bag of firewood,” he nodded at the still vacant desk, “Even a bit of talk goes a long way to keep the mice from eating your sanity.”

You felt a chuckle bubbling up, which came out stiff from the lack of practice, “You’re right there! I must get back to work, this is not going to tell me the secrets that easily. Oh, if you swing by again at any time, a cup of joe will be appreciated!” With clumsy fingers that ached from the cold, you press your nearly blunt pencil back into service.

“Got it, one cup of strong military coffee for the pretty lady in Hut 3!” He tilted his head jauntily, as he flashed you one final smile before continuing on his duty.

Rolling your eyes playfully, you return your gaze to the jumble of letters on the tape in front of you. Suddenly, everything felt as though it would be alright. The warmth from the desk lamp heated the back of your head, to the point you feared your hair might be singed. You weren’t going to complain though, any warmth in the draughty hut was appreciated.

Reaching out a hand for your battered copy of the German dictionary, you drew it into the halo of harsh interrogating light. Your mind recalled every single possible code it could be and letter by letter you coaxed out the message. Untidy scrawl littered a sheet of paper, you trusted what you knew and your intuition. Spurred on by the background clunking, hammering and tiny tings of the typewriter orchestra, you tidied your workings into legible text.

Startled when the door banged open and your co-worker swanned back in, “Took you long enough,” you muttered darkly under your breath, though you were sure that they had heard every carefully weighted syllable. There was no reply, as they flung themselves dramatically back at their desk and slamming down their mug, with a force that made you wince.

You were getting close to your limit of tolerance of their attitude and were willing to throw them to your superior. The thinly veiled annoyance soon turned to alarm when you read the translation of the unscrambled clue, you could only stay sane if you treated the whole thing like a game. In some ways the work became more enjoyable when seen as such, though the deeply engraved importance remained at the core.

Shooting up right, you hurried out of the room, shooting a silent warning across the cramped space. Checking to your right, to avoid running into anyone, you jogged down the stretching hall to your left. Sensible shoes pattering on the bare creaking board. Arriving at the end office, you rapped sharply on the plain mahogany panel. Bouncing on the balls of your feet you waited for permission to enter.

Except it never came, as you felt the first warm rays of the sun sneak through the clouded glass. This was intelligence that would have to wait a full twelve hours to be received. Once more you slipped back into the shadows, invisible to the visitor that would crowd and crow, breaking the vow of silence.