Every night

Umm, I'm really not sure about this...

Every day at, for the sake of an argument, five forty-seven pm, a great many things happen. One thing that happens is not notable for any peculiar feature, it is not important, it effects almost no one, it is however extremely regular. It does not occur every day, more like five days a week, with the exception of those days when a particular alignment of the Earth with its mother Sun indicates that all the banks should be closed and respectable people in their suits should remain home, and also those days when the weather is bad and everyone else leaves the office early. The event does not occur at that time, like clockwork, for any ritualistic importance, simply put the creature that completes it is one of habit, but they don't care so much as to stick to it when no one is watching.
It is the most banal of activities. The creature stands up, behind its desk in the corner office on the third floor of the Kandensky Building, stretches, and flicks the switch to turn on the light. The creature does this because it resides in a far northern latitude (though really, it could be farther) and for much of the year it is dark at that time, and because it has been hunched into its computer for so long that it has come detached from time and space and sunlight.
As the creature stretches it emits a low moan that may be of pain, but probably isn't. Its joints crack and pop as they individually become unfrozen from the tightness of the day, and the creature sets about collecting its few transitory belongings. It takes very little, the creature believes in keeping work life and home life separate.
Leather portfolio tucked under its left arm the creature is fishing for its keys as it wafts out the revolving door and into the night. Its patent leather hoofs barely touch the blacktop of the parking lot and it seems to slid, rather than climb, into its monstrous red truck. Safely ensconced it relaxes, puts on a hat, lights a cigarette. If you look carefully you might think you see the creatures eyes begin to glow, but you probably don't.
The truck backs out smoothly and passes across four lanes of traffic without giving time to such niceties as right of way, or the laws of inertia. Every day the creature survives the transition onto Highway Fifty-Five, it's the most extraordinary part of the event. Highway fifty-five becomes I thirty five W, becomes MN 80, becomes County Road thirty-two, and as it does so the creature does the same exact things, passes the same exact cars.
The human brain can not fathom remembering a hundred thousand cars in traffic, it looks perfectly random. The creature notices, it remembers, and it worries about the lives of the faceless hands on the wheels of the cars. When Blue Corolla with Silver Passenger Side Doors doesn't show up for a couple days it wonders if they fell ill, and when Lime-Green Beetle broke up with their long time partner it could tell for weeks the effect it was having. The creature knows that all the cars are the same.
When the truck reaches the end of a long gravel drive and its lights turn off, when the creature slides from the cabin and doesn't bother to lock the door behind it, that is when the event ends. After that nothing is important, because after that what happens changes, night to night.
Tonight the air is clear and the moon is gibbous and a few leaves rattle and fall in the faint breeze. It is the sort of cool that pricks at the skin and promises deeper chills to come. The creature makes its way across the obligatory corn field, through the remnants of the failed apple orchard, to a place where the ground falls away.
Bellow the bank there is a shallow slope that blends into a stream that is crystal clear. The creature is standing at the waters edge, as though it always has been. Soundlessly smiling it turns down stream and keeps pace with the current to the place where the water bends under the arch of an improbable bridge. There the creature will sit until dawn, catching flies with its eyes.
It's on nights like this one that, for miles around, dogs will be howling.