What's he building in there?

Day 1
What's he buliding in there? What's he making? I sure as hell don't know and I sure as heck don't want to find out. He's been trudging back and forth between the junkyard and his cold iron shed for 4 hours now, same steely determined look. Taking back planks, screws, metal sheets, and old church pews. Every time he heads out again to liberate more parts for his invention from that deadened place he's got more grease on him than before, more stains on his face. What's he building in there?

Day 2
What's he building in that shed? What kind of something's made of deadwood and old pipes? He took down the tyre swing from the pepper tree, though he has no children of his own, he has no family. I heard his wife left him and lives down south, she writes Christmas cards but he never replies. He's too busy building to send letters on down south. He doesn't speak to anyone, he doesn't smile. He barely even raises his head to look at what he's hauling from the junkyard, trudging in wet boots, slamming the corrugated door and the noises start. What's he building in there?

Day 5
What on Earth is making those noises? A metallic grind, a dull thump, a muffled roar, a crack. Heck, I bet there ain't no turning back for him anymore. I could've sworn I heard a low moan. And the pig squeal of an old transistor radio that they say he stole from the diner. He would've had to, there isn't anything else to steal this far out of nowhere. I can hear him hammering nails into driftwood, without any care. What's he building in there?

Day 7
I caught him signalling with a torch on the shed roof last night. Flashing into the sky. He looked right at me when I made his front gate grind open, but didn't stop signalling. I turned and went home, the rhythmic light and the frost in his eyes shot to my bones. He kept signalling, but wouldn't look away from my window. All the while, the metallic grinding echoed right into my eardrums, and the transistor screeched into my brain. What's he building in there?

Day 15
He's been in there for a whole week now, since he looked at me, since he knew what I'd seen. He hasn't been sighted leaving, not even to eat. Some say he doesn't sleep, but car parts keep going missing, and there's the patter of his feet outside my window every night. I try to catch him, but he's never there. He's always building, screeching, grinding. He's nearly stripped this town to it's bones. He's removed all the copper wires, and he stole all the phones. And every hour, a dull thud shoots right out from under the shed door, chasing the fluorescent light that buzzes out of every hole in the walls, and there are lots of holes in the walls. I tried to look through one the other day, tried to see if the light would show me anything, but as soon as I got my eye to the wall, the lights went out, vanished. What IS he building in there?

Day 21
He stood on the front porch of his delapidated house for 3 hours yesterday. He never goes in the house, he's always in the shed. He just stared straight out past the highway from the termite riddled stairs. It was like a beam shooting right out of his dead eyes. They're like what the Devil might make eyes look like: too deliberately lifelike to be human, but too cold to not. What was he building in there?

Day 30

The shed has gone. Only a blast mark on the already scorched tarmac tells us he was here, even though he never really was. What did he build? What did it do? I sure as hell wouldn't like to find out.