Nobody knew what he did or why he did it.
It was a ritual he carried out once a week. Always the same day and time. The house he lived in was nothing special, on the outside. It was set apart in its own grounds, much like others along the lane. It had two stories and a basement. As for him, just an elderly gentleman who lived on his own. He’d been there for years; decades even. Always polite to his neighbours. He rarely went out. Just an occasional walk through the local park. He always had his food delivered. Generally speaking, his reclusive lifestyle had never bothered anybody. The truth was, nobody, absolutely nobody, knew anything about him. He was a hermit in suburbia.
When the time came, once a week, he would make his way down to the cellar, where he would carefully spin the dials on a small safe. It was mounted at eye level and when opened it contained a small socket with a display window above it. This week, similar to most weeks, it showed the number seventeen in glowing orange numbers. He pulled up his jumper and felt for the tiny plastic cover below his right armpit. Flipping it open, he pulled out the miniature plug. Stretching out the retractable spring-loaded wire, he plugged it in. He stood, patiently waiting, while the numbers flashed and changed. Finally, they came to rest at one hundred.
Then came the unplugging, the winding back of the plug and lead, snapping the lid closed, closing the door and giving the dial a final spin.
All done for another week.
Nobody knew that he did this… or why he did it.