Election Night

The final vote was cast merely two minutes before the cut-off. A man wrapped in a grey, baggy trench coat that enveloped his entire body slipped the pink ballot through the slit in the box and glided off. He earned a few stares from the pollmaster who was looking at his watch and wondering why the recently departed man had spent an astounding thirty minutes in the pollbox before emerging, expressionless. He had bit his lip with apprehension when only five minutes was left, wondering how he was to tell the man when the vote was over, that he would have to leave the pollbooth. The man had solved the problem for him in any event, emerging with a few minutes to spare.
As the man in the trench coat pushed the exit door open with a loud bang, in a commotion that made several of his attendants jump, the pollmaster could not help but heave a sigh of relief. It wouldn’t have done to have a…problem. The pollmaster frowned, no that wouldn’t help his prospects of promotion. Steeping his fingers, he leaned back in his comfortable chair and wondered who had won in his vicinity. It mattered, of course.
“The final count is due in a bit, sir” one of his more over enthused attendants remarked happily. The boy seemed to think this was the first rung on the political ladder that he wanted to climb. Pah! Everyone knew that when you got involved in the election business, you never even had a hope of running for office. Maybe being promoted, maybe being Master of Polls, but never becoming a politician. The pollmaster pulled nervously on one end of his mustache, thinking bemusedly that he had never bothered to tell his attendant that. The boy’s political career was in shambles now. Oh well.
They would be coming, of course, in a bit. It was just a matter of which party.

The pollmaster, whose name was unpronounceable but spelt McGliycolan, stood up abruptly and began emptying the ballot boxes. They were full to the brim with tiny slips of pink paper, with a hole stamped in the box for the appropriate candidate. Slowly he ran his hand through the piles of paper, smiling, and thinking of how much money he would have tonight.
One of the attendants had turned on the TV to keep them company during the long night of counting. Poor, naïve fools; they seemed to actually believe there would be a great deal of counting tonight. They also believed they were doing a service to their country. McGliycolan guffawed slightly.
“Results from poll booths around the country indicate a very close race. For the fifth time in the last two decades, the vote will depend on the region of Alkcarcey,” The TV commentator paused to shake his head wonderingly, “In the lead, by a close margin is….”
The door burst open, and five burly men entered- their faces were obscured by wide brimmed hats, that cast eerie shadows about their body. On their lapels was the face of one of the candidates, the candidate in the lead.
McGliycolan smiled broadly and waved expansively at the pink ballots behind him.
“Help yourself,” he said, beaming.