Door Handle.
A loud crack from the ceiling makes you jump; falling debris peppers your hair and clothes. There are people outside shouting at you to get to safety. It sounds from the terrified shrieks of the landlady that she is being hauled to safety through the upstairs window.
A broken beam falls and bounces off the metal cylinder in front of you. Perhaps you would be safer to shelter inside the thing. If it is heavy enough to have crushed that poor lady to death, and survive falling through the upper floor without a dent, it may be the safest place to be, at least for now.
You place your handle on the cylinder and watch as its metallic tentacles burrow into the smooth surface like tree roots. A gentle push is all it takes for the hatch to open as it did before. You rest your other hand upon the outer shell of the cylinder to steady yourself, and put your head inside.
But... how can this be? There is nothing beyond this door! The collapsed staircase, the broken barrels and furniture everything behind this alien object is perfectly visible from inside. But wait... perhaps this door is nothing more than a facade? You withdraw your head and stare at the solid cylinder in front of you, and spread the fingers of your free hand on its cold, dusty surface. It doesn't make sense.
You lean inside again, this time scanning in every direction. The palm of your hand is splayed to your side, flattened as if it is pushed against glass. You can see your own hand from the inside. This impossible object, strong and metal on the outside, allows you to see outwards in all directions, as if you were standing in a glass bottle!
A brief apparition shimmers in front of you. A reflection of yourself, perhaps; though it doesn't seem to move like one. It jumps backwards from you, and you smile, but it doesn't smile back. Odd, but warped glass can play tricks after all. Anyone who has looked at the world through a gin bottle knows that. Besides, it is obvious that this is no ordinary glass. Best to get sheltered now before the whole building comes crashing down.
As you step in through the hatch, the door handle comes away in your hand. Is that a good omen? Well, perhaps it is better to keep it inside with you.
Without warning the door swings shut, and all sound from outside stops. You reach out with your hands, feeling the contours of your invisible shelter. The wall feels smooth, but for a panel of bumps and notches, close to where you entered. It's no surprise that you cannot feel the join where the hatch was.
Now all you can do is wait, and hope that the collapse of the building will halt soon. The crushed woman hangs outside to your right, her blood trickling down the cylinder like rain drops on a window pane. It is a sight more than you can bear and you turn to look instead at the main entrance of the pub.
But your only view of daylight is blocked for a moment, and several men holding lanterns spread out among the rubble. They must be looking for you - you can tell from their faces that they are calling.
It is Ned who approaches the cylinder first. Unconcerned with the sight of the crushed woman he raises his fists to pound its surface and you cower as if he is about to hit you. He shouts, but you cannot hear. He then presses his ear against the outside.
You draw breath to shout back, but stop. If he can hear you and you reveal yourself, how will you explain the door handle? Perhaps say you found it in the rubble. Yes, that's it! Nobody will ever make the connection between you, it and the girl. You can hardly be accused, then, of stealing it.
"Ned!" you shout as loud as you can. "I'm inside! Wait, l can open the door!"
Ned doesn't move. It is doubtful he can hear you either.
You reach forward with the door handle until it touches the invisible wall. It doesn't react! It will not connect! You try again, pushing harder this time. How can it be that it will let you in, but not let you out? Terror boils inside your stomach and spreads like a trembling wave through your body. You should have left the handle outside; then somebody could have opened it for you. But it's too late now. You're trapped!
You drop the door handle on the floor and thump on the invisible wall with your fists. "I'm in here! I can't get out! Help!"
Ned does not respond. His ear is pressed so firmly against the cylinder that it has turned white. He has not moved a muscle. He isn't even breathing. You shout over and over until your voice is hoarse.
Slowly he moves his head away, utters a silent shout, and pounds against the cylinder. Ignoring the crushed body once more, he takes a few steps back.
"Ned! No! Come back!" Your voice cracks into a scream. "Help me out!"
But Ned continues to back away, his companions re-joining him at the door... all stepping backwards over the rubble. There is something odd about the way they do not look behind them as they retreat.
Something catches your attention out of the corner of your eye. You are not alone inside the capsule. The figure of a young man leans into your confined space, the door handle in his hand, attached to an open hatch. He smiles at you.
You are free! You lunge towards him and through him, crashing against the wall of your invisible cell. What was that? A ghost of yourself, perhaps?
You scramble to your feet, picking up your own door handle. You see the young man again, further away this time, a lantern in his hand. It is you, unmistakeably you, walking backwards through the rubble, never looking behind.
Something is not right. The rivulets of blood from the dead woman are creeping upwards now. Her eyes flicker as the blood sweeps itself from her face and retreats into her mouth. Rubble shoots upwards from the floor to the ceiling. You are flung to the base of your prison as it jumps from the ground. It bursts through the ceiling into the bedchamber above, dragging the wretched woman's body with it. Before you can recover yourself it topples onto its longest side. The floor of the bedchamber closes beneath you, but the furniture and poor servant girl are crushed underneath. Behind you the landlady is pinned between your capsule and the wall.
You try to stand, but bang your head. At this tilt the girth of the cylinder is not great enough for you to stand upright you can only sit and take in the devastation this object has caused.
Then she appears, stepping backwards through the hole that had once been a wooden door frame. The way her dark hair shines, the way her blouse exposes her midriff, the thick indigo leg coverings fastened with a button and row of shining gold teeth; and of course those red and white shoes that let her move with such lightness and grace... she could only be from another world.
The hatch swings open as she approaches. You reach out to grab it, but it is just an apparition. Although you know she is not real you still move out of the way as she enters your space. Kneeling in front of you she looks at you and smiles, and you feel your heart thump in your chest. Those eyes, those beautiful eyes that you'd watched close in despair as she let herself be arrested, now shine brightly with hope and anticipation. Convinced that she can see you, you smile back. She shows you the egg-like object in her hands just as it was when she'd first thrown it to you in the street.
She slots the egg into some sort of niche by the hatch, and the door swings shut. Then she takes the egg out of its invisible placing, and feels around the area by the hatch as if looking for something.
Holding the egg out to you for you to see, she waits as it morphs into a door handle, like your own. Then she winds the lever of the handle around a full circle. She looks at you, her expression first serious, and then of complete surprise, as if she'd never seen you before. Her form shimmers for a moment, and then she is gone.
The landlady's bedchamber spins and swirls into streaks of colour. You drool uncontrollably from the nausea, your empty stomach heaving in vain. You shut your eyes and curl up around your own door handle, waiting for it all to stop.
And stop it eventually does, and as the spinning gives way to a gentle swaying, you venture to open your eyes.
The sunlight is bright, piercing through a clear blue sky. Ropes criss-cross your line of vision, and you follow their lines to the sides of a large wooden cart. Your capsule has been secured tightly to prevent it rolling off this primitive vehicle as it travels, and the crowd of peasants that walk alongside it do not look friendly.
Some brandish crossbows and daggers, others carry scythes, that look just as lethal. You turn and look ahead, past the two large shire horses that pull your transport, and see that you are heading for a forest.
It is at the forest edge where the cart stops, and the mob cut the ropes free. They climb on top of the cylinder and roll it to the edge of the cart. You hang on to your door handle and brace yourself for the fall, but you are still winded as your prison hits the ground.
A robed man appears from within the crowd. He is elderly, and unlike the others, does not carry a weapon. He pushes a scroll into what looks like an oilskin bag, and leaves it next to your capsule. He raises a finger, gives an order, and everyone turns and leaves. You watch them as they move into the distance, some riding on the now empty cart.
You lean your forehead against the invisible wall and stare out at the scroll. What could it be? You pick up the door handle and look at its ornate surface. You have to do something. It is certain that nobody knows you're inside this thing, and wherever you are now, it has been rejected and dumped by the locals, albeit with a written message of some kind. If you do nothing, this bizarre, soundless prison may end up being your tomb.
A broken beam falls and bounces off the metal cylinder in front of you. Perhaps you would be safer to shelter inside the thing. If it is heavy enough to have crushed that poor lady to death, and survive falling through the upper floor without a dent, it may be the safest place to be, at least for now.
You place your handle on the cylinder and watch as its metallic tentacles burrow into the smooth surface like tree roots. A gentle push is all it takes for the hatch to open as it did before. You rest your other hand upon the outer shell of the cylinder to steady yourself, and put your head inside.
But... how can this be? There is nothing beyond this door! The collapsed staircase, the broken barrels and furniture everything behind this alien object is perfectly visible from inside. But wait... perhaps this door is nothing more than a facade? You withdraw your head and stare at the solid cylinder in front of you, and spread the fingers of your free hand on its cold, dusty surface. It doesn't make sense.
You lean inside again, this time scanning in every direction. The palm of your hand is splayed to your side, flattened as if it is pushed against glass. You can see your own hand from the inside. This impossible object, strong and metal on the outside, allows you to see outwards in all directions, as if you were standing in a glass bottle!
A brief apparition shimmers in front of you. A reflection of yourself, perhaps; though it doesn't seem to move like one. It jumps backwards from you, and you smile, but it doesn't smile back. Odd, but warped glass can play tricks after all. Anyone who has looked at the world through a gin bottle knows that. Besides, it is obvious that this is no ordinary glass. Best to get sheltered now before the whole building comes crashing down.
As you step in through the hatch, the door handle comes away in your hand. Is that a good omen? Well, perhaps it is better to keep it inside with you.
Without warning the door swings shut, and all sound from outside stops. You reach out with your hands, feeling the contours of your invisible shelter. The wall feels smooth, but for a panel of bumps and notches, close to where you entered. It's no surprise that you cannot feel the join where the hatch was.
Now all you can do is wait, and hope that the collapse of the building will halt soon. The crushed woman hangs outside to your right, her blood trickling down the cylinder like rain drops on a window pane. It is a sight more than you can bear and you turn to look instead at the main entrance of the pub.
But your only view of daylight is blocked for a moment, and several men holding lanterns spread out among the rubble. They must be looking for you - you can tell from their faces that they are calling.
It is Ned who approaches the cylinder first. Unconcerned with the sight of the crushed woman he raises his fists to pound its surface and you cower as if he is about to hit you. He shouts, but you cannot hear. He then presses his ear against the outside.
You draw breath to shout back, but stop. If he can hear you and you reveal yourself, how will you explain the door handle? Perhaps say you found it in the rubble. Yes, that's it! Nobody will ever make the connection between you, it and the girl. You can hardly be accused, then, of stealing it.
"Ned!" you shout as loud as you can. "I'm inside! Wait, l can open the door!"
Ned doesn't move. It is doubtful he can hear you either.
You reach forward with the door handle until it touches the invisible wall. It doesn't react! It will not connect! You try again, pushing harder this time. How can it be that it will let you in, but not let you out? Terror boils inside your stomach and spreads like a trembling wave through your body. You should have left the handle outside; then somebody could have opened it for you. But it's too late now. You're trapped!
You drop the door handle on the floor and thump on the invisible wall with your fists. "I'm in here! I can't get out! Help!"
Ned does not respond. His ear is pressed so firmly against the cylinder that it has turned white. He has not moved a muscle. He isn't even breathing. You shout over and over until your voice is hoarse.
Slowly he moves his head away, utters a silent shout, and pounds against the cylinder. Ignoring the crushed body once more, he takes a few steps back.
"Ned! No! Come back!" Your voice cracks into a scream. "Help me out!"
But Ned continues to back away, his companions re-joining him at the door... all stepping backwards over the rubble. There is something odd about the way they do not look behind them as they retreat.
Something catches your attention out of the corner of your eye. You are not alone inside the capsule. The figure of a young man leans into your confined space, the door handle in his hand, attached to an open hatch. He smiles at you.
You are free! You lunge towards him and through him, crashing against the wall of your invisible cell. What was that? A ghost of yourself, perhaps?
You scramble to your feet, picking up your own door handle. You see the young man again, further away this time, a lantern in his hand. It is you, unmistakeably you, walking backwards through the rubble, never looking behind.
Something is not right. The rivulets of blood from the dead woman are creeping upwards now. Her eyes flicker as the blood sweeps itself from her face and retreats into her mouth. Rubble shoots upwards from the floor to the ceiling. You are flung to the base of your prison as it jumps from the ground. It bursts through the ceiling into the bedchamber above, dragging the wretched woman's body with it. Before you can recover yourself it topples onto its longest side. The floor of the bedchamber closes beneath you, but the furniture and poor servant girl are crushed underneath. Behind you the landlady is pinned between your capsule and the wall.
You try to stand, but bang your head. At this tilt the girth of the cylinder is not great enough for you to stand upright you can only sit and take in the devastation this object has caused.
Then she appears, stepping backwards through the hole that had once been a wooden door frame. The way her dark hair shines, the way her blouse exposes her midriff, the thick indigo leg coverings fastened with a button and row of shining gold teeth; and of course those red and white shoes that let her move with such lightness and grace... she could only be from another world.
The hatch swings open as she approaches. You reach out to grab it, but it is just an apparition. Although you know she is not real you still move out of the way as she enters your space. Kneeling in front of you she looks at you and smiles, and you feel your heart thump in your chest. Those eyes, those beautiful eyes that you'd watched close in despair as she let herself be arrested, now shine brightly with hope and anticipation. Convinced that she can see you, you smile back. She shows you the egg-like object in her hands just as it was when she'd first thrown it to you in the street.
She slots the egg into some sort of niche by the hatch, and the door swings shut. Then she takes the egg out of its invisible placing, and feels around the area by the hatch as if looking for something.
Holding the egg out to you for you to see, she waits as it morphs into a door handle, like your own. Then she winds the lever of the handle around a full circle. She looks at you, her expression first serious, and then of complete surprise, as if she'd never seen you before. Her form shimmers for a moment, and then she is gone.
The landlady's bedchamber spins and swirls into streaks of colour. You drool uncontrollably from the nausea, your empty stomach heaving in vain. You shut your eyes and curl up around your own door handle, waiting for it all to stop.
And stop it eventually does, and as the spinning gives way to a gentle swaying, you venture to open your eyes.
The sunlight is bright, piercing through a clear blue sky. Ropes criss-cross your line of vision, and you follow their lines to the sides of a large wooden cart. Your capsule has been secured tightly to prevent it rolling off this primitive vehicle as it travels, and the crowd of peasants that walk alongside it do not look friendly.
Some brandish crossbows and daggers, others carry scythes, that look just as lethal. You turn and look ahead, past the two large shire horses that pull your transport, and see that you are heading for a forest.
It is at the forest edge where the cart stops, and the mob cut the ropes free. They climb on top of the cylinder and roll it to the edge of the cart. You hang on to your door handle and brace yourself for the fall, but you are still winded as your prison hits the ground.
A robed man appears from within the crowd. He is elderly, and unlike the others, does not carry a weapon. He pushes a scroll into what looks like an oilskin bag, and leaves it next to your capsule. He raises a finger, gives an order, and everyone turns and leaves. You watch them as they move into the distance, some riding on the now empty cart.
You lean your forehead against the invisible wall and stare out at the scroll. What could it be? You pick up the door handle and look at its ornate surface. You have to do something. It is certain that nobody knows you're inside this thing, and wherever you are now, it has been rejected and dumped by the locals, albeit with a written message of some kind. If you do nothing, this bizarre, soundless prison may end up being your tomb.