As if you’ve broken its very soul with all of your pulling and prodding, the door gives in and admits you entry. It creaks inwards, revealing the contents of the room behind: a single chamber, as unlit as the corridor behind you and as lonely, too.
Fine, you seem to hear inside your head. At first you brush the sound away, but it niggles at your ear, like a buzzing from a fly or one of those catchy songs that are always playing on the cheap radio station.
Deciding that it’s likely the voice will not be moving to the bet of your drum – so to speak – you promptly ignore it and take tentative steps into the room. You squint.
Why does it feel like you’re not alone?
One eye appears out of the gloom, big and round and as blue as a bruise.
“Aha.” It swoops forward, and you dive to the ground. Although you land hard on a wrist, the ground is porous and crumbly under your fingers as if…
“Earth?” you ask aloud.
Earth. Mimics the voice.
“Aha,” says the single eye. It is determined to hone on you like a hornet, but you brush it away. It’s almost the size of your head, you note, but the lashes are thick and feminine…something you’ve never managed to get away with at school.
“Do you mind?” you ask with a sigh. “I’m kind of in the middle of something.”
“Middle of… Middle of? What you stand in the middle of is my garden, disruptive…thing.”
“I don’t see any plants,” you remark.
“No, because we have yet to make any. We were in the middle of running experiment #206 when you barged in and destroyed our equilibrium.”
You point the torchmatch imperiously at the thick wooden door, still ajar and swaying in the misty breeze of the corridor. “That door barged me in. I had nothing to do with it.”
“You are here, that is enough.”
“Hmph,” you chorus with the voice in your head. That childish lyrical hasn’t parted your mental side yet.
Well, we’re not moving.
“Not, we are not moving.”
“Who? I see only one of you.”
“Then get yourself another eye.”
The eye zooms down to you, and, like a howler in Hogwarts, it spits tears and hatred.