Poking Around

Robert Quick

Where the -@!# did my muse go?

Writer, dreamer, knight, shackled by entertainment . . . and people.


Chains, heavy ones from the sound of it, rattled in the basement, undercut by heavy snuffling. I didn't want to go down there but it was the one place we hadn't checked. My imagination conjured horrible beasts and wicked demons in that awful place.

Behind me, Karyn asked, “What are you waiting for?”

“Don't you hear that?” Fear sharpened my question, gave it an edge.

“It's the wind.”

“Yeah, it's the wind in the basement. If it's the wind, then why don't you go first?”

“Okay, I will.” Karyn edged past me, sliding the roundness of her butt against my hip, and took the next two steps.

I followed after her feeling a little ashamed.

Dim light from the midday sun outside contoured the darkness, bending it around cobweb wrapped machinery. They were big suckers, blocky and dense, with rivets the size of quarters.

"What is all this?" Karyn asked. She grabbed up a shop broom leaning against the wall and used the tip to poke the closest machine.

Clunk clunk.

"Leave that alone. That's not why we're here."


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Comments (1 so far!)

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Emmyful

Emmyful

Hmmm. What is all that stuff and why are they really there? I hope I get to find out!

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