On and on it went like that all night, incessant. The alarm clock on Mr. Canbury’s nightstand glowed just as annoyingly, it proclaimed “3:42.” Now, while Joseph Canbury of Eddington wasn’t exactly your model employee, he also wasn’t one to shirk a good night’s sleep if he could help it.
He rose from his bed quietly, or as quietly as a pudgy, uncoordinated accountant such as himself could manage, anyway. His foot tentatively made contact with the floor. As it did, it just so happened to hit the only floorboard in the entire room that was prone to squeaking, a fact that his wife was immediately made aware of as she stirred from her sleep.
Mr. Canbury was frozen, a deer in headlights as his wife seemed to stare right at him. But just as quickly, she laughed at a joke some dream person made and muttered her retort before lapsing into the usual snore-punctuated breathing one might expect from your average sleeper.
The coast clear, Mr. Canbury made his way toward the source of the mysterious noise. Was it the bathroom? No, the noise was most definitely coming from somewhere deeper within the house. The den? No, this noise was tinny, a sort of ding against metal. And as far as Mr. Canbury knew, there was nothing in the den that could create that particular noise.
Mr. Canbury perked up at this last one, hot on the trail. Satisfied with his exemplary detective skills, he crept over to the noise’s true source: the kitchen. His knees, ankles, and coccyx all cracked as he crouched down until he was at face-level with the cupboard under his sink. He paused, patient.
Like a magician pulling free a drape from his bisected assistant, Mr. Canbury flung the cupboard wide open. What he saw wasn’t quite worthy of a “voila,” however. Pipe cleaner, trash bags, a large wrench. Nothing out of the ordinary. Mr. Canbury felt quite disappointed. Gipped even.
But just like that, he was back in action. He tapped one of the sink’s pipes, the one the noise just came from. Seconds passed, practically minutes. Finally:
Excited, Mr. Canbury rapped again on the pipe. Whatever was inside of it responded just as soon, mimicking each tap flawlessly.
“What are you, you little bugger?”
The thing inside the pipe either didn’t hear Mr. Canbury’s question or was protesting the indignity of being called a little bugger. Either way, it stopped responding to all forms of communication the pudgy man tried to muster.
“Play coy, will you?”
Mr. Canbury grabbed his wrench and set himself to removing the offending pipe. But just as he did, a deafening eruption ripped through the air. A massive hole cracked open in the floor of the cupboard. Mr. Canbury was sucked into it immediately, as if pulled by the world’s strongest vacuum. And just like that, the hole closed back up as if nothing had happened.
Wind rushed powerfully as dazzling colors and lights whizzed past Mr. Canbury’s face. He was falling at a speed that was altogether excessive. And then, when it seemed as if he couldn’t quite take it any longer, it stopped. He fell with a cracking thud. Where, he did not know. It was pitch black. He stood up and lumbered forward with his hands outstretched, Frankenstein-esque.
Before long, he stopped dead in his tracks. There was a wall of some sort, that was for sure. But what exactly was it made of? Brick? No, it was much too cold and smooth to be brick. Stone? No, the little sort of dinging noise it made when tapped said otherwise. For once, Mr. Canbury’s cleverness had reached its limit. Frustrated, he rapped loudly on the wall.
Metal! That’s what it was, it had to be! Quite satisfied with his reclaimed cleverness, Mr. Canbury didn’t realize just how incredibly similar the sound of his knock had been to what he heard down in his very own kitchen. Nor did he expect the response that he was to receive just seconds later from what seemed like a giant on the other end of the wall: