Machine Mythos

“Grandpa! Grandpa!” I heard my name and before I could even get up from my chair, my grandson, Roy, had flung open the door and burst into the room.

He scrambled into my lap and wasted no time reminding me that I owed him a story. “Last time you promised to tell me about the Machine.”

“So I did. You think you’re old enough?”

He nodded his head. “Uh huh. I’m eight!”

I supposed that eight was probably a good age to learn about the Machine, though his parents wouldn’t like it. They didn’t want me filling his head with peculiar notions. He might try to get a look at it. If he tried that, he might not come back. He might not be able to come back. Still ignorance was for sheep and no grandson of mine was going to be a sheep.

“The machine exists in every part of the world. Some parts are big and go on for kilometers. Others are barely noticeable. The rumors that concern it are troubling. I can tell you the truth, though. I’ve been inside.”

“What was it like? Who lived there?”

I cleared my throat and began.

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