And Ellen (God how she hated that name) had to work every afternoon clerking in her folks’ hardware store. (Her Mom and Dad actually called themselves her “folks,” and they actually called her work “clerking.”
So one Friday night there came the fire in the store. (Not set by Ellen.) Not a big one, so her folks figured they could open again by Sunday after church. But no, they didn’t need Ellen for the day. She’d just be in the way, so why didn’t she spend the day at the Library?
So off our Ellen went, but as she approached the Library, her feet unaccountably turned and took her to the backside of the building where a tiny, scraggly little wood lay. A patch of wildflowers grew at the beginning of a path into the woods. Ellen’s hand picked the flowers as her feet took her on the path.
“Weirder and weirder,” Ellen said, half expecting a rabbit with a watch to appear. No such but a strange patch of white clay was what she encountered, steaming and bubbling.
“Even weirder she said. It’s not a rabbit hole, but it’ll do.”