The Cave of Wonders
The Cave of Wonders
A Short Story
Sean Burton held the Zippo lighter in his left hand and lugged the heavy suitcase behind him with his right. Click, click, click...the Zippo didn't come on frequently any more despite his best efforts to conserve fuel. Damn, how long had he been in this cave? The rumble in his stomach turned to a dull ache, something told him he didn't want to know.
Thunk, thunk the suitcase rolled over the unusually smooth cave floor. It was clear from the state of the floor and the "room" after room of magnificent stuff this was no ordinary cave.
"Why can't there by any candles?" He had long given up any reservation he had about speaking out loud, though his voice sounded parched even to his own ears. His stomach rumbled. He stuck out his left hand along the wall and followed it until he reached the end of the corridor. He flicked on the Zippo again and saw to the left a room and to the right, more corridor. Of course.
He blew out the light to save fuel before fishing a pocket knife (he'd had to purchase a new one, thanks so much TSA and airline-whose-name-he-would-never-utter-again-much-less-purchase-tickets-not-just-for-giving-him-the-wrong-bag-but-for-refusing-to-replace-said-pocket-knife) out of his jacket. He carefully make his mark on the wall at shoulder height. He was ready to proceed. He took a deep breath, stretched his left hand out again and bumped into a small ledge at the corner where the hall met the room and touched something waxy. Waxy, long and tapered...yes! That was a wick at the end of that thing.
He fished in his jacket pocket, brought out the Zippo and patiently waited for it to light, hopefully not for the last time. The small light revealed not just a candle, but a whole stash of candles. One, two, three, ten candles? Well, with a little bit of luck that would do him. He lit one, and put the Zippo back, hoping to save it for an emergency. The candle would do.
He edged into the room. This room had the look of an old timey kitchen. A work table stood lonely in the center of the room. Crates adorned one side of the room, shelves of dishes another. Pots hung next to a sink, which was a...dear Lord was that a fountain? Water? "Oh, thank you, thank you, THANK YOU Jesus."
Sean rushed as fast as his weary legs could take him. He cupped his hands under the steady trickle of water and rushed it to his cracked lips. It tasted cool and fresh. He splashed his face with the small trickle. He sighed and looked around.
Had he really just drank water from a questionable source? Of course he had and it had tasted fantastic! But really, it would only have been a few seconds more to get one of the cups and use that. He picked up one of the larger glasses off of a shelf and filled it with water. He went on to inspect the rest of the good left in the pantry. He found wheat flour, corn flour, beans, and several sealed jars. He left the jars alone, he had no idea how long they had been there or what kind of quality the cork seal had.
He found some baking powder and sugar and though he should try to mix up a something to eat. But for all of it's wonders, this kitchen lacked a stove, or even a hearth. And had there been any such thing, other than the candles there seemed very little to burn. He supposed he could tear apart some of the wooden crates stacked up against the wall, but what good would it do him if he died of smoke inhalation. More exploring was necessary.
Before he left the room, which had no exit other than the one back out into the corridor, he set out all of the thing he would need so he could mix up a meal when he got back. Then, just because he didn't know how long he would be down here, he found a pan, filled it a quarter way up with dried beans, and put it under the fountain. He knew beans needed to soak before they would cook.
He tugged the suit case, gathered up a couple of candles and made his way back out into the hall. He came to the next room. It had a king sized bed. He sat on it, feathers. He counted the blankets, three, so he would be nice and warm. This room like all of the others he had passed through had no other exit and no fireplace. But it had a bed, which was better than where he had slept the last three times. He decided to make this his bedroom, in his new "home." He sat the irritating suitcase on the bed. He would leave it here for now. It would make exploring easier.
He returned to the corridor. Would this cave ever end? The next room off of the hall was filled. But instead of boxes and crates, it looked decorated. He walked in. A mirror on the far wall amplified the light from his candle. Several candles, a few previously used, adorned the walls and sat on random tables. Twenty more. Sean lit a few of them and the room, though dusty amazed him.
He saw it had three leather couches, several wooden tables. The walls had hand-made tapestries and thick hand-knotted Persian rugs softened the floor. And glory be, there was a fire pit in this room. He stood over the round circle of stones in the middle of the room. The remains of a fire still sat there falling apart. A large poker sat off to one side.
Sean stood in the middle of the fire and lifted the poker. It didn't reach the ceiling and there was clearly no hole in the roof. Disappointed he set the poker aside. His stomach rumbled for the umpteenth time. Right, more exploring necessary. So he blew out the candles, stuck a couple of the longest ones in his pockets and made his way down the hall once again.
The next room was filled with crystal, silver and golden objects all set out neatly in rows. A few coins were on display. Sean blinked in surprise. These items were far from the mere knick-knacks left to dress up a house. Some of them looked museum quality, or at least what he could tell from the articles he read at work on it. No exit, no fire place, time to move on.
The next room contained old computer equipment. No exit, no fireplace, he marked the wall and moved on. The corridor came to and end and there was only one more room left. Books. Right, just what needed on his "vacation" a reminder of his work. He'd taken time off from the library to get away from those books. At least these people had some sort of taste. Oscar Wilde, Shakespeare, Hemingway adorned the shelves. Or they were people who followed the general consensus of what they were supposed to the like. Oh well.
He now traveled to the end of the corridor, but unlike his further explorations there was no liking hall. So this was the end of this branch. Now he had to back track. He trudged back to the room with the fire pit, hoping he had over looked something in there to get a fire going. He had not. He returned to the kitchen and explored it more carefully. No stove or fire pit or anything in there. Who were these people. He went back to the corridor that had dead ended at the kitchen, took his knife out an marked the walls again to indicated no exit. He did not want to forget. He traversed back the way he came until he reached on the the rooms filled with crates. Now he had a few candles he could look through the stuff if he was careful.
He opened a crate and saw a chest filled with Spanish coins. That was interesting, there seemed to be a lot of that here. He touched the cold coins and let them fall through his fingers. They amazed him in a hypnotic way. His stomach rumbled insistently now. Time to move on. He needed a way out, or at the very least a way to light a fire safely. Sleep tugged at him now. His legs felt weak. He stumbled back to the feather bed, undressed and spread his clothes out so they dried a bit while he slept, and crawled under the blankets.
The bed was so cold, he shivered hard and wondered if he had made a mistake taking off his clothes, layers and all. But he lacked the will to get up and dress again. Slowly the bed warmed and he drifted off to sleep.
When he awoke he felt rested, but extremely hungry and thirsty. He went back to the kitchen and drank the water from a cup. He found a flint and steel contraption in the kitchen, had he missed it last night? The beans looked wrinkled. He didn't know if it was a good thing or a bad thing. He lit the candle and went back down the halls. He finally had an idea. If he made it back to the hole where he fell in, he could move the stack of mattresses to the side and build a fire there.
He put out of his mind the myriad of fungus, bacteria and other microscopic contaminates that might find a home in the dried goods. If it made him sick, so be it. He needed to eat to have energy to explore. It took longer than he supposed to make it back to the hole. He looked around for a bit, reluctant to move the mattresses which had broken his fall and saved him from injury.
He moved down the hall to a room which he had not paid very much attention to the first time through. It did have a hearth, some wood and a long cast iron pincher. It would do. He now hurried back to the kitchen, mixed up a batch of what-ever-it-was. He dumped it into a cast iron skillet and then, worried the wood might not light well, opened one of the crates. It was filled with plain bone china packed in straw. He shoved a handful of the stuff into a pocket. He went back to his room, grabbed the suit case and balanced the whole lot as he lugged it down the hall.
The fire lit without a problem. He he had some time while it burned down. He opened the infernal suit case while he waited. He believed rifling through the contents of the bag would feel like a slightly naughty, yet intriguing thing. What could he deduce about the owner from the assortment of items packed in this bag. The zzzz sound of the zipper made his heart beat just a tiny bit faster. And of course the infernal thing was packed full of books. What kind of idiot paid to have books as checked baggage?
Sean flipped through the collection. A bunch or really BAD books. Really all three Fifty Shades of Grey? And the worst Sue Grafton and a miss by Stephen King...Hadn't this idiot ever heard of the Dark Tower series? If you were going to do something so mundane as read you could at least read quality! The plot problems in the Inheritance Cycle really, a theme people a theme, could be overlooked due to Poalini's youth when he plotted the thing. Those books at least got better. Sean now vowed not just to give up the airline, but to give up flying all together.
He looked up, the fire was ready and he shoved the cast iron skillet into the coals. Hopefully something that resembled cornbread would come out, but given his luck this day he doubted it.
"Hey! Where's that smoke coming from?" Not Sean's voice. Had he been down here so long or was he so hungry he washallucinating?
He smelled the cornbread. Time to rake the coals off of the cast iron skillet. He nearly burned it, but it was done. Good now he could call out. "Down here!"
He coughed and choked. He grabbed for the glass of water and swallowed it all. "Here, here! Down here!"
Good his voice sounded louder.
He heard footsteps overhead and someone coughing. A face sort of appeared above the smoke!
Sean started stamping on the fire, he had no more water, to put it out. "I'm trapped, I can't find my way out of here!"
The coughing face disappeared for a few moment. Sean continued to stamp out the fire. Finally the smoke ended and the face came back.
"Sean is that you?" A familiar voice asked.
Sean smiled. "Gus, Gus Spencer is that you?"
Gus waved his hands. "You're ALIVE!" He sounded happy. "Hold on, I'll get you out!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Author's Note: Yes you've been Psyched!
Also there might be a later post with a revised version of the story. Comments and critiques welcomed.
He fished in his jacket pocket, brought out the Zippo and patiently waited for it to light, hopefully not for the last time. The small light revealed not just a candle, but a whole stash of candles. One, two, three, ten candles? Well, with a little bit of luck that would do him. He lit one, and put the Zippo back, hoping to save it for an emergency. The candle would do.
He edged into the room. This room had the look of an old timey kitchen. A work table stood lonely in the center of the room. Crates adorned one side of the room, shelves of dishes another. Pots hung next to a sink, which was a...dear Lord was that a fountain? Water? "Oh, thank you, thank you, THANK YOU Jesus."
Sean rushed as fast as his weary legs could take him. He cupped his hands under the steady trickle of water and rushed it to his cracked lips. It tasted cool and fresh. He splashed his face with the small trickle. He sighed and looked around.
Had he really just drank water from a questionable source? Of course he had and it had tasted fantastic! But really, it would only have been a few seconds more to get one of the cups and use that. He picked up one of the larger glasses off of a shelf and filled it with water. He went on to inspect the rest of the good left in the pantry. He found wheat flour, corn flour, beans, and several sealed jars. He left the jars alone, he had no idea how long they had been there or what kind of quality the cork seal had.
He found some baking powder and sugar and though he should try to mix up a something to eat. But for all of it's wonders, this kitchen lacked a stove, or even a hearth. And had there been any such thing, other than the candles there seemed very little to burn. He supposed he could tear apart some of the wooden crates stacked up against the wall, but what good would it do him if he died of smoke inhalation. More exploring was necessary.
Before he left the room, which had no exit other than the one back out into the corridor, he set out all of the thing he would need so he could mix up a meal when he got back. Then, just because he didn't know how long he would be down here, he found a pan, filled it a quarter way up with dried beans, and put it under the fountain. He knew beans needed to soak before they would cook.
He tugged the suit case, gathered up a couple of candles and made his way back out into the hall. He came to the next room. It had a king sized bed. He sat on it, feathers. He counted the blankets, three, so he would be nice and warm. This room like all of the others he had passed through had no other exit and no fireplace. But it had a bed, which was better than where he had slept the last three times. He decided to make this his bedroom, in his new "home." He sat the irritating suitcase on the bed. He would leave it here for now. It would make exploring easier.
He returned to the corridor. Would this cave ever end? The next room off of the hall was filled. But instead of boxes and crates, it looked decorated. He walked in. A mirror on the far wall amplified the light from his candle. Several candles, a few previously used, adorned the walls and sat on random tables. Twenty more. Sean lit a few of them and the room, though dusty amazed him.
He saw it had three leather couches, several wooden tables. The walls had hand-made tapestries and thick hand-knotted Persian rugs softened the floor. And glory be, there was a fire pit in this room. He stood over the round circle of stones in the middle of the room. The remains of a fire still sat there falling apart. A large poker sat off to one side.
Sean stood in the middle of the fire and lifted the poker. It didn't reach the ceiling and there was clearly no hole in the roof. Disappointed he set the poker aside. His stomach rumbled for the umpteenth time. Right, more exploring necessary. So he blew out the candles, stuck a couple of the longest ones in his pockets and made his way down the hall once again.
The next room was filled with crystal, silver and golden objects all set out neatly in rows. A few coins were on display. Sean blinked in surprise. These items were far from the mere knick-knacks left to dress up a house. Some of them looked museum quality, or at least what he could tell from the articles he read at work on it. No exit, no fire place, time to move on.
The next room contained old computer equipment. No exit, no fireplace, he marked the wall and moved on. The corridor came to and end and there was only one more room left. Books. Right, just what needed on his "vacation" a reminder of his work. He'd taken time off from the library to get away from those books. At least these people had some sort of taste. Oscar Wilde, Shakespeare, Hemingway adorned the shelves. Or they were people who followed the general consensus of what they were supposed to the like. Oh well.
He now traveled to the end of the corridor, but unlike his further explorations there was no liking hall. So this was the end of this branch. Now he had to back track. He trudged back to the room with the fire pit, hoping he had over looked something in there to get a fire going. He had not. He returned to the kitchen and explored it more carefully. No stove or fire pit or anything in there. Who were these people. He went back to the corridor that had dead ended at the kitchen, took his knife out an marked the walls again to indicated no exit. He did not want to forget. He traversed back the way he came until he reached on the the rooms filled with crates. Now he had a few candles he could look through the stuff if he was careful.
He opened a crate and saw a chest filled with Spanish coins. That was interesting, there seemed to be a lot of that here. He touched the cold coins and let them fall through his fingers. They amazed him in a hypnotic way. His stomach rumbled insistently now. Time to move on. He needed a way out, or at the very least a way to light a fire safely. Sleep tugged at him now. His legs felt weak. He stumbled back to the feather bed, undressed and spread his clothes out so they dried a bit while he slept, and crawled under the blankets.
The bed was so cold, he shivered hard and wondered if he had made a mistake taking off his clothes, layers and all. But he lacked the will to get up and dress again. Slowly the bed warmed and he drifted off to sleep.
When he awoke he felt rested, but extremely hungry and thirsty. He went back to the kitchen and drank the water from a cup. He found a flint and steel contraption in the kitchen, had he missed it last night? The beans looked wrinkled. He didn't know if it was a good thing or a bad thing. He lit the candle and went back down the halls. He finally had an idea. If he made it back to the hole where he fell in, he could move the stack of mattresses to the side and build a fire there.
He put out of his mind the myriad of fungus, bacteria and other microscopic contaminates that might find a home in the dried goods. If it made him sick, so be it. He needed to eat to have energy to explore. It took longer than he supposed to make it back to the hole. He looked around for a bit, reluctant to move the mattresses which had broken his fall and saved him from injury.
He moved down the hall to a room which he had not paid very much attention to the first time through. It did have a hearth, some wood and a long cast iron pincher. It would do. He now hurried back to the kitchen, mixed up a batch of what-ever-it-was. He dumped it into a cast iron skillet and then, worried the wood might not light well, opened one of the crates. It was filled with plain bone china packed in straw. He shoved a handful of the stuff into a pocket. He went back to his room, grabbed the suit case and balanced the whole lot as he lugged it down the hall.
The fire lit without a problem. He he had some time while it burned down. He opened the infernal suit case while he waited. He believed rifling through the contents of the bag would feel like a slightly naughty, yet intriguing thing. What could he deduce about the owner from the assortment of items packed in this bag. The zzzz sound of the zipper made his heart beat just a tiny bit faster. And of course the infernal thing was packed full of books. What kind of idiot paid to have books as checked baggage?
Sean flipped through the collection. A bunch or really BAD books. Really all three Fifty Shades of Grey? And the worst Sue Grafton and a miss by Stephen King...Hadn't this idiot ever heard of the Dark Tower series? If you were going to do something so mundane as read you could at least read quality! The plot problems in the Inheritance Cycle really, a theme people a theme, could be overlooked due to Poalini's youth when he plotted the thing. Those books at least got better. Sean now vowed not just to give up the airline, but to give up flying all together.
He looked up, the fire was ready and he shoved the cast iron skillet into the coals. Hopefully something that resembled cornbread would come out, but given his luck this day he doubted it.
"Hey! Where's that smoke coming from?" Not Sean's voice. Had he been down here so long or was he so hungry he washallucinating?
He smelled the cornbread. Time to rake the coals off of the cast iron skillet. He nearly burned it, but it was done. Good now he could call out. "Down here!"
He coughed and choked. He grabbed for the glass of water and swallowed it all. "Here, here! Down here!"
Good his voice sounded louder.
He heard footsteps overhead and someone coughing. A face sort of appeared above the smoke!
Sean started stamping on the fire, he had no more water, to put it out. "I'm trapped, I can't find my way out of here!"
The coughing face disappeared for a few moment. Sean continued to stamp out the fire. Finally the smoke ended and the face came back.
"Sean is that you?" A familiar voice asked.
Sean smiled. "Gus, Gus Spencer is that you?"
Gus waved his hands. "You're ALIVE!" He sounded happy. "Hold on, I'll get you out!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Author's Note: Yes you've been Psyched!
Also there might be a later post with a revised version of the story. Comments and critiques welcomed.
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