“Quiet,” Sarah commanded with a loud whisper. She leaned toward the closed meeting room door, angling an ear so that she could hear any deadened sound.
Sarah ran to the railing of the observatory’s overlook and glanced toward the main entrance. “Those spider things are trying to break in and the kids are downstairs,” she shouted as she began running down the stairway. She stopped abruptly halfway down the spiral steps when the front door glass broke, shattering fragments across the lobby floor.
Several dull gray metallic objects with eight spiderlike spindly legs floated around the outside of the observatory. Sarah jumped with fright as the sound of one of them landed on the dome and moved around the top of the structure with a tinny pitter-patter. She looked around the ceiling of the curved vault for any possible entry points. Everything appeared to be watertight.
“Hilarious,” Max said, embarrassed. He pulled up his loose fitting work pants and turned around to buckle the belt. The bones of his elbows moved inside the long sleeves of the matching beige shirt like a classroom skeleton draped with a cloth for protection. He turned back around. “What the hell, Professor.”
It must have been a little after three o’clock in the afternoon that it happened–the afternoon of June 3rd, 1916. It seems incredible that all that I have passed through–all those weird and terrifying experiences–should have been encompassed within so short a span as three brief months. Rather might I have experienced a cosmic cycle, with all its changes and evolutions for that which I have seen with my own eyes in this brief interval of time–things that no other mortal eye had seen before, glimpses of a world past, a world dead, a world so long dead that even in the lowest Cambrian stratum no trace of it remains. Fused with the melting inner crust, it has passed forever beyond the ken of man other than in that lost pocket of the earth whither fate has borne me and where my doom is sealed. I am here and here must remain.