Down the Shrinking Hole II

Down the Shrinking Hole~Pure Gold ~

By Jamie Ott

Copyright ©Jamie Ott 2012. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced

without written permission. For more information, please contact

ladysonoma@americamail.com

ISBN: 978-0615564596

Publication Date: 3/20/2013

Catch Your Breath

Chapter 1

The dark hole hugged him so close that it made him feel claustrophobic. Up, down, around and upside down he went for hours. Then all of a sudden, his fall slowed, as did the curves of the tunnel until he came to a complete stop.

From above him came a tiny light. Little ridges in the wall of the hole wound their way upwards. Miles used the ridges to pull himself up.

On and on he climbed for at least thirty minutes until BAM!

“Owww,” he moaned.

He’d rammed his head into something that swung outward, and suddenly revealed a flood of light.

“Who’s there?” a tiny voice asked.

Dizzy, he almost fell but managed to pull himself up through the round opening anyway. He crawled onto a dirt floor and lay still a moment.

Someone approached him.

Miles rolled over and sat up.

Facing him was a doll-sized boy with orange tinged skin that glowed, and chocolate brown hair and eyes. He looked just as surprised as Miles felt.

The room was dome shaped, and the roof and walls were dirt. On one side of the room was a large mound of grass. Atop the mound lay a tiny pillow and a patchwork quilt.

On the opposite side, a small fire blazed. A desk and chair was next to it. On it, a tiny ink pot and quill sat next to a small picture frame.

“I’ll ask once more: Who are you?”

“I’m Miles. Where am I?”

“You’re in my room. My Pagua will be upset, if he finds you here.”

“Ten!” called a voice from the other side of a little white door.

“Coming!” the boy yelled. “Go back in the hole, now!”

Miles had every intention of doing so, hoping to return home as soon as possible. Hopefully, Seven and his gang, who surprised attacked him in his room, were gone. But when he turned around, right as he was about to stick both feet back in, the hole disappeared.

“Oh, bugoola!” said the boy, grabbing his cheeks. “Okay, just stay here; hide and be quiet!”

He left the room.

But there was no way to hide. His legs took up over three quarters of the room.

Miles carefully stood up, but he had to crane his neck so low that he returned to his knees.

On the desk, next to the fire, he looked more closely at the picture in the frame. The boy who’d just left the room was in it. He held hands with a woman who must have been his mother. She had the same orange skin, except with white hair.

Suddenly, the door opened again, making him jump. The boy walked in with a tray and set it on the ground.

“I didn’t know if you’re hungry or not. Sit,” he said, gesturing to the ground.

Miles crawled over and examined the contents of the tiny platter. A fish the size of a stick of gum glowed bright pink.

“I’m Ten,” he said, and poured the little jug of what appeared to be water, and which glowed bright white, into his glass.

Miles picked up the tiny fish and held it close to his face. The texture was smooth and gel-like between his fingers. He could see clear through it, too.

“Surely, you’ve had fookah before! I’ve read all about your kind.”

“What?”

“Fookah.”

“Do I eat it?”

“Look, if you don’t want it…”

But Miles went ahead and popped the fish into his mouth. As he bit through, a light oil of fish-essence washed over his tongue and evaporated.

“Good, huh?”

Miles wasn’t sure so he remained silent.

“Drink?” the boy offered.

He took the pen cap-sized glass and tossed back its content. It was light and sugary and evaporated on his tongue, too.

“Got anymore?”

“No, sorry. You’re just too big. That was a lot of food as it was.”

“Why are you not surprised to see me?”

“Because things have been coming out of that hole for a few weeks, now; that’s why my dad installed the floor door,” he said, pointing to two halves of busted, flat wood. “We never expected that humans would come through, or else we’d have used something stronger. Pagua doesn’t like humans, but since you’re a kid, I figure you’re probably harmless.”

“Who’s Pagua?”

“He’s from whom I originate.”

“You mean your dad.”

“Why did you come through the hole?” Ten asked more seriously.

“I was attacked.”

“By whom?”

“My neighbors.”

“But how did you see the hole? Normally, humans can’t see,” Ten said, wagging his finger at him.

Ignoring his question, he instead asked, “When do you think the hole will reappear? I

really would like to go home. My mom and dad will be worried.”

“It shows up at sunrise, sunset, midday and midnight, but it goes to different places. I’ll have to check the schedule. You don’t want to end up in the wrong world, or in a house of brownies; they will eat you and use your bones to pick your meat from their teeth.”

Miles shivered at his grotesque imagery. He’d already had a not-so-good run in with brownies.

“You’re not a brownie, are you?”

“Do I look like one?”

Miles thought they all looked kind of similar, but then as he observed: Ten was missing little horns from his head. Brownies almost looked interbred with pygmy goats. Ten looked more like Seven, who was a sylph and very human-looking, even in their small stature. If it wasn’t for Ten’s glow-in-the-dark skin color, Miles would have thought he were sylph. He wondered if his skin glow had something to do with the food and drink they consumed.

“Are you and your people at war, too?”

“No, that is between the brownies and sylphs. We stay out of others business here, and they are not welcome here. If one should show up, our instructions are to shoot on sight.”

“Do you guys have guns?”

Ten didn’t get to answer because the sound of a door opening and closing was heard from the other room.

“Ten!” called a voice that was much higher than the last time.

The same woman from the photo on the desk opened the door.

Her eyes bugged out.

She whipped a long white sliver of glass from her hair. From it, a white spark shot across the room at Miles, but because of her size which increased the distance between them, the spark was slow enough that Miles simply rolled out of its way.

“Get out!” she screamed in a piccolo voice. “Get out!”

“No, Mom, he’s just a kid. He’s not a danger; he just wants to go home!”

But she continued to shoot little sparks at him. Unfortunately, the room was too small to keep avoiding whatever it was she shot. So on his third roll, Miles blasted through the dirt wall and into a grass field.

Miles stood up and wiped dirt from his shirt.

Looking down, he saw many grassy mounds to his right and left; they looked almost like crayfish burrows. Ten and his mother poked their heads out of the collapsed mound that Miles had rolled through. They hacked and spit out mouthfuls of grass and mud.

“I’m sorry,” said Miles. “I’ll make you a new home; it shouldn’t take too long.”

Ten crawled out of the dirt and was, now, trying to heave his mother out. He tugged, repeatedly, at her hand, but the softness of the mud had suctioned her in.

“Here, let me help you,” Miles said and reached to grab her by her shoulders. But she opened her mouth, revealing two very long canines, and sunk them in his finger.

“Ow!” he said.

Then he heard the sounds of many little taps, followed by voices. To his right, soldiers marched toward him, and they looked angry. He turned and saw that it wasn’t just Ten’s home he’d destroyed, but behind him, he’d rolled over an entire neighborhood.

Now, all along a dirt street that stretched to his left and right, sprites were sticking their heads out of mounds of dirt, shrieking and pointing their little fingers at him.

The soldiers came to a stop and were, each, pointing slivers of glass at him.

Miles didn’t wait. He turned and ran down the road until he lost sight of the town.

Sometime later, he stopped in a shadowy forest through which the road ran. He leaned back against one of the trees that lined the dirt road. There, he noticed the differences of that world.

Looking at the sky was like looking into spun glass. The shade was blue but shadow-like with little air pockets. Yet as he reached to touch the air pockets, they evaporated. The trees were short compared to Earth’s; every single one had the bushiest bunch of leaves, like green pom-poms. He couldn’t even see the sky through the top of the tree against which he leaned.

Miles tried to stay awake but he was just so sleepy. His eyelids slowly closed.

When he woke, it was to the rumble of his stomach. Night had fallen and it was very cold. Wanting to take better cover, he walked further into the trees. To stay by the side of the road might mean to be snuck up on by someone.

As he made his way, he bent tree leaves and twigs so as not to lose his way back to the road.

His stomach growled painfully.

In a small bald spot, he pulled a couple treetops from surrounding trees. He shed off the leaves into a pile and stretched out on it. Surprisingly, it wasn’t scratchy and dry, but soft and squishy.

On his back, he noticed there were many more stars than on Earth. Almost like a rash, they littered the sky, twinkling and bright.

After a few moments, he rolled onto his side, closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep, but a faint scent kept him. He opened his eyes and sniffed the air. The aroma was of some sort of meat or gravy.

Miles followed the scent to some feet away. Leaves crunched under his steps as he went, and the sound of scurrying in bushes was heard. Normally, this would make anyone uneasy, but his hunger compelled him.

Finally, a grouping of lights was seen in the distance. Miles strained to see more clearly but he needed to get closer. And as he did, he realized it was a miniature two-story cabin with logs for wall slats and a roof. Lights were strung in a winding motion all the way up to the tip of the axis.

He stopped just ten feet from the house. From inside, he heard voices and smacking. Whoever was inside was having dinner. Voices like flutes piped back and forth to one another.

Miles bent over and put his ear to the wall, but then his stomach rumbled again.

Those inside fell silent.

“What was that?” asked one.

“I haven’t heard the like since the holes shifted,” said another.

Then the sound of a chair scraping came, followed by a few steps.

Miles retreated behind a tree and watched.

The cabin door swung open. A little man with white puffy hair like a cotton swab walked out.

“See anything?”

“No,” said the man who walked back in, letting the door swing shut.

Their sup resumed.

On the ground, Miles noticed a small path of rocks. He took a step left and saw they led to an orchard; in which walnut-sized red apples hung from trees.

He bent over to grab one, but accidentally crushed it between his fingertips. Miles licked the juice and smashed pulp from his finger and went for a second grab. He cupped many of the

apples in his hand and closed his fingers around a good portion of the leaves and branches. Loud cracking noises rent the air as he pulled back his hand.

Miles picked out the twigs and branches; then he stuck the apples in his pocket.

The sounds from inside the house stopped. Then one asked, “What was that?”

“I don’t know,” the other replied, “but I felt it through the ground.”

“Go check it out!”

“No, you go.”

“No, you go!”

“Oh, Piley, you’re simply useless. I got to do everything myself, don’t I? I ought to ship you off.”

Then the door to the house opened again. The man with white hair reappeared.

“Oh my, Piley! Come here and look at this! The ground is littered with leaves and branches!” The little man exclaimed while pulling at tufts of his hair and jumping up and down.

Next second, a boy with messy hair appeared.

“Wow, uncle! It’s almost like a storm blew through, but I didn’t hear wind, did you?”

Miles watched the boy called Piley follow his uncle around to the back of the house.

“Oh, my tree!” the uncle cried. “Look at the damage!”

Miles felt guilty and wanted to apologize but he was afraid one of them would attack him with magic.

“Piley, go get some bandages and tape.”

“Yes, uncle.”

Piley ran back inside. A moment later he came out with a roll of gauze and tape. Miles waited for him to reenter the orchard before he came out from behind the tree.

Carefully, he took several steps closer to the cabin. He opened the front door and looked inside. The décor was modest with a wood couch and a single chair beside a blazing fire in the living room. Otherwise there was none of the things that one finds in a modern home.

At an arms length, was the kitchen. A wood table and two benches sat in the middle. Atop the table was a large wood basin, from which the meat aroma sang to him again. Miles stuck his arm in. He tried not to yell out as he closed his hand around the rim. Just then, the sound of the gate to the orchard opened again.

Hurriedly, Miles grabbed the basin and tipped the contents into his mouth and chewed. Just as he figured, it was some kind of stew with a couple chunks of what seemed like beef. The gravy was warm and salty, and made him hungrier.

The sounds of footsteps drew near. Miles hid in his spot behind the tree and watched them walk back inside.

“Where’s the food?” the older one screamed. “Did you eat it all? What’s wrong with you?”

“It wasn’t me, uncle!” Piley cried.

“You scoundrel, pig, thieving…”

“Ah, ah, ah,” cried Piley, as his uncle slapped him.

Miles felt guilty but he didn’t know how long he was going to be there. He needed to eat, so as they argued, Miles bent over and grabbed more apples. Branches and limbs were destroyed as he pulled his hand back.

Once more, they came out and didn’t seem to notice him standing there.

The uncle turned violently red.

“Get my bow, Piley! Something’s destroyed the orchard, and we’re gonna find out what!”

Miles turned and ran back to his spot of leaves where he plopped down, sending a flurry of leaves up around him. He breathed in and out and prayed they didn’t find him.

He fished a handful of apples out of his pocket. He picked away the branches and leaves. There was hardly enough to satisfy him, but he was finally able to sleep without hunger sawing at him.

The next morning he woke to the sounds of footsteps close to his head. He swatted and knocked something over.

“What did you do that for?”

He opened his eyes.

“Ten! How did you get here?”

“I followed your tracks. I’ve brought you something.”

He handed him a scroll that was tucked under his arm. Miles unrolled it, finding two lists of numbers: one was times and next to them were dates.

“What is this?”

“A schedule of portal destinations.”

“Why can’t I just go back to your home and catch the portal there?”

“Well, you could do that, if you’re okay with hanging out here for the next two weeks; otherwise, you gotta go to the Marches.”

“What’s that?”

“The bound between here and the next spritely civilization.”

“How long will it take to get there?”

“For you? Maybe a day or so,” he said, unraveling the map and tracing a small brown line to a green point. “Just go through along here, and you can be in the portal home within three days.”

“But what am I supposed to do? How will I stay hidden? What am I supposed to eat?”

He pulled a cloth sack from under his cloak and opened it.

“Here. This should last you a week.”

Inside a dozen balls, like marbles, glowed in different colors.

“What are they?”

“Mugoola. They grow plenty, here, and you will find more along the way to the Marches. But be careful of the spotted ones, as they are poisonous.”

He pulled a leather sack from his shoulder.

“Mugoola.” Miles repeated and took the sack. Gently, he shook it, and liquid inside the balls waved.

“Whatever you do, don’t go too far off the path. Since we’re at war, everything and everyone will be ready to attack any portal jumper.”

Then he suddenly turned and started to walk off.

“Wait,” called Miles. “You’re just gonna leave me, then?”

“My mom is waiting for me,” he called back without turning.

Once more, Miles looked down at the map while measuring the terrain against the pictures. And then, he started walking toward the Marches.