It was Christmas Eve and, as usual, George Mason was the last to leave the office. He walked over to a massive safe, spun the dials, swung the heavy door open. Making sure the door would not close behind him, he stepped inside.
A square of white cardboard was taped just above the topmost row of strongboxes. On the card a few words were written. George Mason stared at those words, remembering…
Exactly one year ago he had entered this self-same vault. And then, behind his back, slowly, noiselessly, the ponderous door swung shut. He was trapped—entombed in the sudden and terrifying dark.
He hurled himself at the unyielding door, his hoarse cry sounding like an explosion. Through his mind flashed all the stories he had heard of men found suffocated in time-vaults. No timeclock controlled this mechanism; the safe would remain locked until it was opened from the outside. Tomorrow morning. Then the realization hit him. No one would come tomorrow—tomorrow was Christmas.
Once…
To view this resource, log in or sign up for a subscription plan
