Clang..

A/N: spent all day yesterday getting volume one set up for the kindle. Now on with today's piece.--oo--Cecilia Jones watches the squirrel run off with incredulous brown eyes. She sees the final roll of garbage bags trailing along like a shiny black ribbon, and the bushy tail of the furry little thief is halfway up the half-dead mulberry tree by the time she yells out in protest.

"For the love a.." She exhales at the tree's base, and squints upwards. The squirrel leaps fluidly from branch to twig, tugging the black plastic along in its mouth with an unknown purpose, and soon vanishes from sight within the gloom of the canopy of leaves.

Feet sinking down into the soft soil, Cecilia huffs out a breath, and drops the hoe from her gloved hands. She reaches out to the plastic, then jumps in surprise. TING!

She slips on the slick fallen leaves of years gone by, startled by the sharp ringing sound of metal striking metal. The sound she least expects to hear in such an clearly wild area, where a mere squirrel is so bold to burgle around a human being.

"The hell...?" She whispers.

She takes up the rough handle of the hoe, and rises from her crouch. She taps the metal hook firmly down twice:The first gives the expected dull thump of soft dirt; the second, the clean song, "ting!"

With a puzzled frown, she makes quick work and scrapes the dirt away.

Maybe someone left behind a gun? She thinks, and fantasies briefly of ridding the world of at least one rat with a fashion accessory. She then wonders where the nearest pawn shop would be, and her mind whirls in useless circles. She chews her cheek and mulls over the fact she has only been in her new place for barely a week, and doesn't know a damn thing about the one horse of a town she is now a part of.

She raises her brows at the reddish-brown metal square nestled a foot down within the mess of dirt and molded leaves.

"Maybe it's recyclable?" She mutters under her breath, and squats down. She tries to pry it up, but it stubbornly resists the flat of the hoe. With searching gloved fingers, she swipes at the caked dirt, and finds hidden grooves. She tilts her head, and playfully raps her knuckles on the rusted metal plaque before her.

Silence fills the next few moments, and she snorts her derision. Who would put something this stupid out in the middle of nowhere, she thinks as she rises to her feet.

With a stomach twisting nausea, the sturdy ground vanishes. Inky darkness fills her wide open eyes as she lands hard. Her breath knocked out of her lungs, she hears clang of finality somewhere above her head.

"Ah.. Welcome." A raspy echoing voice says. "Welcome to my lab-or-it-tory."

Sent via Blackhole