Somewhere Mady had read that the roots of a single rye plant can spread up to 400 miles underground.
In the workshop, colorful wires snaked in every direction. Bent over the bench and talking to himself, Mr. Wojnicz slipped on his magnifying spectacles and joined the circuits with the soldering gun.
Then he grabbed a tangle of wires hanging overhead, stripped the ends and bolted them onto the wooden box. He wore a long leather trench coat over his beer-stained laboratory jacket.
By evening the wind outside was still picking up. Darkness was creeping through the cracks in the large oak door that rattled against the wind, beating alongside the whistling drafts.
The sight of the dancing shadows and their eerie, accompanying songs tugged at Mady’s stomach. She had never felt so far from home before and never heard such sounds.
The workshop felt as though it were expanding, spreading outward. The ceiling overhead was wriggling blackness. Mady knew that she was about to discover the real secrets of the island, the one to which her impulsive actions had led her.
Flash fiction: In the Workshop © 2012 by Shawn Radcliffe / Branáin
Modeled after Robert Stone’s Outerbridge Reach