Even Jasfoup ducked when the portal opened. Expecting the red-striated skies of Hell, he was taken aback by the sight of blue skies and pinewoods.
Herbert felt the pull immediately.
“No,” he said. “Not there. I refuse to go there.” He hooked an arm around the leg of his workbench as the winds began. Retorts and glass tubes were sucked toward the portal, shattering as they hit the rim of the drain and sending shards of glass spinning through the room. Books and papers joined the maelstrom and the bench shrieked as its wooden feet were dragged across the stone flags.
“You go where you expect to go,” said Jasfoup. “This has nothing to do with my people.”
Herbert screamed as he entered the expanding vortex, his blood and lacerated flesh adding to the swirling dervish of the portal, The bench shook apart and was sucked in as well, a series of bangs telling of its splintering and demise.
Slowly the tornado slowed and vanished, leaving the room empty but for Jasfoup and an orange striped tabby.
“That’s the end of him then.” Jasfoup looked down the drain, trying to see a sliver of sky but there was only darkness. “I’m surprised he fitted in at all, “he said. “It was only three inches across and he wasn’t excessively flexible.”
The cat licked his paw and flicked the tip of his tail in agreement.
© Rachel Green 2007