The Hollow Machine

No one knew where the machine had come from. Truthfully, no one was even sure if it was a machine at all. They called it that because it had cogs, levers, and wheels, but the placement of those things didn’t make any sense, and whatever function the object might have served was indeterminable. It had simply appeared overnight, jutting straight up out of the foggy ground at the center of town.

Samuel Jones was last to arrive at the scene. Even at that early hour he was well-groomed, his hair cropped sharply and his red, neatly ironed shirt tucked into denim pants. The crowd of townspeople went quiet and moved aside to let Jones in.

“Jones will know what to do,” they whispered to each other. “Jones always knows.”

Jones walked over and examined the object. There were machine parts, alright, but none of them seemed connected in any rational way. He looked around at the crowd for any smirks or sniggers that might give a practical joke away. Only earnestly curious or frightened expressions stared back.

The one part of the machine that seemed to have an obvious use was the big, brass lever sticking out of the middle, eye level with Jones. It was the only such part uncovered by rust, and was clearly the main power switch.

Big Abel Adams hooked his fingers into his suspenders and stepped out from the crowd. Abel was a…