Epilogue: Time Machine Chronicles

A sudden loud bang caused an involuntary glance at the laboratory door, presumably slammed shut by the rushing air. Mrs. Watchett's eyes met with mine. Her face a mask of apprehension; standing motionless in a storm of amazement. Behind her a multitude of her shadows flickered and danced eerily up and down, back and forth against the walls as she was illuminated by the brilliant flashes from the manifestations now in vigorous motion across the surface of the bubble. I stored the vision to memory and allowed my eyes to return eagerly to the floor. Snow now covered splotches of the grass. A boiling at the edges, fingers of green reaching into the roiling edges of the white, there a patch of green disappearing under a growing stain of white, only to be checked by a fierce ebbullition of browns and greens. The floor itself in a constant state of transition, first gone-then white with snow-then back-then to disappear under grass-then to reappear as a faint suggestion-only to vanish again into grass or snow as the case may be. Within all the turbid motion my desperate eye sought and found the rail of the Time Machine. Resting atop the snow-then among bent blades of grass-on the floor of the laboratory-moments passed when only a vague outline was to be seen-but through it all-the rail remained. "Traveler is returning."