The Time Machine

Part One · The Machine

The inventor told his five dinner guests that he could travel through time, and one of them laughed out loud. So he pushed a small white lever on a silver-and-ivory machine, and the machine shimmered, blurred, and vanished. It had not fallen. It had not been hidden. It had simply gone, forward through time, and a moment later it came back, gusting dust. "Next week," said the inventor, "I will go myself."

He took the lever in both hands and pushed. At once the world went mad. Daylight and darkness flickered like a bat's wings, the sun leapt across the sky, and buildings rose and melted like sand. Faster, faster! Then he yanked the lever back, hard, and the machine crashed into thick grass. Years had slid by in seconds. He climbed down, shaking, and looked around at a world nobody in his time had ever seen.

Tall, beautiful buildings stood among the flowers, though half of them were cracked and covered in vines. Small, bright people ran out to meet him. They had curly hair, frail arms, and big shining eyes, and they laughed at everything, even when he tripped over a flower. They called themselves the Eloi. They ate fruit, they played in the sun, and they did no work at all. It seemed like paradise. Then he turned around, and the machine was gone.

It had been dragged away. Deep marks in the grass led to a huge white statue with bronze doors, shut tight. The inventor pounded and shouted, and the little people only shook with fear. They would not go near the statue, and they would not say why. He asked about the night, and their faces went blank. That evening, he understood. The Eloi hurried into their houses, and they locked every door.

A small woman named Weena had become his friend. She followed him everywhere, picking flowers and giggling at his boots, but at sunset she began to cling to his sleeve. In the dark, something moved in the grass. He lit a match, and two round, glowing eyes stared back at him, and then they were gone. Something pale and quick and soft-footed brushed his hair. He swung his fist and hit empty air.

By morning, he had found the round dark wells scattered across the hills, and each one breathed warm, oily air. Iron rungs ran down the inside of one. Far below, he could hear a steady thump, thump, like great machines. At last he saw the truth. The Eloi were the rich people of his own time, grown weak and pretty in the sun. And the workers had gone underground and become something else. These were the Morlocks, and they came out at night.

Part Two · The Dark

He climbed down into the tunnels, and he did not like what he found. The air was hot, wet, and strange. Pale shapes slid away from his match, whispering and chittering, and a cold hand grabbed his ankle. He kicked it loose. They could not bear light, so he held the matches high, but the box was nearly empty. Far up the shaft, a faint circle of sky glowed. He scrambled toward it as little hands plucked at his clothes.

The Morlocks had stolen his machine, but they had not found the tiny lever that made it go. He had kept it in his pocket all along. So he made a plan. He and Weena would cross a forest at dusk to reach the white statue. The Morlocks stalked them through the trees. He lit a fire to keep them back, but the wind caught the flames, and soon the whole wood was a roaring red wall.

In the smoke, Weena screamed. A pale shape had her by the arm. The inventor snatched up a blazing branch and charged through the flames, swinging it like a torch. The shape shrieked and let go and vanished into the dark. He swept Weena up and ran, coughing, with sparks falling like rain, until they burst out of the burning trees and saw the white statue gleaming ahead.

This time, the bronze doors stood open, and he knew it was a trap. Inside, the machine waited alone in a room of dark stone, like bait. Pale shapes closed in on every side. He dragged Weena into the saddle, jammed the little lever home with a trembling hand, and shoved the big one forward. The Morlocks' soft hands brushed their arms, and then they were gone.

But the lever stuck. The machine flew on, thousands and thousands of years, and the world grew old and cold around them. The sun swelled into a giant red ball. The sea went still and thick with ice, and strange crab-like creatures crawled across black sand. Last of all, something pale and round flopped in the red twilight, and Weena buried her face in his coat. He gripped the lever with both fists and hauled it backward.

They appeared in his own laboratory at dinnertime, filthy and wild-eyed. His five guests were still at the table, still arguing about the soup. Most of them laughed at his story, until Weena stepped forward holding a white flower that none of them had ever seen. She looked around at them with her big shining eyes, and she giggled. Nobody laughed back. The cat hid under the sofa.

The inventor never used the machine again. He took the lever apart and locked it in a drawer. But on quiet nights, he still puts his ear to the cellar floor. Thump, thump, thump. It is probably the heating pipes. Weena says so. She says it with a very small smile, and then she checks the lock one more time.