“I wonder what the ‘Hell/Hole’ was?” Grandmum quipped while frying eggs one summer morning. Junior blanched at mention of the ‘H-word,’ but silently he wondered too about the attractions he wasn’t privy to in Madeira Selváge the previous night.
There was the Palace of Crystal -- what appeared to be a revolving maze of mirrors. And that strange building with the balconies -- was that Frankenstein chasing that shrieking teenager? And the aforementioned Hell/Hole -- an imposing black façade with a hideous winged demon lording over the glowing red portal.
“Can we go in there?!” Junior had pleaded, pointing.
“No, you’re too young,” the adults muttered back.
Denied.
—————
For years the enigma of the Hell/Hole lurked in the back of Junior’s imagination. What was it? Dungeon? Fright Haus? Prototype Pungeonary?
Eventually, documents came to light revealing to Junior the curious lair and its fate.
His eyes pored over the ledger and accompanying photos. His brow knit and his shoulders slunk forward.
“That’s what the Hell/Hole was?!”
The grainy picture showed an old vertical cylinder with a walkway around the top. Junior recognised it immediately.
It was one of those glorified centrifugal force chambers with the dropaway floor bit. Just like at the Third Kingdom, the cylinder would spin, people would stick to the walls, and vomitus would spew laterally, arcing rivulets around the chamber, much to the horror of the other occupants.
Hell/Hole, indeed.
“Hmph. This is more silly than scary,” Junior reflected. “Imagination let down by reality yet again.”
Yes, Junior, reality will do that to ya.
But it doesn’t hurt to imagine.
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