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Project Fourth Dimension
What was that supposed to mean?
Okay, let me start from the beginning.
Yesterday, I was cleaning through my bedroom when a glint of gold caught my eye. A ring! I picked it up and put it on my finger. As soon as it slid on, a compartment at the top sprung open. I leaned in closely, only to get thwacked in the face by a sheet of paper! I fingered the top of the sheet and read it. It said:
Wally Theo’s Last Will and Testament
Executor: Who else but my niece, Julia Hopkins, my only relative. Julia, go through my belongings.
I had a feeling that it would be my quirky uncle. He hadn’t been alive long enough for me to remember him much- he died when I was four- but I’d heard that he was an amazing inventor. Of his 96 years (a full life!), for 86 years of his life, he had worked on a top-secret project he named “Project Fourth Dimension.” Could this will have something to do with it?
Only one way to find out.
I raced to the guest room, where a strange box labeled Uncle Wally lay. It wouldn’t open unless a ring of some sort was put in a certain depression. I pushed the ring in and crossed my fingers.
I can’t believe I found his will! I thought excitedly. For years, it hadn’t been found nor documented.
The box popped open as my thought ended. It was stuffed to the brim with-floral souvenir t-shirts??
A box couldn’t have been locked for that purpose.
I dug through the layers of shirts until I felt cold metal. I lifted it up to find a silver key, miniscule and engraved with the local bank’s name on it. A ribbon was attached to it that read, Good work. Go to the bank and tell the banker that the password is BOOKWORM. They will give you a s- The letters trailed off.
Confused yet delighted at my find, I brought the key with me to the bank.
“Bookworm,” I told the banker when I was on line. At first, he looked confused, but soon broke into a smile as if a reserved memory had gotten dug back up. He ushered me to the back room and handed me a- safe deposit box!
Even though the room was bordered by safe deposit boxes, the man found it easily because of its floral design. So Uncle Wally.
I turned the key in the lock and opened to find…empty. Except for another key…and a note.
This is where the story catches up.
What was that supposed to mean?
The man, still smiling broadly, took the note from me and gestured for me to follow him.
He took me to a vault.
When I turned around to thank him, I met merely air.
Puzzled, I turned the key in the lock with anticipation…
I was in an attic.
My house’s attic.
How could I tell?
Can you guess what design they were? Yup-floral.
All of Uncle Wally’s stuff was stashed in here by the busload.
But…how was I in my attic?
I mean, I had just stepped into Vault #738’s interior. How can I all of a sudden be in an attic? Impossible. But when I looked back to where I’d stepped in, the door has disappeared. Odd.
Maybe this is an illusion. Uncle Wally would never keep a boring vault…boring.
So I decided to walk forward.
Then I noticed that there was something crunching under my feet. Instead of feeling the hard, smooth wood of the attic floor, I felt something soft and powdery and extremely cold. I bent down to find a trail of it. I sifted it through my fingers: it tickled my fingerprints. Snow? I guessed. Odd.
Even still, I continued on. The air turned bitter and cold- I looked down to find myself equipped in a ski jacket and did a double-take.
Not just because of the outfit.
Etched in the snow was a message. My boots had smothered some of it, and I took a couple steps back to get a better look. It read:
The rest was covered in my footprints. Darn. Soon, I hoped I’d figure out its meaning.
As I continued trekking, the attic disappeared to reveal the open, moonlit air. However, I’d started getting used to all the strangeness. I’d gotten a head start living with that Uncle Wally.
It started snowing again. The second a snowflake touched my face, my face contorted with the agonizing cold. It felt like frostbite, yet ten times worse. I stumbled backward in the arising wind.
“FROSTBITE!!” The high-pitched squealing and laughter caught me off guard. Just as I’d sitting up, I fell back again. When the snow started hitting me again, I buried my face in my arms and mumbled, “Snow can’t do this!!”
“Oh, we’re not snow.” I felt a pierce of pain on my bare wrist.
I heard a cackle. “We’re Frostbite Pixies!!”
With this, I jumped up. “What are a bunch of fairies doing in the snow??”
A sparkle came up to me. I could barely make out jagged features and sharp wings. The fairy drawled like I was two years old, “Oh sweetie, we’re not fairies. Fairies are suck-ups. Pixies are troublemakers. In this place, there are only pixies.” With that, the pixie zoomed towards my nose. The shots of frostbite bombarded me again, and slowly I sank to the ground.
As soon as my head started giving in to gravity and the pain, a huge wave of heat hit me. The pixies fell back in the blast, and I struggled to keep my hair in check. I was busy basking in the warmth, but I heard the pixies screaming, “The Creator!!” from greater and greater distances. Finally, I got the courage to open my eyes.
“Where am I?”
A hand stretched out to help me up. I breathed in the smell of sunshine and freshly laundered madras. I lifted my gaze to see…
“Welcome,” Uncle Wally’s smile lit up my world, “to the Fourth Dimension.”