I was about to pull open that first cupboard door when a huge wave of
anxiety swept through me. What on earth were we doing down there,
searching for midgets that might look like anything? What did we
think we were going to do if we found them? What were they going to
do if we didn't? A thousand doubts raced through my mind, each
jostling for my attention, each suggesting ever greater dire
consequences. I might have stood there for hours if I hadn't heard
my wife shout from the upper floor.
“Get a grip, man,” I muttered to myself, finally grabbing hold of
the handle.
“Are you feeling okay, Edward?” Oak asked, ripping open a fourth
box. I have to say, he was being very methodical in his approach to
our search: lifting down a box, opening it cautiously, checking the
contents then stacking it neatly against the adjacent wall.
“Fine,” I said, pulling open the door to find myself confronted
by the shiny glint of Christmas tinsel and a box full gaudy tree
decorations. “Just fine.”
I paused then, sure I'd heard a tiny grunting sound somewhere above
me, followed by the sound of cardboard rubbing against cardboard.
Looking up, I saw the top box on a pile of four teetering unsteadily
above me. “Oh no,” was all I could manage before the box slipped
from its' mount and plunged towards me.
