I was just stood there, frozen to the spot. It all happened so
quickly: the tell tale noises, the box's movement, the start of its'
fall. I brought my hands up over my head, bracing myself for the
impact, when a strong hand grabbed me by the collar and dragged me
out of the way.
The box hit the ground with a dull thud, its' lid splitting to allow
papers to spill everywhere. I was trying to steady myself, stand up
straight, but Oak was having none of it.
“No time for standing around, old chap,” he said, his hand still
attached to my collar, pulling me out of the path of a second
tumbler, “We're not safe down here.”
He kept yanking at my jacket, pulling me through the length of the
cellar as more boxes rained down, each narrowly missing me by ever
decreasing margins.
“Come on,” he grunted as he almost threw me at the base of the
stairs before getting behind my back to push me forward and up. I
did my best to move as fast as I could, practically climbing up on
all fours. Behind us, everything was crashing to the ground as we
launched ourselves through the doorway to land in a tangled heap in
the hall.
