“Well, you took your time.” she said. “Where’s Jimmy?” then, after a pause, “And where’s the car?”
This was what Harry had spent the last hour dreading; having to tell his wife.
“We got the shopping,” he said, meekly holding up the carrier bag, “and Jimmy asked if we could pop down to the river. He said there was something he wanted to show me. I asked him what it was, but he said it was hard to describe – I’d have to see it for myself.”
“And? What was it?”
“That’s just it. I don’t know. No-one does. The police said that it could have been a sink-hole, but there’s no evidence of it. Jimmy lay on the bridge, looking under it, and started to point at something. ‘Look, Dad.’ he said. Then there was a kind of deep, gurgling noise, the part of the bridge under him disappeared, and he was gone. Police frogmen have searched the river, but there’s nothing. They’re starting again in the morning, as soon as it’s light enough, but they said they don’t expect to find anything. What are we going to do?”
“What you are going to do, Harry Jameson, is to bring back the car and bring back my son. I shall ask you again. Where is Jimmy, and where is the car? If this is some kind of joke…”
Harry checked his watch. It was 6 pm. He turned on the radio:
“Our main news story this hour; a local boy appears to have been swallowed up by what scientists are describing as a wormhole-like vortex. Previously thought to be only a product of science fiction, these phenomena have appeared in a number of locations around the planet over the past few hours, including no less than fifteen in Britain.”