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Ellen Parker always thought it was funny how people spent all the time and effort to go and see historical sights, and then spent the entire time there just listening to their guide. Sure, the guide had all the facts that were interesting to know about whatever it was that you were looking at, but that didn’t compensate for actually looking at it, seeing how it was made, getting all the tiny details and imperfections of it lodged into your mind, at least to her way of thinking. She’d come on this tour because she had a fascination with medieval buildings, and the tour was the easiest way to see everything that she wanted to see. Nothing compared to the thrill she got looking at monuments, or crumbling tombs, or disappearing ruins. The guide was merely something to be put up with.
She edged around the side of the group clustered around their guide, trying to get closer to the section of ancient wall they were looking at now where it was still visible in an out of the way courtyard. It was part of the original Roman settlement in this area, their guide was saying, and that made it extra interesting to her because it wasn’t just old, it was ancient. Ellen kept one ear on the guide as he explained the significance of this particular settlement and pressed closer to examine the wall more closely.
Sure, it was crumbling a bit around the edges, but for the most part it was still solid. Still solid after a couple thousand years... Ellen quit paying attention to the guide now and just stood gaping, marveling at it. It was hard to believe that anything that old could still be standing. Nothing she could ever do would last half as long, and they’d done this with only primitive tools and materials. She wondered how they’d done it. And, more interestingly, had they any idea when they’d built it of what it would become? That hundreds of people a year remembered the Romans had been here at all only because of this bit of wall? What a way to have your memory kept alive.
The group had moved away now, towards the medieval church that was their ultimate goal. Ellen lingered until she was by herself in the closed-in courtyard. She was still mesmerized by the sheer age of the wall, her feet unwilling to move away from it. It amazed her that she was staring at something touched by people who’d been dead for thousands of years.
With a look over her shoulder at the struggling tail end of the group, she crept over to the side where the fence was closest to the wall and, leaning forward, slid her palm over one ancient brick. It wasn’t allowed, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself—she wanted the connection. Her eyes flickered closed briefly and she thought for a second about the nameless men who’d made this wall. Lighting a mental candle for them, as it were, to keep their memories alive. They were remembered, at least by her. Their work remained for everyone to see. Their lives had meant that much at least. Then with a brief pang at whether anyone would do the same for her, she guiltily turned to catch up with the group.
Except she was brought up short when her hand stuck to the wall. Confused, she turned around to see what she could be caught on, but there was nothing, just her hand resting on the wall. She tugged harder, but her hand still didn’t budge. Had she put it in something sticky? She tried to move anything, the tips of her fingers, the edge of her palm, but nothing. She was stuck.
Then, with a wet-sounding gloomph, her hand disappeared up to her wrist. Into the wall. Her hand had just gotten sucked into the wall. Ellen shrieked once and began to panic, because something was pretty much not okay with a wall that did that. Had she found some hidden weak spot? Broke through to some ancient cavity in the middle of the wall? Shit, what if there was something bad in there, or she couldn’t get her hand loose before someone found her, or the wall fell over because of this? Damaging ancient landmarks was just not a good thing for a tourist to do. She jerked hard backwards with no discernable effect. Her hand wouldn’t come out, no matter how she twisted and pulled, and she couldn’t see what she’d gotten stuck on. At least it didn’t hurt, yet.
In desperation she put her other hand on the wall for leverage, straining backwards with all of her strength. It didn’t work, and she was horrified when her other hand stuck fast too. This was no hidden architectural flaw. “Oh no...”
She was panting heavily now, not being able to move either hand ratcheting up the panic factor hugely, and tears gathered in her eyes as she struggled to free herself. “No no no no no no...”
A few seconds later her second hand sank into the wall up to her wrist, and she noticed, with a strangely detached and terrified part of her brain, that the bricks no longer looked quite so...crumbly. That was before she sank in up to her forearms and all rational thought fled. “No no! Let go. Pleeeeeeeease. No!”
Her screams became louder when the wall absorbed up to her elbows with another burbly, digesting noise, bouncing off the old stone around her.
Her shoulders were burning now from how hard she was straining backwards, but with no luck. With the next absorption she couldn’t prevent her face from smacking into the stone, and it too sank in. There was no pain, just a curious, digestive numbness. For a few moments her body still kicked and jerked in animalistic panic before it fell limp and breathless, no movement stirring it except for the steady absorption into the stone.
A couple of minutes more and there was no evidence that anything had happened at all except for a few scuff marks on the ground. It was as if Ellen Parker had never existed. That, and the wall had a little less decay—ready to stand for another hundred years, preserving its makers’ memories.
