Three Journeys of the Scary Kind

by Philip R Benge

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  Inside the scientific institute, the scientists were now ready to start their wormhole-generating machine. “Right Botox, start her up.” The senior scientist, who was named Grimly, ordered.

  A low-pitched whine came out of a large whirling machine, a noise that always set Botox`s teeth on edge, and seconds later a wide tunnel of light shot from it. Botox was at a machine that regulated the power outflow, it was this machine that governed the distance travelled by the wormhole; he was smiling for everything was working just fine, for a change, no one had pulled the wrong lever or pushed the wrong button, yet.