VII. A Sudden Shock

von H. G. Wells

As I stood there, lost in thought about the incredible triumph of humanity, the full moon rose, large and yellow, spilling silver light across the northeast sky. The lively figures below had stopped moving, and a silent owl glided past, sending a chill through me. I decided it was time to find a place to sleep.

I scanned the area for the building I recognized. My gaze shifted to the White Sphinx perched on its bronze pedestal, becoming clearer as the moonlight brightened. I could make out the silver birch tree behind it, the dark tangle of rhododendron bushes, and the small lawn. I looked at the lawn again, and a strange doubt crept into my mind. “No,” I told myself firmly, “that’s not the lawn.”

But it was the lawn. The pale, leprous face of the sphinx was turned toward it. Can you imagine the wave of realization that hit me? You can’t. The Time Machine was gone!

In an instant, a sharp panic struck me—the fear of losing my own time, of being stranded in this unfamiliar world. The thought gripped me like a vice, tightening around my throat and stealing my breath. Within moments, I was overcome with fear, sprinting down the slope with desperate strides. I stumbled and fell, scraping my face, but I wasted no time tending to the wound. I jumped back up and kept running, blood trickling down my cheek. All the while, I kept telling myself, “They must have just moved it a little, pushed it under the bushes.” Yet, despite my reassurances, I ran as fast as I could, knowing deep down that my optimism was foolish. I could feel the certainty that the machine was out of reach. My breath came in painful gasps. I must have covered the two miles from the hilltop to the lawn in ten minutes, and I’m not exactly young. I cursed myself for my earlier confidence in leaving the machine behind, wasting my breath on futile thoughts. I shouted into the silence, but no one answered. Not a single creature stirred in that moonlit world.

When I finally reached the lawn, my worst fears were confirmed. There was no sign of the machine. A wave of cold dread washed over me as I faced the empty space among the dark bushes. I ran around it frantically, hoping it might be hidden in a corner, then stopped suddenly, clutching my hair in despair. Above me loomed the sphinx, white and shining in the moonlight, its expression almost mocking my distress.

I might have found some comfort in thinking that the little people had sheltered my machine for me, if I hadn’t been so sure of their limitations. That was what terrified me: the realization that some unknown force had intervened, causing my invention to disappear. Yet, one thing I was certain of: unless another age had created an exact replica, the machine couldn’t have moved through time. The way the levers were attached—I'll explain that later—prevented anyone from tampering with it in that manner once they were removed. It had moved, but only in space. The question was, where could it be?

I think I must have gone a little mad. I remember running wildly in and out of the moonlit bushes surrounding the sphinx, startling a small white animal that I mistook for a deer. Later that night, I found myself beating the bushes with my fists until my knuckles were cut and bleeding from the sharp twigs. In a state of anguish, I made my way to the large stone building. The grand hall was dark, silent, and empty. I slipped on the uneven floor and nearly tripped over one of the malachite tables, almost injuring myself. I struck a match and moved past the dusty curtains I had mentioned earlier.

There, I discovered another vast hall filled with cushions, where perhaps twenty of the little people were sleeping. I’m sure my sudden appearance startled them, emerging from the darkness with incoherent noises and the flicker of a match. They had forgotten about matches. “Where is my Time Machine?” I shouted, sounding like an angry child, grabbing and shaking them. It must have seemed very strange to them. Some laughed, while most looked genuinely frightened. As I stood there surrounded by them, it struck me that I was acting as foolishly as possible under the circumstances, trying to evoke fear when I suspected they had long since forgotten it.

Suddenly, I dropped the match and, in my rush, knocked someone over as I stumbled across the vast dining hall and out into the moonlight. I could hear terrified cries and the sound of little feet scurrying in every direction. The details of that night are a blur, but I remember the moon rising higher in the sky as I lost my grip on reality. The shock of my loss drove me into a frenzy. I felt utterly isolated, like a wild animal in a strange land. I must have wandered aimlessly, shouting and pleading with God and Fate.

As the long night dragged on, I was consumed by exhaustion. I searched this impossible place and that, feeling my way through moonlit ruins and brushing against strange creatures lurking in the shadows. Eventually, I collapsed on the ground near the sphinx, overwhelmed by despair and anger at my own foolishness for leaving the machine behind, which had drained my strength. All I had left was misery. I fell asleep, and when I finally woke, the sun was shining, and a couple of sparrows were hopping around me, close enough to touch.

I sat up, taking in the freshness of the morning, trying to piece together how I had ended up there and why I felt so abandoned and hopeless. Gradually, clarity returned. In the bright light of day, I could face my situation. I recognized the wildness of my panic the night before and began to reason with myself. “What if the worst has happened?” I thought. “What if the machine is completely lost or even destroyed? I need to stay calm and patient, learn about the people here, figure out how I lost it, and find the materials and tools I need to build another one.” That became my only hope—perhaps a slim one, but better than despair. After all, I was in a beautiful and intriguing world.

But maybe the machine had just been taken away. I needed to remain calm and patient, find its hiding place, and retrieve it by any means necessary. With that determination, I got to my feet and looked around, wondering where I could wash up. I felt tired, stiff, and dirty from my travels. The morning's freshness made me crave a similar renewal. I had exhausted my emotions. As I went about my tasks, I found myself reflecting on the intensity of my excitement from the night before.

I carefully examined the ground around the small lawn, wasting time asking the little people who passed by questions they couldn’t understand. Some looked at me blankly, while others laughed, thinking I was joking. It took all my willpower not to reach out and touch their cheerful faces. It was a foolish impulse, but the fear and blind anger that had gripped me were still lurking, eager to take advantage of my confusion. The ground offered better guidance. I noticed a groove torn into the turf, halfway between the pedestal of the sphinx and the marks of my own feet where I had struggled with the overturned machine. There were other signs of disturbance, with strange narrow footprints that reminded me of a sloth.

This drew my attention back to the pedestal. As I mentioned before, it was made of bronze, not just a simple block but intricately decorated with deep, framed panels on either side. I approached and knocked on these panels. They were hollow. Upon closer inspection, I noticed that the panels didn’t align with the frames. There were no handles or keyholes, but I suspected that if they were doors, they might open from the inside. It was clear to me that my Time Machine was hidden within that pedestal. But how it had gotten there was another question entirely.

Just then, I spotted the heads of two people in orange clothing emerging from the bushes and walking toward me under some apple trees in bloom. I smiled and waved them over, but when I gestured toward the bronze pedestal, they reacted strangely. I can’t quite describe their expression, but it was as if I had made an inappropriate gesture to someone very refined. They turned and walked away as if I had insulted them deeply.

Next, I tried a little boy in white, hoping for a different outcome, but received the same reaction. His demeanor made me feel embarrassed. Yet, I was desperate to get to the Time Machine, so I approached him again. When he turned to leave like the others, my frustration boiled over. In a few quick strides, I caught up to him, grabbed the loose fabric of his robe around his neck, and began dragging him toward the sphinx. But the horror and disgust on his face made me stop. In an instant, I let him go.

But I wasn’t ready to give up yet. I pounded my fists against the bronze panels, convinced I heard something shift inside—maybe even a chuckle—but I must have been mistaken. Frustrated, I picked up a large pebble from the river and began hammering away until I flattened a section of the intricate designs, sending the verdigris flying off in powdery flakes. I imagined the little people could hear my noisy efforts from a mile away, but nothing came of it. I spotted a group of them on the slopes, watching me with wary eyes.

Eventually, feeling hot and exhausted, I sat down to keep an eye on the place. But I was too restless to stay still for long; I was too much of a modern person for that kind of waiting. I could wrestle with a problem for years, but sitting idle for a full day? That was a different story.

After a while, I stood up and wandered aimlessly through the bushes toward the hill again. “Patience,” I told myself. “If you want your machine back, you need to leave that sphinx alone. If they plan to take your machine away, wrecking their bronze panels won’t help. And if they don’t, you’ll get it back as soon as you ask for it. Sitting here among all these unknowns, fixated on a puzzle like that is pointless. That way leads to madness. Face this world. Learn its ways, observe it, and don’t jump to conclusions about its meaning. In the end, you’ll find clues to it all.”

Then, suddenly, the absurdity of my situation struck me: I had spent years studying and working to reach this future, and now I was desperate to escape it. I had created the most complicated and hopeless trap a person could devise. Even though it was my own doing, I couldn’t help but laugh.

As I moved through the grand palace, it felt like the little people were avoiding me. Maybe it was just my imagination, or perhaps it was a result of my hammering at the gates. Either way, I was fairly certain they were keeping their distance. I made sure to show no concern and didn’t chase after them, and after a day or two, things returned to normal. I focused on learning their language and explored my surroundings as much as I could.

I either missed some subtlety, or their language was incredibly simple—mostly made up of concrete nouns and verbs. There seemed to be hardly any abstract terms or figurative language. Their sentences were usually short and straightforward, and I struggled to convey or understand anything beyond the simplest ideas. I decided to push thoughts of my Time Machine and the mystery of the bronze doors beneath the sphinx to the back of my mind, hoping that as I learned more, I would naturally find my way back to them. Yet, a certain feeling kept me tethered within a few miles of where I had arrived.