The Middlemost Exception

“In is the way out,” Middlemost says again. A subtle current of air drifts through the shed, and motes of dust spin through the beam of sunlight coming through the window. I can detect the faint scent of the sea, although we are miles from the shore. “You have questions,” he says. “Now is the time to ask them.” “Who are you? Why am I here?” He opens his arms and gives a slight bow. “I am Mr. Middlemost, as I have said, and you are here simply because you must be.” “I don’t know what that means.” “You had…