Quarrymouth Mimic

The scale house offered a dry ledger shelf and a place out of the rain. Its chisel scars bothered me. Every one pointed inward around the lintel.

Our cart crossed the threshold. The facade inhaled. Shutters became eyelids, counters rose behind us, and the entrance narrowed around broken survey stakes. Seams in the walls and floor let the room itself bite. We threw the ledger shelf outside. It lunged after the detail that made it look like a real office. We crawled beneath the tongue-shaped counter while the threshold was open.

It mimics infrastructure: an office or weigh station, a powder room, reliable shelter. Valuable weight crossing the threshold wakes it. Loaded animals and carts are favored, as are groups crowded indoors by weather. It waits to close the exits until there is enough inside, then rearranges walls to separate and grind the contents into compartments.

It is possessive of its convincing details. Removing the sign or ledger can provoke an early, clumsy attack; a lamp or official seal can do the same. Exposed, it still won't leave the foundation. It may return stored objects through a drawer-like opening as a bargain.