For Tristan, the city dump was a treasure trove full of history. He would take each sad, broken, and dirty thing apart to see how each could be made to tick, whir, or ring. Then he found the box. It was filled with lenses, a microscope, a monocle, a magnifying glass, and a Viewmaster. What Tristan saw through the dark orbs as he clicked the viewer was like nothing he had ever seen before. He clicked more slowly, then crept into bed, trembling...

Afraid, Tristan tried to pull the viewer from his eyes, but he could not. He tried to look away, but he could not. Something compelled him to keep looking, to try-against his own wishes-to actually enter this thing, this machine.

In the morning when Tristan had not come down, his mom called him. There was no answer. She went to his bedroom, knocked and went in. Tristan's bed was empty, but on his desk was a box, its lid closed, its latch firmly locked. Which was curious... very curious indeed.