The Shed's New Feature

Arthur Pumble was a man of routine, a creature of habit whose greatest thrill was a perfectly aligned sock drawer. So, when a shimmering, amethyst-hued vortex appeared in his garden shed, right between the lawnmower and the rusty watering can, his reaction was… measured.

"Right," he muttered, peering at the swirling galaxy of light. "That's not ideal. I was planning on reorganizing those tools this afternoon." He prodded the edge of the vortex with a broom handle. It absorbed the bristles without a sound. "Hmm. Rather inefficient for sweeping, then."

He considered calling the council, but dismissed the idea. They'd probably just send someone to 'assess' it, and he’d have to wait weeks for a permit to remove a trans-dimensional anomaly. Far too much bother. He fetched his trusty clipboard and jotted down, "Shed: Poss. Interdimensional Rift. Hinders access to spade. Factor into weekend schedule."

Later, his wife, Doris, noticed the faint purple glow from the shed. "Arthur, dear, have you finally replaced that flickering bulb?"

"No, Doris," he replied, stirring his tea. "It appears to be a tear in the fabric of space-time. Rather inconvenient, actually. My secateurs are on the far side."

Doris paused, then said, "Oh. Well, don't let it touch the prize-winning petunias. They're rather delicate."

Arthur nodded. "My thoughts exactly, dear. My thoughts exactly." The universe could unravel, but the petunias had standards.