Destiny Doll by Clifford D. Simak

scout around and see if I can find some wood. There must be some old furniture or such."
    Moving back into the building, I saw that it was not as dark as I had thought at first. It was the contrast of the brightness of the sunlight pouring through the door that had made it seem so dark. But neither was it light. An eerie sort of twilight filled the place like smoke and we moved through it as though we moved through fog. With Hoot pattering along beside me, we went deeper into the interior of the building. There wasn't much to see. The walls were blocked out by the twilight mist. Here and there objects loomed up darkly. Far overhead a glint of light showed here and there, let in by some chink or window. Off to our right flowed a tide of busy little ratlike creatures harvesting the seeds. I shone the light on them and little red, burning eyes glowed fiercely back at us. I snapped off the light. They gave me the creeps.
    Something tapped my arm. I glanced down and saw that Hoot was tapping me with a tentacle. He pointed silently with another one. I looked and saw the heap, a mound of blackness, not neat and rounded, but a little ragged, as if a pile of junk had been thrown into a pile.
    "Maybe wood," said Hoot
    We walked toward it and it was larger and farther off than we had thought it was, but we finally reached it and I threw a beam of light upon it. There was wood, all right—broken, shattered sticks and chunks of it, as if someone had smashed up a bunch of furniture and heaved it in a pile. But there was more than wood. There was metal, too, some of it rusted and eroded, but some of it still bright. At one time chunks of metal had been fashioned, apparently into tools or instruments, but they had been bent and twisted out of shape. Someone had done a good wrecking job, as good a one upon the metal objects as had been done upon the furniture. And there was, as well, what seemed to be hunks of torn cloth and some strangely shaped chunks of wood with fiber tied about them.
    "Much rage," said Hoot, "expended upon objects of inanimation. Mystery very deep and logic hard to come by."
    I handed him the flashlight and he wrapped a tentacle about it and held it steady so I could see. I knelt and began to pick up wood and load it on one arm, selecting pieces that were campfire length. It was dry and heavy and it should make good fuel and there was a lot of it and we'd not run out of it, no matter how long we might be forced to stay. I picked up one of the strangely shaped pieces with fabric tied about it and, seeing my mistake, was about to throw it to one side when the thought occurred to me that the fiber might serve as, tinder, so left it on the load.
    I built myself a good armload and rose slowly to my feet. The wood was loaded in the crook of my left arm and I found that I needed my right hand to keep the load from sliding loose.
    "You hang onto the light," I said to Hoot. "I need all the arms I have."
    He didn't answer and when I looked down at him, I saw that he was rigid. He had stiffened out like a dog pointing at a bird and two of his tentacles were pointed straight up at the ceiling—if the building had a ceiling.
    I glanced up and there was nothing there to see, except that I had the feeling I was looking up onto a great expanse of space, that the space extended, without interruption, from the floor on which I stood up to the very top of all the spires and turrets.
    And out of that extent of space came a whisper that grew in volume—the sound of many wings beating frantically and fast, the same harsh whispering that could be heard when a flock of feeding birds burst from a marshy stretch of ground and beat across the sky. But it was no sudden rush of hurried flight that existed for a moment and then was done with. As we stood listening on the floor below, it kept on and on and on. Somewhere up there in the misty darkness that marked the building's upper structure a great migration seemed to be taking place, with