“I’ve got a cracked sole” Ben heard Roger say, behind him.
“There’s a place on the High Street can fix that”, he said. He turned to ask how bad it was.
“I think you misheard me. I’m not sure a cobbler’s going to be enough to sort this out”, said the wavering hole in space, as tendrils began to write through the gap.
Ben started to back away, and heard the door open. A new voice said “Hi! Oh! I guess I’ve come at a bad moment – shall I come back later?”
“No”, said the void-that-used-to-be-Roger, “this won’t take long.”