The Time Travelers' Club: Chapter 21 -- The Ten Bells Pub

Chapter 21 – The Ten Bells Pub

"Welcome to the heart of Whitechapel. This is an extremely busy street," said Mrs. Steers. They were amazed by the heavy traffic of wagons, carts, and people moving in all directions.  There was an echoing of clip clop of horses' hooves. A roar of voices filled the air.

Sam tried to take in the whole scene, scribbled notes to the point his hand ached, and stopped to shake his hand, trying to ease a cramp.

"Whoa! Watch where you're going!" yelled a burly wagon driver to a lanky drunkard who walked right out in front of his loaded wagon.  Sam watched amazed as the cart rolled by.

Two stocky women wearing ragged worn dresses chattered about their day and the work to be done.  "Lovely day, isn't it," said one.  Her scraggly grey hair hung uncombed under her plain bonnet.

"Ey, it is. Good day for the market," replied the other.  Her upper gum devoid of teeth.

 "Oh yes.  'Ope there's a bit of sun later."  

Sam looked up at the overcast sky.  Just as he was about to say something, he was interrupted.

"Ginger cakes!" A bearded hawker shouted, carrying a wooden tray stacked with round cakes looking like overdone pancakes.  The aroma of ginger tickled Sam's nose. "Ginger cakes."

Horses pulled carts piled full of vegetables heading to local markets. A wrinkled-faced merchant toted a long wooden pole on his left shoulder.  Sam grimaced at what he had tied to it -- a row of dead rabbits hanging by their hind legs.  Overloaded wagons with stacked bales of hay rolled their way down the middle of the bustling street.  A cloud of dust and chaff flew off the load of hay as the wagon rattled by.

"The Ten Bells Pub is at the corner of Commercial and Fournier Streets.  According to the map we should go north." Mrs. Steers had pinpointed their location on her map and in her guidebook and they headed left.

"I read about the Ten Bells as a possible hangout for Jack and his victims." Sam flipped through his notebook.  “Do you think we’ll see him there?”

"Maybe. Remember, this is seedy-looking part of town," said Mrs. Steers as she eyed some young thugs passing by.    A shabby, dirty drunkard passed by, swaggering towards two women carrying their laundry bundles.

"Heeelllloooo," hiccuped the drunk. "… Beautiful Ladies… Lovely day ain't it…"

"Pop off, you old sot," said one pushing him away with her laundry bundle.  The drunkard staggered off in the opposite direction, nearly walking out in front of a slow-moving cart full of barrels.

"Well, let's weave our way across the street and check out the pub," said Mrs. Steers.   "Remember, avoid walking though anyone. It's such a strange feeling if you've not experienced it.  Think of it as playing dodge ball. Only it's dodging people."

Stepping out into the street, Mrs. Steers and Sam scuttled between wagons and people.

"I've had lots of practice dodging people," yelled Mrs. Steers.  "Though I must admit I've never been any place this busy.  Try to stay close to me, Sam."  Fascinated by the game of dodging through the crowd, Sam fell behind.  Mrs. Steers got too far ahead of him.  He wasn't used to her speedy pace and lost her in the crowd.  He wove alone as best he could.

Stopping to allow an empty cart to pass, Sam found himself in the path of a grey-bearded gentleman dressed in a black rugged overcoat and black bowler hat.  He was carrying two large wooden pails on a wooden yoke across his shoulders.   It was too late for Sam to move.  His path went right through Sam.

Sam was eye-level with the man's blue-striped neckerchief and dirty shirt collar.  As the pail carrier passed through him, Sam saw darkness as if the whole world went dark for a brief moment.  The temperature dropped rapidly almost like jumping into cold water and being unprepared for the initial shock.  Then, like a stage curtain being pulled open, the street returned and he warmed instantly.  Sam turned to see the man's back.  The foul stench of the man's nasty body odor made Sam sick to his stomach.  Coughing and gagging, he gave a dry heave.

Before Sam had the chance to move again, a portly grey-haired peddler with her basket of mixed flowers passed through him.  He could smell the flowers and her.  The two mixed -- the sweet fragrance of the flowers only made it worse. It was the foulest smell Sam had ever encountered.

"Gees, don't they ever take baths," muttered Sam pinching his nose shut and wiping his mouth in his sleeve and dry heaved again.

While Sam scrambled, Mrs. Steers had crossed the street and found a doorway to stand in, avoiding the sidewalk traffic. Only then did she realize Sam wasn’t behind her.

"Sam! Where are you?" shouted Mrs. Steers in all directions.   A wagon piled with hay passed and she spotted him dashing aimlessly about the middle of the street.  She ran over to him, not bothering to dodge the pedestrians.   She grabbed Sam by the arm and guided him through the traffic to a nearby doorway.

"Sam!  Why did you stop? Are you alright?  What happened?  You look like you've seen a ghost…"  Mrs. Steers' voice trailed off as she realized what had happened.  She grinned while Sam stooped over with his hands on his knees, ready to dry heave once again.

"I know what happened," said Mrs. Steers. "Someone walked through you, didn't they?"

"Yeeesss….," stuttered Sam still shocked from the moment.  "Not one… but two people and then I just missed another one when you grabbed me.  I've never felt anything like that before.  It was like a… like a brain freeze when you eat a Popsicle when it's too cold… only somehow worse.  And the smell. Don't they take baths here?"

"Sam, have you ever read about haunted houses? People tell of feeling a cold spot or describe a room as the coldest in the house?  And that's the room they say is haunted.  That's what I'm reminded of when a ghost of the past walks through me.   I've had it happen many times.  It takes time to overcome that feeling. Even though it doesn't last long."

Slowly, Sam returned to normal and grew impatient.  "Can we get going?"

Mrs. Steers agreed.  "Yes, let me see.  The pub is that way."

From the doorway, Sam watched the people go about their business.  Mrs. Steers studied her unfolded her map and consulted the travel guide. Nearby, a bell began to toll.  Out loud, Sam counted eleven peals.

They dodged another round of pedestrians, moving quickly from one doorway to another until they were in one across from the Ten Bells Pub.  Traffic got thicker.  Scruffy men greeted each other. Shoppers bickered about prices of vegetables.  Drivers yelled out about the weather.  And of course, there were murmurs about the murderer in their midst.

“Ay, slit her right open.  Now callin’ ‘im Jack the Ripper, they is.”

"Did you hear that, Mrs. Steers?"

"Yes, I did.  Looks like our Jack is a hot topic.  And why wouldn't he be?"  Mrs. Steers raised her eyebrows.

A moment later, a short gaunt woman stopped right in front of them.   Her dark hair was parted with some showing under the front of her black straw bonnet. She stood there for a moment, when an unshaven man wearing a ragged dark suit of clothes approached her.

"What did they give you?" asked the woman.   

With his back to Sam and Mrs. Steers, he muttered something about enough to get a place for the night.

"I'll go see my daughter.  Maybe she'll give me some lolly."  She started to leave when he stopped her.

"Kate," he said.  "What time will you be back?"

"About four.   Now don't you worry yourself…  I'll get us some coppers."  She scuttled up the street.

"Where do you want to meet?"

"’Ow about 'ere at the Ten Bells?   Tell 'em Kate Eddowes is back."   The man nodded then headed in the opposite direction.  

Sam recognized her name. Sam shouted out.  "Mrs. Steers, that's her!   That's Catherine Eddowes!"

Mrs. Steers looked for her but Eddowes was weaving her way through the crowd.

"Quick! Let's follow her." 

Before Mrs. Steers could speak, Sam was dodging his way through traffic trying to keep up with Eddowes.

He could see her hat bobbing through the crowd. He yelled over his shoulder to Mrs. Steers. "Hurry, we're catching up with her."  

Eddowes wasn't too far ahead. Soon Sam was following right behind her and felt more confident in dodging the ghosts coming towards him.

"Sam, please slow down,” yelled Mrs. Steers.  “I am not a spring chicken anymore." 

Sam paid no attention.  He was busy studying Eddowes, making mental notes of what she looked like, her clothes, and anything else interesting about her.

Mrs. Steers worried Sam would get lost in the crowd again. When she was about to yell at him, Catherine Eddowes stopped abruptly and poked around in her handbag looking for something.  Sam almost walked right through her.  Mrs. Steers caught up with them.

"Sam," said Mrs. Steers panting.  "Please don't run off."   

Sam wrote down as much as he could about Eddowes, but soon realized that this wasn’t working.  The crowd was too thick and he kept sidestepping to miss getting walked through again.

 "'Ello love."   A young uniformed sailor smiled and winked at Eddowes.  "I know it's early, but 'ow's about showin' a sailor a little lovin'?"   Eddowes said something Sam couldn't hear, then she walloped him in the chest with her handbag.  Mrs. Steers did hear clearly and gasped.

"Shove off!" shouted Eddowes.  "Who do you think I am?  Some cheap tart?"  The sailor grabbed her arm.  She walloped him again even harder this time in the face.  The stunned sailor let go of her. Grumbling, he stomped away.

"What did she say?" said Sam turning to Mrs. Steers, ignoring his question.  Eddowes began walking again.  Sam began to follow but Mrs. Steers grabbed his shoulder, pulling him to a nearby doorway. 

"But I want to learn as much as I can about her," said Sam.

"Never mind what she said. I think we should leave this area."  Mrs. Steers felt uneasy, not just about the conversation between Eddowes and the sailor, but this whole section of London.   Not only did questionable people who live in this area, but questionable activity took place as well. Mrs. Steers didn't believe Sam should witness any of it.  She had second thoughts about being in this part of London.  She wanted Sam to experience the London of Jack the Ripper, but this was too much.

"Sam, let's catch up with her later, hopefully not while she's being murdered."

"That would be awesome," said Sam.  "I could really get some good notes."  Mrs. Steers stared wide-eyed at Sam.

"No!  That would not be awesome."  Mrs. Steers was a little shaken by Sam's insensitivity.  "She's a real person with a soul or was a real person.   Murder is not awesome."

Sam realized what he had said and felt bad for offending Mrs. Steers. "Sorry, I didn't think before I spoke.   I was just thinking since she is dead... I mean we are in the past seeing things that have already happened..."

Mrs. Steers shook her head in agreement.  "I see your point, but seeing someone die isn't something me or you want to witness."   Her last words hit Sam hard.   He had seen someone die.  Once again, a memory flashed in his mind.  He was standing next to his dad who was dying in a hospital bed.  Now, he wished he could take back his words.  Sam felt tears well in his eyes, but concentrated on the present moment, making the memory disappear.

"Let's do some sight-seeing," said Mrs. Steers in that firm parental tone.

The Time Travelers' Club: Chapter 20 -- Give me the Information

Chapter 20 -- Give Me the Information

"Tell me what I want to know," said an angry voice from the shadows of the darkened room.

In the middle of the room sat a middle-aged man strapped to a wooden chair under a bright spotlight. Dried blood lined the man's face and matted his hair.  Barely conscious, his head rolled slowly from one side to the other.  His tired eyes squinted when he looked up to the glowing bulb.

"I don't know.  I swear to you," pleaded the bound man.

"Boss, I'm tired of askin'," said another grumbling voice.  "By now, he woulda spilled.  I’m getting’ tired of punching his guy around."

An angry voice replied. "Very well.  I agree he doesn't know.  We must get the brat.  He will know." 

The bound man could only see the feet of the man talking.  He didn’t have to see him to know who it was.

Through squinted eyes, the bound man saw them leave.  The door shut. He heard two pairs of echoing footsteps out in the hallway. The bound man was alone. As he slumped forward in the chair, the bindings tightened across his chest.

Outside in the dimly lit hallway, they stood for a moment. 

“Now what, boss?” one said.

"Send Vincent and Quince.  They are to place the object. Ha! Like they can.  They have only one brain between them."  He gritted his teeth and flexed the muscles in his temples.

"Where and what?"

"Check with Dreda.  She has the details. She may also know the current whereabouts of the old lady and the brat."

With his instructions, he walked away. 

The other popped his knuckles and marched to the end of the hall, unaware of the cloaked figure hiding in the shadows, listening in on their conversation. When the hallway fell silent, the figured slipped through the door where the bound man sat.

The Time Travelers' Club: Chapter 19 -- Whitechapel

Chapter 19 -- Whitechapel

Mrs. Steers retrieved the travel guide from her bag.  "I tried to buy as many old tourist guides and maps I could find.  Hopefully, the two I brought should prove useful.   Some aren't that accurate."

Scanning the index, she searched for the name of where their current location.  "Let's see… St. James Palace… St. James Park … St. James Square…  Hmmm… Nothing for St. James's Place.   We are in the part of London where several violent murders occurred.  Of course, it's not a major tourist destination when this book was printed.  That is what you meant by coming here, didn't you?   You mentioned Jack the Ripper.   You wanted to see the places where the murders happened?"

"Yes.  That would be awesome for my report."

"Let me check something else."  Mrs. Steers got out a booklet which actually folded out into a large map of London.  "I think we should use this map as our guide for now.  Do you remember any other places from your research?"

"No, I'm afraid…  Oh, wait… I totally forgot.   I have my notes.  They're here in my notebook."  Sam thumbed to the first pages. “Here they are.  My notes on Jack the Ripper, his victims, and where the murders happened.”

“You are an excellent note taker,” said Mrs. Steers.  “You should grow up to be a researcher or something like that.”

"I just copied them from a book from the library.  Catherine Eddowes was murdered in Mitre Square in an area called Whitechapel. She was Jack the Ripper's fourth victim.  Maybe we should start there," said Sam anxious to see the scene of a future crime.  Sam thought to himself.  Once we get there, I can figure out the best way to leave the newspaper without Mrs. Steers seeing me do it.

Mrs. Steers scanned the guide's index.  "Hmmm… Oh good.  Both Mitre Square and Whitechapel are listed."

Flipping to the back of the book, she unfolded a rectangular reddish-colored map. "The print is so tiny on this map.  Whitechapel is the name of this area of London.  I don't see Mitre Square. And of course, I forgot my magnifying glass."

Sam waited for Mrs. Steers.  Getting impatient, he looked around the square again.  He roamed over to a window of a brown brick house. To see inside, he had to stand on his tip-toes.  He could make out a massive table with some chairs around it, a white door and a large cupboard with a few dishes on it shelves.  The floor and walls looked clean and tidy.  Embers smoldered in the brick fireplace.

As he leaned closer to the pane of glass, a pale-faced woman peered out of the window looking right at him. Sam jumped back, spooked by her, then embarrassed for peeping into somebody's home.    The window rattled as it flew up.

"Ey!  I told you to clean these here windows.  I can barely see out of 'em."   At first, Sam thought the woman was talking to him.

"I'll get to 'em when I good an' ready..." said a man from somewhere inside.

"You'll get to 'em now... Or else I’ll box your ears..."

"First of all..." said Mrs. Steers. Folding her map back up, she glanced at him. “Sam, what's the matter?"  She saw Sam had a stunned look on his face as he peered in the open window.

"I was just checking out the inside of this house when…" said Sam, pointing at the woman in the window who was now going away to some other part of the house. “This woman just showed up…”  Sam stopped. "I thought they would have more stuff.   There's hardly anything in there."

"They may not be able to afford it.  We're lucky we can buy lots of furniture and other stuff."  Mrs. Steers pointed at her folded map.  "Since we know we are standing in the middle of St. James's Place, we just need to figure out where we are in relation to other places then we should be able to find our way to Mitre Square and any other significant spots for Jack the Ripper.  We mustn't forget why we are here -- your class report."

Browsing through his notebook again, Sam read over more notes.   "I have lots of places, but I am not sure where to start.  Maybe we should figure out where we are first."

"In that case, let's look for a street sign," said Mrs. Steers. "Or something that will give us an idea of where we are in Whitechapel."

"There... King's Street," said Sam pointing at a metal placard bolted to a stone wall.

"That's not on the map, but I must admit the map's not that detailed. Let's go that direction." Mrs. Steers pointed at the passage to another street.

Leaving the square, they walked along the packed-dirt road, avoiding muddy spots and piles of manure.  Sam checked out the buildings, most only two or three stories high.   Above their roofs, he could see smoke rising from their chimneys.   Black suet and ash from fires floated down from above, only adding to the grime.  Some oblong windows had eight glass panes with tic-tac-toe grids; while others had fewer.

"Gross!" said Sam looking at the garbage lining the streets and along the walls.  "Don't they have garbage men to pick up the trash?"

"Not here.  This is one of the poorest and unhealthiest parts of London.  Not to mention, it is the late nineteenth century.  People had a completely different way of life.  Nothing like what we're used to. Aha, here we have Mitre Street," said Mrs. Steers, pointing at a larger rusted sign.  "Let's keep going.  There's bound to be a street I can find on the map."

As they came to the next corner, Sam peeked around it and came face to face with a pair of black wet nostrils.  Sam fumbled backwards.  A grey horse snorted, but Sam didn't feel the spit hit his face. Horse spit flew through Sam and landed on the ground behind him. The horse bobbed its head up and down, hitched to an empty wagon.

"Did you hear that Sam?   Those two women mentioned they’re heading to Mitre Square.  What luck!  We can follow them."

Mrs. Steers had overheard two women talking as they walked past.  Dressed in ankle-length brown dresses, the women's entire skirt fronts were covered by long dirty aprons.

They were talking to each other.  "Well, Gertie, I'm on my way to clean the Capt’n’s place.  I can't complain.  The Capt’n pays well.  His missus is ever so nice and the young-ins are ever 'appy to see me."

"'Ow lucky you are.  Good pay and all," said Gertie. "I got to clean that old sot's place.  Leavin' empty wine bottles scattered over the floor!  I nearly fell when I stepped on one the last time.  Ay, Agnes, you wouldn't believe the bottle of wine I found left over last time.  Just enough left for a good swig!  Ah, the life of a char."  Sam and Mrs. Steers followed behind them.

"What does char mean?" asked Sam.

"They are probably charwomen.   It's like a maid.  They clean, sometimes cook, for families."

After twisting and turning through backs streets and alleys, they saw a sign for "Mitre Square."   At the entrance to the square, the charwomen parted.  Gertie traveled on while Agnes turned the corner into another square courtyard.  The buildings looked the same as elsewhere, except for one far corner which had a high wooden fence.  Agnes entered a plain-looking brick building immediately to the left, closing the door behind her.  Next door, narrow boards barred the door and windows.  It was vacant.

"That must be where the Capt’n lives," said Mrs. Steers mimicking Agnes.  "Well, here we are.  This is the same square where poor Catherine Eddowes became a victim of Jack the Ripper."  Sam walked to the square's center, trying to remember each detail for his report.   He filled a couple of pages with notes.

"Kearley and Tonge… Horner and Sons… Heseltine..."  Sam read the large words on the side of the building and above the doors.  "What do you think these are?  People's houses?"

"In this area of London, I suspect they’re businesses and warehouses," replied Mrs. Steers searching her guide book.  "Do you smell that strange odor?  It smells like chemicals…  Sulfur, maybe? I think it is coming from that building."  She pointed to the one with sign reading with "Horner and Sons."  "Perhaps they import or manufacture chemicals of some sort."

Sam strolled to the corner with the wooden fence and peered between the vertical slats. "This looks like someone's yard.  I can see a passage between the buildings."  Sam jotted down more notes.

"Here it is!” Mrs. Steers exclaimed pointing at a spot in her guidebook. “I found it on the map.   We are near Houndsditch, Aldgate Station, and Leadenhall.  We should be able to find our way around now that I know where we are."   Mrs. Steers saw Sam taking notes.

"Which corner was it, Sam?" asked Mrs. Steers. "The one where poor Catherine lost her life?"

Sam glanced over his notes. "I don't remember.  I didn't write that down."

"I guess it doesn't matter,” said Mrs. Steers.  The important part is you get a flavor for what the murder scene was like.  Have you taken plenty of notes?" 

Sam nodded his head not even glancing up.  "I wrote down he was a regular at the Ten Bells Pub.  How about there?"

"Let's go that way," said Mrs. Steers, studying her map and pointing to the left.

The Time Travelers' Club: Chapter 18 -- Are We There?

Chapter 18 – Are We There?

He heard Mrs. Steers whisper near his left ear. "Sam, open your eyes."

 

Although the sensation of floating was gone, Sam's stomach was still queasy.  His breathing had returned to normal, but the foul unidentifiable stench lingered in his nose. Sam’s eyes hurt from squinting so hard. When he opened them, he was astonished at what he saw.  They were no longer sitting in the back parlor.  The high-back chairs.  The room.  The Steer's house.  New London.  Connecticut.  All gone.

Sam blinked a few times adjusting to the daylight. He huddled close to Mrs. Steers, facing a dark red brick wall only inches in front of them.  Sam looked down at the bottom layer of bricks where they meet the sidewalk and followed the wall up.  He could see a roof-line and then on up to a cloudy sky.  It appeared to be early in the morning, but the overcast sky made it hard to tell the time.  Stepping back a few paces, Sam saw the wall was actually a three-story building with windows and a weathered off-white door to his right.

Turning around, Sam saw that they stood in a square.  Three-story brick buildings. A stone sidewalk curved along the building fronts.  Yellowish glow illuminated a few windows; some were filthy with grime. Chimneys rose above the gabled and steep roofs.   Storefront windows displayed wears and merchandise, mostly fruits, and had painted names of their owners. In front of some shops, dark simple tables and worn-painted chairs sat ready to be occupied. Sam thought he saw one of the chairs move as if someone sat down in it.

In the middle of the square stood a shed-type building with the words "Fire Brigade Station" in bright red painted letters on the side.

Despite the murmur of voices, the square was empty. Faint shadows moved behind a few dirty windows indicating that someone was inside.   The horse's hooves started again, moving further away.

 "Not possible." muttered Sam, glancing at the buildings.  "Not possible…  Not possible…  I don't believe this..."

Mrs. Steers watched him, recognizing the look of astonishment.

"Sam, we did it. You and I.  And on the first attempt.  Think of all the fun we'll have," said Mrs. Steers excitedly.

Looking at her, Sam stuttered then began to get scared.  He fidgeted with the strap of his travel bag.

"This is a dream... but it's too real for a dream…  It can't be…   It can't be real… It can't be."  Sam squirmed back and forth.

Sam blurted out. "Wait!   I've got it…  You hypnotized me! I saw it in a movie once. This love-crazed guy hypnotized himself into believing he could go back in time to meet up with this woman he loved.  What was the name of the movie…?”

"Sorry, Sam, but you are in London,” said Mrs. Steers.  “It is September 29th just after 9 a.m.   You are standing in St. James's Place in Whitechapel.” She gave him a few moments to let the moment sink in.

Sam started blinking harder, attempting to figure out exactly what had happened.  His mind raced as he circled in place, glancing at the surroundings. Something snapped in his mind. A dreadful feeling.

Sam turned to Mrs. Steers then started backing away from her.  "You killed me!" Sam yelled. "You freak!  We're dead!  You murdered me!"  Mrs. Steers' smile disappeared.  She acted quickly.

"No, Sam. We're fine."  Mrs. Steers reached out for him as he backed away, looking directly into his eyes.  "It is real.  We did it.   We are in London."  She put her hands on his shoulders trying to pull him towards her.  Sam began to cry. Tears rolled down his cheek.  His nose began to run.  He pushed her hands away.

 "Sam, you must believe me," said Mrs. Steers.  "If you want, we can go back home right now.  Although, I must admit, it may be a little while before we can come back since you're new to this."

Sam stepped back from her.  His tears subsided as he wiped his eyes with his sweater sleeve.

"Now, dry your eyes," said Mrs. Steers.  "If I killed you, how would I be here?"

"I'm not sure...  Maybe..."  Sam stumbled on his words.

"See, you can't explain that part.  What was it that Sherlock Holmes said... Something about what is left, no matter how improbable, must be the truth...  Damn... I mean... Darn... How does that quote go?"

Sam, wiping his eyes with his sleeve again, shook his head.  "I guess I've not heard that one..."

Then it hit him again... That smell! He felt sick to his stomach. It reminded him of a hog farm he had visited with his grandparents.  Only this was ten-times worse. The stench of manure.

Mrs. Steers pulled out a blue jar of menthol vapor rub, a handkerchief, and a peppermint out of her hand bag.  "Here, this will help until you get used to it.  Rub some under your nose   Nasty smell, isn't it! Wait until we go to New York City in the 1830s!   Whew!  Talk about a stench.  And Cincinnati!   No wonder they called it Hogopolis!"

Crinkling the plastic wrapper, Sam undid the hard red and white striped peppermint and popped it in his mouth.  The menthol worked.  His stomach settled.  He wiped his eyes, blew his nose, and tucked the handkerchief in his pants pocket.

Opening his travel bag, he took out his red-leather notebook and black-ball point pen and jotted his first notes.

London, September 29th, around 9 a.m., it stinks here!  We are off to search for Jack the Ripper.  Now in St. James Place.  There's no one here.

Pausing from his note taking, Sam said, “So what happens next?”

Mrs. Steers didn’t answer.

Sam looked around the square again.  Most of the businesses included "warehouse" in their names.  He walked over to one of the storefronts.  In the window, he perused the crates full of oranges, apples, and other fruits.

 Sam looked at his arms and down at his legs.  All of it, including him, looked solid.  He pulled up his sweater sleeve and pinched his forearm.  A pinkish-red mark appeared.  Confused, Sam turned around to Mrs. Steers.

"Strange, isn't it?" said Mrs. Steers.  “We can touch some forms of glass, wood, stone, and dirt…"  Sam wrote some forms of glass, wood, stone, dirt in his notebook.

"How's this possible?"  Sam prepared to jot down her answer.

"When you find out, let me know.  Like I mentioned, it's like in A Christmas Carol when the Ghost of Christmas Past took Scrooge back to when he was a young boy. There’s a lot that can’t be explained."

After a few more notes, Sam meandered, stopping in front of a puddle of water.  He had no reflection. Sam turned to a window and realized he had no reflection in the water.

"I can't see myself.  This must be what a vampire feels like."  Sam reached out and touched the window with his index finger. It felt cold, but not like glass, more like cold water yet not wet.

"Yes, you have no reflection," said Mrs. Steers.   "You won't leave any fingerprints or footprints either."

"How can I feel the glass? And you and me?  Aren't we still sitting in the chairs in your back parlor?"

"Good question,” said Mrs. Steers. “No, your body is here in this time.  However, only a few seconds will pass back home.  Right now, we aren't there.  Time as we know it has almost come to a stand-still back in our time... Why don't you try stepping in that puddle of water and see what happens?"  Mrs. Steers pointed at a puddle on the sidewalk

"No way! These are my best pair of shoes.  My Mom would kill me if I got 'em wet."

"Trust me."  Mrs. Steers motioned to the puddle again.

 "Alright, but if my shoes get ruined, you owe me a new pair!"  Sam cast a sideways glance down at the puddle.  With his left foot, first he stepped into the dead center of the puddle.  It was deeper than he thought.  The water engulfed his shoe, right up to the ankle.  He raised his foot back out of the puddle. It was completely dry.

"Awesome!  How does it...  I mean what causes..."

Mrs. Steers laughed. "Sam, there is so much I wish I could tell you about how this works, but I don't know.  Albert studied that book looking for answers, but he never found them."

"Mrs. Steers, how do we get back?"  Sam scribbled more notes.

"Oh, that's the easy part," said Mrs. Steers.  "There’s an incantation."

Sam prepared to write down the words, but she handed him a folded piece of plain paper.

"Here… I wrote them down for you.  You can read them, but the moment you say them out loud… Poof!  You are right back in my back parlor.  Tuck it somewhere safe and don't lose it. That way, if we get separated or it's a dire emergency, you will be able to get back home."

Sam opened the slip of paper, looked at the words "Domum me," scribbled them in his notebook as well, and put the note in his shirt pocket under his sweater.  "I copied the words in my notebook just in case I lose the paper."

"Good.  Remember you have to say the words out loud for them to take you home.   Right now, we have an adventure ahead of us.   Have you ever been to London? Especially the London of 1888?"

Sam laughed.  "No, I haven't.  I've never been outside of the United States.  We did learn about England in my history class. I've read about it."

A thought popped into his head.  "Wait!   My Mom!  She doesn't know I'm gone."

 "Don't worry. We could be here a whole month and only a few minutes would pass back home."

"So… you might say we have all the time in the world," said Sam.

"Good choice of a cliché.  It's true," said Mrs. Steers.

"Jack the Ripper is out there,” said Sam.  “He can't hide from me."

Mrs. Steers giggled.  "Listen, Sam. We’ve got company."

The murmur of voices got louder. Conversations started to form.  A woman's voice, then a man's, then another woman's.  Soon, a symphony of human voices echoed through the square.

Sam's eyes widened as he watched fine misty pillars of fog form into people. They walked along the sidewalks, then throughout the square.  They floated like vertical pale clouds. At least a dozen had now appeared.  Without notice, in a split second, the ghostly shapes materialized into people.

Scared, Sam moved close to Mrs. Steers.  She put her hand on his shoulders.  "There is always a slight drag in time for beginners.   People are always the last to appear. Don't worry they aren't aware of us.  They're going about their daily business.  They are ghosts of this time, even though they look very real."

Sam watched them walking, talking, and racing in and out of the square.   To them, it was nine in the morning on a business day.

"Let's step over there into that doorway out the traffic.  Remember don't let anyone walk through you.  Or walk through them.  It’s a creepy feeling."

Wide-eyed, Sam stepped back as Mrs. Steers led him to the doorway.   He couldn't stop staring, watching the ghosts of the past go about their business.