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.