The Time Travelers' Club: Chapter 36 -- Time Travel Lag

At the kitchen table, Sam nibbled on his peanut butter and strawberry jelly sandwich and sipped on a glass of milk. Tomorrow, he would be in front of his history class giving his report. His mind was still filled with both vivid images of London, the ghostly figure of his Dad, flying orbs whizzing past his head then exploding in showers of sparks, and of course Jack the Ripper.

Sam lazily skimmed his notes, not just from the library books but also the ones he scribbled in London.

Jack the Ripper was credited with at least six murders -- those in Whitechapel and its vicinity.  However, there were several other murders similar to his style, some of which occurred years later.  Although the police had numerous suspects, the true identity of Jack the Ripper remains a mystery up to today.  Many theories exist…

"Ha!" said Sam out loud.

Cuckoo! The fake bird sang out nine times before returning to its secret compartment in the top center of the clock's face.

"What?  Did you say something?"  Emily looked up from the stack of papers she was studying at her computer.  She was busy working on a new book.

"Nothing," replied Sam.  "I was just reviewing my notes about Jack the Ripper.   I have to give my report tomorrow in class."

"You’ll do fine.   You love giving presentations."  Emily returned to reading her papers then shuffling through them.

"Yea, I suppose.  I just want to make sure the facts are in my head."

Facts nothing!  I know who you are Jack the Ripper!  No one would ever believe it was you.  Sam grinned still seeing the face of the notorious serial killer in his mind.

Sam went back to his notes but was finding he could barely keep his eyes open.  He started nodding off.  It was no wonder since he spent the day before running in the back streets of Whitechapel. In fact, he didn’t get home until after two in the morning… at least in 1880s London time. In reality, they had only been gone for a few minutes in present-day time.

So far, he had enjoyed the blustery Sunday morning by relaxing and reading.  Now at nine o’clock, Sam felt exhausted and overcome by a queasy stomach.    At first, he thought the sandwich had upset it, but it didn't feel like a normal upset stomach.  And then it hit him.  He thought he would be sick at any moment.

Sam sat perfectly still trying to concentrate on the library book.  

If I don’t move, I won’t throw up…  I wonder if you can get time-travel lag like when you fly on an airplane?

Losing focus on his readings trying not to think about his stomach, he relived various previous-day scenes, pondering what he had encountered, and most importantly, questioning Mrs. Steers and the others involvement in the Time-Savers. His newly acquired unofficial membership into the group opened up a whole new world of possibilities and exploration.

His stomach grumbled and rolled.  Just sit still and don't move.

Sam realized that secrets could enrich his life. He knew the true identity of Jack the Ripper.  Not everyone could say "Hey, I solved one of history’s greatest mysteries."   He was living a dream, still bubbling over this fact and ready to unearth more answers to history's secrets.

Oh, my stomach...  Concentrate... Don’t move...

Sam was also prepared for Bon tomorrow at school.  He could hardly wait to tell her about keeping the dare.  However, it wouldn’t happen because of two reasons.  First, he remembered Mrs. Steers words about no one believing him.  Second, without notice, Sam’s stomach loudly rumbled and tumultuously churned.  He sat straight up in his chair, then beads of sweat formed on his forehead.

Sam sat astonished as the kitchen cabinets began to sway back and forth.  The hard wood floor began to roll up and down like ocean waves.  The refrigerator began to swell and contrast like it was breathing.  The kitchen table bounced up and down.  Sam's eyes widened at the sight of the dancing kitchen.

Jumping up from the table, Sam raced to the bathroom, just making it to the toilet bowl. He heaved, but nothing came up.  Holding his stomach, Sam bent over again and dry heaved.  He sat down on the side of the tub.   Emily came immediately, grabbed a washcloth, soaked it with cool water and placed it on his forehead.

"Here, hold this while I get a chair."

Sam slid his way down the side of the tub until her was on the cool tile floor.  A few seconds later, Emily raced back with a kitchen chair and helped Sam up onto it.   He was very pale and rocked back and forth.   His stomach ached, his throat was sore, and his mouth was dry.

"You look like a zombie," said his Mom.  Sam glanced at himself in the mirror.

"I need some water," said Sam in a frail voice. 

The toilet bowl lid started flapping up and down like it was talking. Sam closed his eyes and then opened.  The lid wasn't moving.   Emily got a glass of ice water from the kitchen and hurried back to the bathroom.

"Sip this slowly," said Emily, handing him the glass.  Sam didn’t listen at first.  He swashed the cold water around his mouth and spit it out into the toilet before starting to sip.

Emily as she felt his cheek then forehead.  "You're burning up. You’ve got a fever."

She fumbled around for the thermometer in the wicker basket filled with the incidentals found in most bathrooms.  She pulled an old glass thermometer out of its plastic case and shook it making sure that the red line was at the bottom.

"Here." Emily stuck it under his tongue and Sam closed his mouth around it. "Keep it there.  We have to wait about a minute."

In the meantime, Emily rinsed out the washcloth, rewet it, and placed it on the back of Sam’s neck.  After about a minute, Emily took the thermometer and scanned the red line which ended at around 100.3.

"Yep, you’ve got a fever." Emily felt his forehead again.  "Alright take your shirt off, I want to make sure you aren’t breaking out in spots."

Sam usually hated undressing in front of other people, even his Mom.  He never removed his shirt in front of others for fear that they would make fun of his pale skin or chubbiness.  This time, he didn’t care.   He slipped his shirt off and Emily scanned his back and under his arms.

"Well, no signs of anything," said Emily. "Why don’t you take a hot shower?  I’ll get you some clean pajamas."   

Sam didn’t argue.  At least, the toilet bowl lid wasn’t flapping up and down.

Sam stood under the hot water letting it run over his face.    After a few minutes passed, Emily knocked on the door.

"Are you alright?  I changed your sheets as well. Get into bed."

"Yes, I'm fine," said Sam, even though his throat was raw from throwing-up nothing.  "Everything's standing still now."

Getting out of the shower, he put his clean pajamas on. In his bedroom, he crawled into his comfy bed.  The sheets smelled clean. His Mom gave him some cold medicine and before long, he was out.

Around the Block: Episode 4 -- A New Hat

Welcome to a new episode of Around the Block...

Today's episode is called "Joan's New Hat"

Jackie (a.k.a Cat Woman) and Kathy were out and about, stopping by their favorite java place, Jocelyn's Joe and Juice Shop, for their tall mocha sugar-free latte with low-fat whip and low-fat skim milk.  Now. they were on their way to their weekly appointment for their weekly blow-out at Raul's, the local hair stylist. They agree that it's overpriced, but worth the time to have Raul, the sexy Latin hairdresser (and oil changer at Bernie's Garage, but only on Wednesday mornings) run his fingers through their hair.

While heading down the street, they spotted Joan, who was grumbling to herself and was obviously not happy.  They couldn't wait to hear what's going on.  Joan explained that she just came from Raul's and he misunderstood what exactly she wanted done to her hair.  This lead to her stop and shop on the second floor hat department of the Block's Department Store.  She just purchased this new green beret.

 

Jackie and Kathy knew that Joan never wears hats and prodded her for the scoop.  Finally, Joan took off the beret. Only to reveal that now she had something totally different going on than her usual blond styling.  She explained that she distinctly told Raul "I want it clipped all around." Raul thought he heard her say "I want clown all around."  Another reason that Raul needs to keep the music to a low roar. After an hour, she found herself no longer a blond, but a red-head... Not just red-head, but clown red-head. She also has gotten stopped five times and asked if she did children's parties.  Joan was not happy.

Meanwhile down the street, three members of the Society of Perpetual Hilarity had stopped to plan their next performance. Billy B argued for balloon figures, Marcel O argued for mime sketches, while Jack J fought for card tricks. Four hours later, they realized that they had missed the performance andnow would debate rather to deflate, feel their way home, or just play 52 card pick up.

The Time Travelers' Club: Chapter 35 -- Give Me the Information

(Dear reader, remember chapter 20.  The one where there was a man bound to a chair.  Did you wonder who it was?  Well, here’s that same chapter, only expanded.)

"Tell me what I want to know!" Dr. Herkeimer was sharp.  He loomed in the shadows of the barren room. 

The metal shade of the low-hanging ceiling light created a circle of light on the floor. In that circle sat Griffin Graff, strapped to a wooden chair.  Dried blood lined his face and matted his salt and pepper hair.  His bristly beard was greasy and mangled.  Barely conscious, he rolled his head from one side to the other.  His tired eyes squinted as he looked up at the glowing bulb.

Griffin had been kidnapped outside a small village in South Africa, where he had been tracking another copy of Namvelt's books on time-travel.  His nephew, Xavier, had reported his disappearance to the Time-Savers several few weeks ago.

"I don't know.  I swear to you," said Griffin, licking his dried chapped lips.

Bruno, the brutish of Dr. Herkeimer's minions, stood in front of Graff.  "Boss, I'm tired of askin'. I've been mussin' this guy for a couple of hours.  By now, he woulda spilled."

Dr. Herkeimer's voice responded.  "Very well. We must get the old lady or the boy.  One of them will know."

The Doctor and Bruno left the room.

Griffin slumped forward in the chair, feeling the ropes dig into his chest.

Outside in the dimly lit hallway, Dr. Herkeimer gave Bruno instructions.

"I want you to come back later and see if you can get any further information.”

With his instructions, Bruno hulked away.  Dr. Herkeimer popped his knuckles and marched to another door, unaware of the cloaked figure lurking in a dark corner of the hallway.  

The figure slipped along the wall and through the door of the room where Griff sat.  He gently closing it behind him trying to make any sound.

The shadow flattened against the inside wall, evaluating the bound man, then tiptoed slowly towards him.

"Griff," whispered the cloaked figure, laying his hand on his shoulder.  Griffin raised his head, dazed again at first by the bright light above him.

"I'll tell you nothing." Griffin barely looked at the shrouded face, but then recognized the voice.  “It’s you.”

"We must get you out of here."  The shadow pulled a knife from inside his reddish-brown cloak and cut through the rope.  Sliding the bindings off, Griffin managed to rise from the chair and with the help of the cloaked figure, staggered towards the door.

"Here drink this first.  It'll give you the quick strength you need to escape." 

Griffin took the small vile filled with bluish-green liquid.  After gulping it all, within moments, he perked up as if he had just come back to life.  Griffin wiped his moustache and mouth with his shirt sleeve. 

"Damn. What was that stuff?  Tasted like mix of sour grapes with a dead monkey." 

"I just mastered it.  I'll tell you later and besides it won't last long so we've got to move quickly.  Wait here."  The cloaked man went back to the chair and placed a white calling card with a winged-hourglass symbol.

The figure then slowly cracked the door open and checked in both directions.

"We have to go that way." The cloaked figure pointed to the far end of the corridor. An oak door with wrought-iron strap hinges was lit by a single lantern hanging above it.

When they reached the door, the cloaked figure slowly pulled it open. Griff felt a cool wind rush in on his face. They slipped out and found themselves outside.  The full moon provided some illumination on a gravel path weaving through a flower garden, well-groomed shrubs, and mighty trees.  The wind rustled the leaves.

Griffin followed as they hurried along the gravel path.  Griffin turned to see a gloomy old stone mansion.   The moonlight glowed on the dark glass panes in recessed and arched windows.  Towards one end of the wall, a few windows had light glowing from inside.  Turrets on each corner had high-pointed roofs that looked like witch's hats.

"So that’s Dr. Herkeimer’s lair, eh?" said Griffin.  "Looks like s typical villains’ hideout. So why don’t we poof out of here?"

“I don't want to do that here even though we are along the side of the house.  Takes too much of the excitement away from the daring escape."

They came to an iron gate overgrown with weeds.  "I oiled the hinges earlier, so they don't squeak."

They slipped through just as voices echoed from near the house.

"I think they've discovered I'm gone," said Griffin.

"Wait...," said the figure. "The voices are coming from the front of the house."

Hiding in the overgrowth around the gate, they could see long shadows on the ground cast from interior light coming out of the front entrance.  On the driveway, someone was getting into the driver's side of a roadster.

"Someone's leaving.  I see headlights."

Moving from the gate, they ducked behind a hedge that lined the entire side of the drive.  The car's headlights illuminated the drive as it raced past them.  Griffin and the figure ran along the other side of the hedge all the way to the drive's end.  The car turned and sped off. Taking advantage of the car's noisy exit, they ran across the road into an overgrown field.

"My car is hidden on the other side of this field," said the figure. "I found a path among the high grass. We follow it until we reach the other side.  We should be safe."

"You're great at making plans," said Griffin.  "Why don't we just poof to the other side?"

"Too dangerous.  And they're called incantations.  And quit asking.  They might see the flash of light caused by using them.  That's the problem with using some of them.  You can't use it in the dark that well, especially if you're trying not to be seen."

"Good thinking.  You really know this stuff."

"It's my job.  They don't call me The Rescuer for nothing."  They disappeared into the field.  Eventually, they emerged on the other side where an old beat-up yellow car sat.

"Nice car.  Where'd you get it?  The junkyard?"

"I bought this car a long time ago.  Its engine is the quietest I've ever heard."

They sped away.

Taking a Short Break

To my dear readers,

I hoped that you made it all the way through my first book.  There were times when I was posting it that I thought "Who wrote this!  This is awful."  This was a reminder that having an editor is worth it.

That has been my biggest challenge.  I have the story, but writing it down is difficult.

I am taking a brief break.  Book 2 is on the desk.  I am beginning the editing process.  Please come back on Sunday, April 26th.  That is when the first chapter will be posted.  The schedule will be the same -- Wednesdays and Sundays.

My other plan is to work on other writing projects.  I've got some more Lego stories coming...

CSM

The Time Travelers' Club: Chapter 34 -- The Doctor

"You bungler!  How could you let this happen?"  Dr. Herkeimer didn't mince words. He rumbled like thunder.  He berated the grieving Vincent over Quince's death.  "You were supposed to look out for him.  You knew he was not very bright."

Vincent could see the Doctor's eyes squint, a bad sign he was beyond angry.   The Doctor rubbed his temples below his perfectly combed gray hair.  The Doctor's jaw muscles flinched as he squeezed the back of a metal armchair, making its joints creak.

 "I tried to keep an eye on him," said Vincent, choking on his words, looking like a toddler being scolded.   "But he came out of nowhere…"

Vincent rose from the sofa and walked over to the casket sitting on a long table.  He looked down at Quince's barely recognizable burnt face.

"My dear Quince.   Oh why…  Why you my dear friend…"  Vincent whispered, then turned to the pacing Doctor.    "It was that damn Graff.  He's to blame for Quince's death."  Vincent sobbed again like a grieving widow.

"Stop it!  Get a hold of yourself.   Stop that confounded sniveling." Dr. Herkeimer rubbed his forehead, pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace.

The roaring fire cast shadows that danced on the bare white wall behind Vincent.   The Doctor clasped his hands, squeezing them in front of his pursed lips.  "We must find out what that boy knows.   He must be the key to finding a complete copy of the book.  We cannot cast complete incantations that work without it."

Grinding his teeth, Dr. Herkeimer took a deep breath and rolled his head slowly from side to side.  His pulled his cellphone out of his pocket and texted.

Come quickly.  Do not be late.  Gather the others.  Official meeting.  Revenge and get that boy.

Dr. Herkeimer stomped around the white-painted chamber, kicking and pushing furniture out of his path.  He grew angrier.

Vincent moved to the other side of the table where Quince's casket sat, fearing the Doctor might hit him or throw something at him.   He had never seen him this furious.  

Pacing hastily around the room, Dr. Herkeimer mumbled under his breath.  "That boy…  Must get that boy…  He must be the key…"

The Doctor pushed over a metal table, sending it and a worn leather-bound book sliding across the shiny oak floor.  Stopping and looking down at the book, he picked it up.

"This book," said the Doctor calmly, cradling the volume near him.  "This incomplete book will not due.   I must have a complete copy."

Dr. Herkeimer screamed shaking a fist in the air.  His dark eyes blazed with rage.  "I deserve that book! Even if it means death to whoever gets in my way."

The Time Travelers' Club: Chapter 33 -- More Secrets

Mrs. Steers stepped out to the kitchen and put a kettle of water to boil.   Sam sat back in his chair, staring at the blue and green patterned rug on the floor. 

Sam quietly talked to himself. "What was that?  Was I really in London?   Did I see Jack the Ripper?   We must've been there.  Was it all a hallucination?   Seeing, smelling, and walking through ghosts…  It had to be real. Maybe I'm as crazy as Mrs. Steers."

Mrs. Steers watched him through the kitchen door, knowing what would come next.  A flood of questions.  Some she could answer, some she could not, and some she would not.

"Sam," Mrs. Steers said from the kitchen. "Why don't you go out onto the porch and get some fresh air.   I'll be out in a moment with some snacks."

Sam stumbled through the library and out into the hall.  His stomach was still a little queasy.  When he opened the front door, a gust of cold fresh air hit him.  He took a deep breath of the clean air, held it a moment then exhaled.   He sat in one of the porch chairs.

Mrs. Steers came out with a tray with a plate of cookies, a peanut butter and strawberry jelly sandwich, and two mugs -- one with hot chocolate and one with tea-- and an old leather bound book.

"Here, Sam."  She handed him the mug of hot chocolate.  "Drink this.  It will make you feel better.  And here's a sandwich for you."

Sam realized he was starving and gobbled down the sandwich.  Mrs. Steers sat in her favorite rocker and sipped her tea.

"Mrs. Steers, I have to admit there at the end of our trip, I really got scared.  I've never experienced anything like those… whatever you call those balls of light…"

"Orbs.  They're called orbs.  Sam, you were never alone.   Someone was always watching you.  Either me or Rose or Ari. That was part of their assignments."

Sam looked puzzled.   "Assignments?"

"Yes, each of us had an assignment.  I had to pick up a copy of the Namvelt's book.  Xavier was gathering information.  Rose and Ari had an object to pick up.   After that, they volunteered to keep an eye on you."

"Object?  What object?"

"A ball point pen.  First, let me say, you cannot leave any objects that don't belong in other times."

Sam shook his head.  "I don't understand. What are you talking about?"

"Those men chasing you through the alleys, well, they try to leave objects in other eras where the object doesn't belong.  The ball point pen wasn't invented until later.  They tried to leave one in the House of Lords.  Their goal is to alter history."  Mrs. Steers sipped her tea.

"For example, leaving the pen meant that someone would question what it was.  Where did it come from? Who made it?  This would have caused history to change.  Maybe for the better or the worse.   If someone did go back and alter history, the chances of us being here right now might be slim."

"In other words, maybe wars wouldn't have happened," said Sam, intrigued by her story and the idea of changing history.

Mrs. Steers continued.  "Or maybe worse, there would have been greater consequences.   Maybe a different or more devastating war would have occurred.   Who knows?  The newspaper, for example, might have eventually become a part of the crime scene, but who knows for sure.  We don't know if it would or not.  The incantation has yet to be a success.  We tried it once, but it didn't work.  After that, we took a vow not to try it again for fear that it might work."

"How did you know about the newspaper?"

"Rose told me."

"Are you mad for trying to leave it behind?  I thought I could stop Jack from killing again.  Maybe the police could figure out who it was from the fingerprint."

"I'm not mad at you, but you have a lot to learn about history and the incantations. What if the last victim had been spared?  They caught Jack and hung him.  There would be no mystery for future generations.   Or more importantly, history would have been altered.  Maybe for the better.  But maybe for the worse. It's a touchy subject.  And the subject of great debates."

"Are you saying Jack should have been allowed to kill more people?   That sounds crazy.  If I could go back and save my dad..."

"Ah.  Your dad.  He would still be alive. You would be traveling somewhere else now.”

"That's right.”

"That is out of your control.  Not to sound preachy, but someone greater than us makes those decisions and when they are made, that's what we must accept."  For the first time, Mrs. Steers glared at him with stern eyes.  She reminded him of his mom with her stern "do-as-I-say-you-know-I'm-right" look.

Sam held back, struggling to find something nasty to say, but he didn't.  He knew what she was saying.  And at that moment, he hated her for it. Taking a deep breath, Sam returned to the newspaper, knowing that this conversation would go nowhere.

"The newspaper..." said Sam. 

Before he could finish, Mrs. Steers curtailed the conversation. "You had no idea what you were doing. Besides it may or may not be a real fingerprint from Jack the Ripper.  We don't know if that fingerprint belonged to the serial killer."

Sam looked saddened by the news.  "So, it was a fake?"

"Maybe.  Like I said, it may or may not have been the real fingerprint of Jack."

"Then why did you write it was?"

"Actually, as I recall, it said 'may have the only clue.'  I was not sure, because it was left at the scene of the horrible murder by the same men who were chasing us."

“So, those guys left it at the scene?” Sam was lost. "What is this really all about?"

Mrs. Steers nodded.  “Yes, they tried to. As I recall, it was about this time last year.”

“Wow,” said Sam.

Mrs. Steers grinned.  "You are now a part of a club that most people don't know exists.   We call ourselves The Time Travelers’ Club.  There are several chapters all over the world.  Our mission is to keep time intact."

"Time intact?  What do you mean intact?"

"Well, right now, there's a small and very dangerous group. Dr. Herkeimer is the leader.  He's not a nice person."  Mrs. Steers shook her head.  "He's pretty mean and causes a lot of trouble.  They are the ones trying to leave objects in places where they would not usually be found."

"So," Sam said thoughtfully.  "You make sure that time doesn't get interrupted or altered.   Just like my leaving the newspaper."

"That's right.  Many objects in the attic are items they and other groups like them tried to leave in other time periods.    That's why I question the fingerprint on the newspaper.  It would not have worked anyway.  Trying to leave it for the police to find it. You don't know the incantation to make it stay there."

“Oh.” Sam stopped right before taking a drink of hot chocolate.  "Are there a lot of incantations?"

"Yes, many incantations, spells, charms.   You see I only told you about the time-travel part of the book.  It has other chapters on spells that can do all sorts things.  The Doctor has one copy of the book but it's incomplete.  It took a lot of effort and pain for us to learn that.  We know there are… or were... seven copies.  We are tracking them down one by one.  We can't let them get a complete copy.  You see, they don't have all the incantations.  They have and incomplete copy."

"This is confusing," said Sam.  "There are seven copies of this book and you guys are trying to find them."

"Yes, they have a damaged copy.  We have one here for the moment.  Others are protected by other club members around the world."

"How do you know there were only seven?"

"Truthfully we don't," said Mrs. Steers.  "The legend tells us that there were seven.  There may be other copies but have references to only seven.  And, of course, we have gone back to the time they were printed, but that’s complicated."

"Legend?"

"Yes, listen to this." said Mrs. Steers.  She picked up the book she had brought out with her, opened it, and read aloud.

"In a damp chamber, a gold inlaid box sits on a stone pedestal.  Inside lies a papyrus scroll wrapped in white silk.  No one knows its true origins.  Only legends and rumors of its existence. It is not lost, only hidden, protected by a powerful incantation so mighty that, in all of history, only two have broken it long enough to enter the chamber.  Many have died over time keeping the scroll safe.  Many have died trying to steal it.  It is guarded by a group known as 'Tempo Servos.'"

Mrs. Steers continued.  "The one who broke through the incantation stole the scroll and rode swift to the North lands, now called Russia, where he studied and translated it by candlelight.  The scroll was returned to its chamber.   The translation presumably lost.  Ages passed.  A lone copy of the translation was discovered and made its way to London. From that copy in 1835, an unknown number of copies were innocently printed into book form.  No records of the printing company survived the horrid fire during the book's production. All involved with the printing of it perished.   It was rumored, among the Tempo Servos, that seven copies survived and scattered around the world.

The club have traveled the globe seeking them, returning them to secrecy before its true power can be used.  Their mission is to keep them from falling into the wrong hands."

Mrs. Steers stopped and looked at Sam.

"Whoa," said Sam.  "Those guys are trying to get a complete copy of the book and you guys are out to stop them."

"Yes," said Mrs.  Steers.

"So, Rose and Ari and Xavier and you are all part of this group?"

"Yes.  Tempo servos means time savers in Latin. Albert learned to make those orbs like nobody's business.  Rose is the master of them. Not everyone can make them."

"Orbs?"  Sam raised one eyebrow in question.

"Orbs of pure energy.   They are used in duels or in defense.  They are also handy light sources. Each person's orb is a different color.  In the dark, you easily identify a person by the color of their orb."

Sam stared in disbelief.   "You and all the others are a part of a group working to stop another group from changing history.   And you guys can use orbs like... hand grenades to fight.  Can you teach me how to make them?"

"You will learn. Or at least we’ll find out if you can. You are now a member of the club."

"Cool.  I can hardly wait to tell…"

Before he could finish, Mrs. Steers said, in a stern voice.  "Absolutely not!  You must never tell anyone what you have seen or heard. We are a secret society.   You must never ever tell. You must promise me."

Sam had only known Mrs. Steers for a short time, but somehow, he could tell she meant business about this secret.

"I promise."

"Your promise is sacred.   Just think you are now a part of the best-kept secret in the world.   You must not and cannot tell anyone.   You have so much to learn.   It's going to be fun. For now, it has to be a secret."  Sam understood.

Sam and Mrs. Steers sat on the porch until about 11:30. The wind picked up.  Snow flurries began falling

"What a day," Sam exclaimed, started getting cold.

"Yes, you've had quite an adventure."  Mrs. Steers laughed.  "Well, you started out with a simple school assignment and how you have found yourself in the middle of a very important mission.   Your life will change."

"You know the true identity of Jack the Ripper and you other secret.   If you tell anyone how you know, they will only think you are crazy.   So keep it to yourself and enjoy it.   Think of it this way, you now know something the Ripper specialists would love to know."

Sam grinned.  "I saw Jack the Ripper."  He stopped and pondered what she said.  "Mrs. Steers, you said other secret.  What's the other?"

"That's your secret." Mrs. Steers grinned.

Sam started to say something, but she stopped him.

"It's not my business."  Mrs. Steers shook her head. "I will only say, you're not the only one whose had that opportunity..."  She said no more, and it wasn't discussed any further.

Mrs. Steers looked at him and thought if only he knew what lay ahead.   She had to meet with the others soon to discuss Sam's role in the group.  They would have many adventures.  Some would be dangerous.