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The Girl from Yesterday: Part 1.

Categories Fiction, Erotica, Male / Female, Romance

Author: cyanide56

Published: 31 May 2018

  • Font:

The Girl from Yesterday - part 1.

In the room at the top of the house was a door that had never been opened. It was an ordinary door that would lead to somewhere extraordinary for the one that did.


Outside the children sang as they played their games,

"Gay go up, and gay go down, To ring the bells of London town.

Bull's eyes and targets, Say the bells of St. Marg'ret's. Brickbats and tiles, Say the bells of St. Giles'. Halfpence and farthings, Say the bells of St. Martin's. Oranges and lemons, Say the bells of St. Clement's. Pancakes and fritters, Say the bells of St. Peter's. Two sticks and an apple, Say the bells at Whitechapel. Old Father Baldpate, Say the slow bells at Aldgate.

You owe me ten shillings, Say the bells at St. Helen's. Pokers and tongs, Say the bells at St. John's. Kettles and pans, Say the bells at St. Ann's. When will you pay me? Say the bells of Old Bailey. When I grow rich, Say the bells of Shoreditch. Pray when will that be? Say the bells of Stepney. I am sure I don't know, Says the great bell of Bow. Here comes a candle to light you to bed, And here comes a chopper to chop off your head!"

Watching through the window, their teacher smiled and hummed the tune to herself as Mrs. Philpot stood on the steps and rang the school bell for the afternoon session. Soon enough she would be the center of attention again as her class resumed with history the final lesson for the day.

For Miss. Rebecca Farthing, at the age of twenty-three, she had finally found her calling with the simple satisfaction of the passing on of knowledge to those who would benefit from it the most - the children in her class. That class was Year 3 - House Bede with an age range of seven to eleven who, on this warm sunny Thursday afternoon on the fifteenth of June in the year of our Lord 1886, trooped wearily back into the classroom to return to their desks.

"Now then," she began as she stood hands on hips at the front of the class, "For the remainder of the afternoon let us discover more about the City of London and its past history and how it became our capital from its beginnings as a small settlement through the various periods that defined it such as the Roman occupation, the Anglo-Saxon era, the Norman conquest to the more modern Georgian, Stuart and Tudor years," She raised her eyebrows at the audible groan in front of her, "Now, now," she said firmly, "Understanding where we have come from can sometimes give us insight as to where we are going in the future," She paused for a moment and looked around the classroom, "Unless you'd rather spend the time doing mathematics again like this morning."

The teacher smiled to herself as she waited for her charges to settle down so that she could begin the lesson.


An hour or so later, Archibald Kilgannon sat picking his nose as he stared out of the window daydreaming as he was usually wont to do. At the age of twelve, school was a necessary evil to be endured or else he'd feel the wrath of his Father and his fearsome Scottish leather belt across his bony backside if he was found slacking or had skipped class to go fishing or on some childish escapade.

"Pick a year, Archibald," said a voice inside his head.

The boy blinked and sat up in his chair like a startled hen. "Uh," he gulped as he realized everyone was staring at him including Winifred Bluebottle who he had a secret thing for. Pick a year? In the future? He screwed up his face trying hard not to think about the girl with the ginger pigtails sat three rows in front of him, "Erm," he said as he plucked numbers out of the air, "Twenty-seventeen!" he blurted out as he shrank back in his chair blushing like a ripe strawberry.

He watched as his teacher turned and scribbled his suggestion on the blackboard in large chalked letters and numbers.

Twenty-seventeen AD. 2017.

"Oh, my goodness," said Rebecca, "That is a long way away. Twenty-seventeen!" she exclaimed, smiling as she turned back to the children watching her, "Now that we know a little of our past, think about what life will be like for the children of your age who are alive then. What do you imagine life will be like in 2017?"

Agnes Pike, an overly enthusiastic twelve-year-old with scary frizzy blonde hair, stuck up her hand. "People will live in glass houses, eat spaghetti all the time and go everywhere in big balloons!" she said as the boy sat next to her rolled his eyes at her suggestion.

Rebecca smiled indulgently at the girl. "That, dear Agnes, is as good a thought as any. A ride in such a big balloon quite takes my fancy. Hopefully, everything will have changed for the better by then and those things which bedevil us in our time no longer do so tomorrow."

The world they all lived in now was far from those things she wished for. Life was harsh, relentless and bitter. A never-ending drudge of penury and misery for the many including some who sat listening to her in class. Surely, whatever else the future would bring, there would be no more poverty, hunger, disease, or homelessness for the masses.

The teacher turned her head and looked out of the window wondering what such a world would be like and wishing somehow she could experience it.


"Miss. Farthing!" said a voice as she entered the staff room where a number of the teachers had already gathered at the end of the school day.

As ever, it was Mister. Stephenson, the Head of the St. Clements school, and who seemed intent on the pursuit of her character for reasons other than professional. Indeed, ever since she had taken the position of secondary teacher a mere six weeks ago, the man had made his interest in her person quite obvious and no amount of good-natured rebuttals had deterred him. He was a persistent pest and fast becoming an annoyance as he stopped before her with all the charm of a snake oil seller.

"Mister. Stephenson," she replied with a nod as she held her school books firmly against her bosom as if they were a shield to ward off an evil spirit. She shuddered involuntarily as he smoothly reached up and twiddled both ends of his thin oily mustache which only made his swarthy complexion even more unappealing to her sensibilities. No doubt this was another attempt to wheedle his way into her affections but was doomed to fail as it had done several times before. The silly bufoon just could not take the slightest hint of her disapproval!

He took another step forward and she lifted her school books higher so that she was nigh peeking at him over the top of them as she glanced around the room with her companions much amused at her predicament. Rebecca frowned and made a face towards Miss. Winterbottom who taught the year above her and who was a positive whizz at Mathematics and all things complicated. In the leather chair by the fire sat Mister. Oakley, a thin, wiry, happy go lucky sort of character who specialized in not only Wood and Metalworking but was also the sporty type as befitting his youth and lean physique. At the table beneath the main window sat Miss. Grainger of Physics and Chemistry along with Mrs. Taylor, the school secretary both sipping afternoon tea as they watched their new friend trying to avoid the unwanted attentions of her smitten superior.

"Went the day well I hope, Miss. Farthing?" asked the Headmaster as he smiled at her.

"As always, Sir," she smiled thinly back making sure she referred to him by his title and not by his name thus keeping their relationship on a formal footing, "Class had the most interesting chat this afternoon."

Mr. Stephenson raised a brow. "Oh, and may I ask the topic in question?"

"The future," she replied, "I asked the children to pick a year and to imagine what life would be like in the year they chose."

"And what year would that be, Miss. Farthing?" asked Miss. Winterbottom who was eavesdropping their conversation behind that day's edition of the London Gazette much to the Headmasters irritation at her interruption.

Glad of a little moral support, Rebecca smiled at the older woman as the Headmaster took a resigned step back towards the fireplace where the copper kettle sat gently steaming on the iron hob so he could pour himself a cup of tea.

"Oh, the seventeenth year of the Twenty-first century as it happens," Rebecca replied as she felt herself breathe more easily having escaped the attention of Mr. Stephenson and his lascivious eye.

"Heavens," exclaimed Miss Winterbottom, a fullsome peach of a lady who filled out her immaculately tailored tweed attire with vigorous gusto, "Twenty-seventeen. Imagine that!" She glanced at the Headmaster who stood looking out of the window with a frown on his face as he sipped his tea, "Let us hope that the men of that time are blessed with more wit, tact, and substance than those near and not so dear," she whispered to her younger companion.

Imagine indeed. Rebecca looked at the man standing with his back to them and felt the natural curiosity of her imagination wash over her.

Now there was a question. What would a man from that time be like?


"You so much as fart," said the man breathing hard as he stood over his fallen victim, "And I will blow your fucking head clean off. Got that, dipshit?"

To prove his point, he pressed the muzzle of his weapon between the eyes of the robber who lay on his back with his pursuer kneeling on his chest. It had been a multi-block chase once the sting went down and both men were exhausted and breathing hard.

"Be cool dude," gasped the man as he was roughly rolled over onto his front as he felt himself being cuffed behind his back. He knew the game was up as the air echoed with the sound of sirens fast approaching. Fuck. Fuck everything. One last job. One last itty bitty bank robbery and he promised himself that would be it. One last job before getting out of the game. He spat out his frustration at being caught, "This shit sucks big time!" he groaned as he was grabbed by several cops and hauled to his feet.

He looked at the man who had chased and caught him with a sullen, resigned frown. "Fuck you, dude," he shouted as he was led away, "Fuck you to hell and back!"

The Detective grunted a smile as he showed patrol his badge. "My pleasure, shithead," he muttered as he watched the waste of spunk being bundled into the back of the wagon.

Today had been a good day. Everything had pretty much gone to plan with the stakeout and take down of the Coolazdudez gang who had been a pain in the ass for the past six months doing hits along the whole Westside. Armed robberies were their specialty and this would have been their tenth major job in that time. Only this time their luck had run out as these things tended to do from experience. He looked down at his right hand and winced as he made a fist.

He had laid into Twisty McCoolio real good. Dropped him with a smart right and followed in with an even harder left leaving the head bad guy flat out wondering what day it was and where the pigs had come from when they had run from the rear of the bank into the ambush.

"You okay, Boss?" said a voice behind him.

He turned to see one of his team with a concerned look on her face as she stood there with her shoulder length blonde curly hair blowing in the breeze. Shaking his head, he smiled at the younger woman in her FBI overcoat. "I'm fine, Amy," he reassured her, "How's the big cheese doing?"

Amy laughed as the rest of the squad pulled up with lights flashing in the fading light. "Busted nose," she said, "Won't be smiling much that's for sure."

He nodded. Good. That was good. Always leave them wanting more as the old saying goes. Around him, the city was already returning back to normal. Everything had gone down and ended in the blink of an eye. Life really does go on. Day in and day out. Nothing ever changes. Come tomorrow and there'd be another sucker to take care of to keep the citizens of the big apple safe in their beds.

Watching the wagon head downtown under armed escort, he suddenly felt the weight of that responsibility on his sore shoulders.

His second in command looked at him as he turned and walked away. "Where you going, Boss?" he shouted at his friend. Like the main man, Diego Gonzales had come through the ranks before becoming a Detective on the force and all that entailed. Both good and bad. The good being the pay and sense of accomplishment with the bad being the long hours, boredom, and red-taped frustration. Gonzales was a good few years older than his superior but the respect between both men was equal and earned.

"To get a god damned drink," the man shouted over his shoulder as he disappeared into the neon-lit gloom of an always busy New York City.

Out of sight, in the deep dark shadows of the alley, someone stood silently watching.


The electric hum of a twilight New York vibrated on the September evening breeze as the concrete shadows lengthened with another day slowly ebbing away as its population continued on with the daily dance of life and living in the city that never sleeps.

Benny's Bar and Grill throbbed in a world of revolving neon with multi-colored spotlights rotating on their axis above the bright yellow comic sans sign that brightly advertised its business. Inside was a hive of bustling activity as its patrons sat at tables eating or at the bar drinking their free time away.

At the far end of that bar, a thick-set man with greying black hair wearing a dark charcoal jacket, black shirt, and denim jeans sat idly swirling the shrinking ice cubes in his glass of Scotch. Above him, hanging from a rusty hook was a framed faded billposter of a Victorian lady from the late 1800's with the words "Sometimes the thing we want most in life is the thing we least expect." underneath her smiling face.

"So then, Mr. Policeman, how many bad guys did you make wish da Mother had never met da Father today?" said a familiar voice with its heavy accent.

Thirty-year-old Joshua Allen Grant looked up at his old friend and rolled his eyes as he grunted and took another sip of his disappearing drink. "More than one is one too many, Larry," he sighed as he pushed his glass forward and watched the man top him back up, "Dear old Mom was right. Should have stuck in at school and become a Doctor or something."

Larry Novak, a tall, bald, bearded angular Lithuanian with a cute Korean wife and four well-adjusted kids, nodded as he screwed the top back on the bottle and put it on the bar beside his longtime friend and neighbor. "Not a good day to be da bad guy then," he mused as he polished another glass and examined it in the overhead lights.

"Definitely the wrong time to be the bad guy," said the Detective as he stretched, yawned and rubbed the ache in the back of his neck, "Once I drink this, I'm gonna go home, order a pizza, put my feet up and ask the big guy upstairs why he put so many dipshits in my life today."

The Bartender smiled. "Dealing with deepshits is what we do," he replied with a toothy grin, spreading his arm's wide, "You shoot dem and I get dem drunk so to take da money!"

Josh sat back and fished in his pocket for spare change. "It's the Twenty-first century, Larry," he sighed as he shook his head, "You'd think the human race would have got its shit in order by now. It's as bad as it was when I started out green as grass over ten years ago,"

He slipped wearily off the stool and slid his tab and tip across the bar, "Christ, Martha would be telling me to quit like yesterday and go find something less stressful," he said with a sigh.

"Your wife had da right of it, my friend," agreed Larry, "That Lady, bless her, knew her asparagus and cucumbers," the taller man told him, "Listen you, my dear friend Joshua. Today is almost finished. Gone. Kaput. Adios. Tomorrow will bring whatever it brings. Go home. Order dat big pizza with everything on top. Watch some tv and maybe instead of asking about those deepshits, ask da big guy upstairs to set you up with a hot date!"

Josh waved his hand as he walked to the exit. A hot date? Was he kidding? His last hot date had nearly put him in ER for a week. Fuck anything that moves Lt. Hank Geller was lucky he still had his balls after setting him up with that blind date. Jesus. H. Christ. The lady was wall to wall tattoos with an attitude to match. What do you say when the first thing out of your date's mouth after you've just finished your meal was "Do you wanna go for a fuck or a drink?" He pulled his coat tighter as he stepped out of the diner and looked up at the fading blue sunset as the world went on its merry and no so merry way around him.

Ah, hell. Why did he have to make life so damned complicated for himself? Maybe he was just the old-fashioned type set in his ways as his late wife always used to tell him.

Thinking of her always brought on that sad familiar ache deep inside his chest. It had been four years since his wife had passed. Four long years. How many dates had he been on since then? Way too many than was good for him that he knew. It had become a running joke over those years in his department whenever he'd been set up for another go around.

The problem was the more dates he went on the less he wanted to date. No matter who he went out with it all came down to one unquestionable fact. Nobody would ever come close to his Martha.

And if they did, whoever it was would have to be one helluva woman.


In the shimmering distance, the City of London sat sweating under a haze of mid-day smog that lent its rapidly expanding grandiosity a murky greyish tone.

The two women sat on the field of green grass a mile or two away from the outskirts of the Grand Old Lady thankful that the warm breeze was blowing in a South Easterly direction that carried away the foul stench of raw sewage and offal that always arose from the Thames and surrounding areas during the high heat of Summer.

Rebecca lay back on her blanket staring up at the deep blue sky as the clouds skudded by overhead. Closing her eyes, she nibbled happily on her ham and cucumber sandwich listening to the constant chirping of birdsong around her.

"I hear whisper the Headmaster has let his eye go a wandering again," said her companion who was examining a red juicy apple she had taken from the picnic basket the school cook had prepared for them, "The man is as keen as mustard on you I must say, Rebecca."

Her friend, Miss. Isobel Perkins was a volunteer who regularly attended various classes to assist the teacher in residence when required. Though she had no formal status within St. Clements, at the age of thirty-two, she had enough life experience to be of value no matter the subject at hand. In the short time they had known each other, they had become firm friends and spent time together both professionally and socially enjoying one another's company.

The younger woman rolled onto her front to see Isobel much amused staring at her. "That you find my situation so entertaining fills me with such sweet joy," she responded wryly, "From the moment I set foot into his domain he has been dancing around me like a love-struck puppy looking for a treat."

Isobel took an enthusiastic bite out of her apple. "Do you not fancy him at all?" she asked innocently, "In reasoned consideration, he is not wholly unappealing to the eye and he is a man of some means and station. No doubt he could offer you a comfortable life if you let him win you over. There are worse ways to spend the rest of your days."

Rebecca sat up and drew her feet under her. "Name one!" she said with laughing afront.

Her companion screwed up her face deep in thought as she took another bite before pointing a finger at her younger friend. "You have a point," she conceded, "But consider the security afforded if you were, all things being equal, to enter into a formal bond with such a man. Though I suppose the negative would be having to let him lay his ardor and hands upon you as a dutiful wife."

"Marriage?!" gasped Rebecca knowing that the older woman was teasing and enjoying her blushing embarrassment, "Hark at you with no ring on your finger. By the sounds of it you would have me wed with a brood running around my feet by the end of the day!" She shook her head and shuddered expansively, "As for the laying of his flesh upon mine. Heaven's no. The very idea withers the soul!"

Isobel waved the half-eaten apple between them as she tried to keep a straight face. "It was only a suggestion, petal," she smiled, "Since none of us have seen so much as hide nor hair of a suitor in your life. A Lady as pretty as you should have every Gentleman from far and wide knocking on your door at all hours of day or night. Gossip is rife amongst the ladies in the staff room don't you know."

"Is that so?" said Rebecca, "Then let those that are taking such a close interest in my affairs know that when said Gentleman comes into my life they shall be the first to know. But since no Gentleman so far exists or has interested me in the slightest their wait may be long and painful."

Considering her friend, Isobel reached into the basket and handed her an apple. "Sounds to me like you are waiting for the perfect man, my dear Rebecca."

Rebecca stared at her for a moment. "No, Isobel," she said firmly, "I'm not looking for the perfect man only the right one."


The man felt his dying wife put her warm hand to his right cheek as she whispered words of comfort and goodbye to him.

"Don't let this be the end for you, my love," she breathed softly as she felt his lips kiss the palm of her hand as she began to slip away, "I've had my time. You still have so much of yours to live. I know in my heart there will be someone else for you. Someone who will take away all the pain and sadness that you're feeling right now. I'm content. I've made my peace with everything. Know that I have cherished every single minute we were together and loved you more than words can say. You have to move on, Josh. Be ready when the time comes. You will know her when you find her..."

He looked up at his thirty-year-old wife lying there in the hospital bed as the final moments of her life slipped into a single tone that crushed the very breath in his chest as the woman he loved passed away.



"They say it is haunted."

Rebecca turned to her friend and made a face. "And who might they be?" she asked with a disbelieving laugh. Up the slope, on top of a small hill, was the silhouette of an old abandoned three story house built of brick and sandstone with a red tiled roof that marked the Northern most edge of St. Clement's ten-acre estate.

"Well," she exclaimed, as she reached into her bag, took out a wooden fan and began to waft her flushed face with it as they made their way around the boundary path, "Most everyone to be honest. Since the day I started here five years ago, the tale told of this place is always the same."

"How long has it been empty?" asked Rebecca as she took a sip of water from her small flask,"And who were the original owners come to that?" Ghost stories and tales of mystery always did tickle her fancy she mused as she looked up towards the top of the house to what she presumed was the attic with its angled four-paned window gleaming in the sun.

Reaching up to rearrange a clip in her thick brown hair, Isobel recalled what she knew about the history of the house. "From the telling," she said precisely, "Not much is known about the people who originally built the place and lived there. Gossip said they were a couple of some years who sometimes helped out with the caretaking of the school which had been built a number of years later. Then one day, to the surprise of those that knew of them, they simply packed up and disappeared. That was nigh on twenty-five years ago now and the house has remained vacant ever since," She bent forward and brushed down her long deep blue skirts that were flecked with dandelion seeds that fluttered endlessly on the breeze, "It is all very odd hence the story of spooks and ghouls."

Rebecca nodded. "Nothing like a mystery and the imagination to spin a story of the supernatural. A tale that gets taller with each whispered telling I think," She glanced mischievously at her companion, "Maybe we should take a look inside." she said brightly. Even though she had been employed for nearly six weeks now, this was the first time she had walked so far to the North and seen the empty house.

Isobel looked suitably alarmed and stepped back waving her closed fan at her friend who apparently had taken leave of her senses!

"Good heavens, no!" she gasped, "Are you of sound mind and sense?!" the older woman gabbled as she grabbed Rebecca by her right elbow and directed her person back towards the school buildings, "My Mother always told me to be wary of fate and never fiddle with its temptations. Such things are best left alone and let time take care of the answers. Forfend, Rebecca, you do so have the reckless touch about you sometimes. Come, it is nearly the top of the hour and we need to get back to prepare for the afternoon lesson."

Rebecca let her friend lead her away down the path as she glanced back over her shoulder at the empty house. There was something about it that tweaked her curiosity. Something she couldn't quite put her finger on. She shook her head as their conversation turned to more mundane things but the seed had been planted in her mind and she knew she would return to this place one day soon.


Through his open fourth-floor apartment windows, Josh sat in his worn easy chair eating his pizza watching the only place he had ever known slowly turn from a golden hazy twilight to a neon-lit blackness as another day in his life passed.

Another day doing what he thought was right. Doing good for the sake of doing good. A noble pursuit to rid the streets of bad guys and gals. He stared at his reflection in the glass as he took another drink and glanced up at the photo of his wife that was on the cupboard next to him.

Time may heal but for him time got slower every day. The ache was as bad as it had been when it all began those years ago and it had never eased or even looked like easing any time soon. That overwhelming sense of loss was going to eat him alive and as each day passed it was only getting worse. He shut his eyes and whispered "Martha."

He was stuck in a rut. His life was on hold and it was only his job keeping him together. Something had to change. He needed something to happen. Something to drag him back into the land of the living before he died the slow death he knew was waiting for him.


The still air smelled of time.

Wisps of dust motes floated effortlessly on diffused sun beams that streamed through the dirt covered glass of the attic window at the far side of the room. Rebecca took a tentative step inside and stopped as she looked around with her gaze drawn to the white painted door to her right. The door that had never been opened so the story went as told by Isobel as they had made their way back to school.

"A door without a key in a wall that leads to nowhere," her friend had said in a hushed whisper as she continued to spin those tall tales about the house.

A house she now stood in at the end of the following school day.

Rebecca took another step forward and looked down at the worn carpet that covered most of the floor. Turning her head, she could see her footprints in the dust and grime behind her. It had been a long time since this place had seen a cloth or a broom as she crossed over to the small table that sat beneath the only window. It was then she noticed some words scratched on the surface and bent down to see what they were. Some of the letters were worn away by time but the words were still able to be read.

"The key to everything is to imagine what isn't as what is."

The school teacher frowned.

It was some sort of riddle. "Imagine what isn't as what is?" she whispered as she felt a shiver suddenly run up and down her spine. The sun had slipped behind a blanket of cloud changing the palette and mood of the room from a golden yellow to a pallid grey. It was as if she had stepped into another world as she felt her arms suddenly bristle with goosebumps. Something had happened. Somehow the very atmosphere around her had changed.

Rebecca slowly turned to face the door and gasped out loud at what she saw.

In the lock was a key.


The young woman stared at the key that hadn't been there a moment before.

"Don't be silly," she murmured to herself as she felt her heart pounding in her chest. Of course, it had been there. It was probably just the light. The room suddenly felt a lot smaller than it had been as if it was forcing her in a certain direction to a specific place.

She took a step forward. Then another until she stood before the door.

Reaching out, she hesitantly touched the key with her fingers and drew them quickly back. It felt real. Like a real key. Taking another deep breath, she reached forward again and began to turn the key clockwise in the rusted lock.

It resisted at first, but then it turned with a loud click that broke the silence surrounding her in the room. A full turn and the door was unlocked. Now all she had to do was open it. Open it and see where it leads to. Taking hold of the wooden doorknob, Rebecca slowly pushed the door inward with a loud creaking groan that shook free a cloud of long-laid dust to leave her standing there in the opening wide-eyed with nervous anticipation.

Well, sweet Isobel, if there were any spooks, ghouls or ghosts in this place this was surely the place where they would be hiding. Just waiting for someone to open the door and take a peek. But everything was dark, still and silent with only the light from the window behind her casting her silhouette on the floor in front of her.

Wishing she had at least brought a lantern or candle, she stepped beyond the door frame and waited a moment before taking another step. And then another. She paused again to let her eyes adjust to the dark before continuing on. She had taken five paces when she noticed something was different. It felt like she was standing on some sort of black stone surface that was shining slightly from the light behind her and the very air she breathed had a sudden strange pungent aroma to it.

Another step and she realized she was in some sort of passageway with bare bricks either side of her. It was then she heard sounds in the distance. Strange sounds that were unlike anything she had ever heard before. What on earth was that? It was like a low buzzing hum mixed in with the odd hoot, honk, and grumbling rumble.

Unsure, she turned around to make sure the door was still there and open. But to her complete and utter astonishment, she watched as the door slowly closed with the key now inserted on the inside where it suddenly began to glow before it faded away and disappeared into thin air.

In a panic, Rebecca reached forward to where she thought the door had been and to her surprise both it and the key reappeared then disappeared again when she withdrew her hand. Despite her thudding heart, Rebecca smiled at the insanity of it all. Slowly, she turned back around and gasped at the column of bright lights flickering in the distance. She had no idea what they were but her natural curiosity would always get the better of her and she began to walk towards the changing colors.

As she made her way, she began to notice the things around her. A set of ladders to her right made of metal that was screwed to the wall and reached up high into the shadows above her. Then there were what looked like wooden boxes and metal containers piled against each other with litter and rubbish strewn everywhere.

Where was she?

That she was no longer in the house was obvious. The door was an opening to somewhere else. Somewhere completely different. For some strange reason, she didn't feel scared or afraid at all. Nervous, yes, but she felt no fear in herself or for her safety. She was approaching what appeared to be the entrance to a damp back alley and stopped suddenly as she saw shapes moving in those bright lights.

Shapes that looked like people. And some of those people were in strange looking boxes that moved this way and that growling like dogs as they did so. Glancing back over her shoulder, she felt a sudden surge of doubt come over her. She knew she should go back and return to the world that was her own but something stopped her. A feeling she couldn't put into words that made any sense. It was like a whisper that was telling her it was alright to stay at least for a while. Whatever lay ahead was a question she had to know the answer to and as she came closer to those bright lights and noise the world in front of her began to take vivid shape. She stopped in the shadows watching with her eyes wide with astonishment at what she saw.

This world towered above her with row upon row of lights disappearing far up into the darkness that caught her breath as she gasped with wonder. She was looking out at some sort of street which appeared to be lined with vibrant busy stores or shops that flickered and throbbed with multi-colored life. There was light and sound everywhere. Blue humming lights upon tall metal poles. Lights that lit up every window so that people could see the wares that were being sold. Lights that moved and rotated and shifted through different colors as they played a melodic tune. Lights that made up words that changed to become a sentence or slogan as strange music played in the background.

Rebecca looked up into the night sky and saw there were lights moving even up there. She had no doubt that once she had stepped through that door she had stepped into the future.

It was then she saw the commotion. Two figures running between those moving boxes with the second catching the first as they wrestled on the ground with hoots and honks filling the air. She froze and stood silently watching as her gaze was drawn to the man who stood triumphant over the other as the crowds stood watching.

What were they doing?

Suddenly the man raised his head and looked across to the alley where she was standing transfixed. Instinctively, she took a step further back into the shadows for she had the strangest feeling he was looking at her. She held her breath and stared back at him before he turned and walked away.

Rebecca let out a sigh of relief and gathered her wits for her heart was thudding loudly in her chest at the close call. She must be more careful lest events spiral out of her control and goodness only knows where such a calamity would lead her. Caution was the most important thing above all else and she knew she had to go back so that she could try and make some sort of sense of everything that had transpired.

Then she would come back.

As she made her way back down the alley from whence she came, there was only one thing on her mind.

Who was the man she had been staring at?


End of Part 1.

Continues in Part 2.

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