The Day I Found a Wormhole at the Bottom of the Garden

by Tom McLaughlin

  “AAARRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

  Billy took another breath. “Yep, I think that should do it … who are you and why are you in my garden? Do you live underground? Why are you dressed like Queen Victoria and where did you come from, under the ground? I know I’ve already asked that, but I feel it’s quite an important question, so therefore I’m going to ask it twice. I also might do another scream.”

  “One is going to chop orf your head!” the lady snorted as she dusted the soil from her dress. “Who are you and whot are you doing in my ceiling?”

  “What ceiling? It’s a garden!” Billy said, standing up. “You can’t just chop off people’s heads. You can’t and won’t! I have a weapon!” He reached into his backpack and grabbed what he thought was his gardening fork, only to find he’d thrust out an apple.

  “This is no time for a picnic,” the lady said, looking around her. “Guards! Have him thrown in the tower! He tried to steal my crown – the cheek of it all.”

  “What? No, I did not!” Billy yelled.

  “SHAKESPEARE, ATTACK HER!”

  he shrieked, turning to the dog, who in all the excitement had gone for a wee.

  “Goodness, is that a rabbit?”

  “No, he just has rather large ears, that’s all. He’s actually a French bulldog … wait, why am I explaining this to you? You want to kill me! Look, I didn’t steal your crown; it was stuck in the mud.”

  “Nonsense, one was sitting down, about to enjoy a bowl of piping hot sausages, when everything went a tad orangey and a hand appeared in my ceiling – a newly decorated ceiling, one might add – and tried to grab my crown. You, sir, just tried to overthrow the monarchy, therefore your head will be chopped orf. Now, where are those guards?”

  “Wait, you got the orange-light thing too? I thought it was just me. The crown, I swear, came out of the ground – look it’s got mud on it, as have you. See that big hole behind you? That’s where you appeared from, I promise. Granted, you were also attached to the crown, but, honestly, I’ve never stolen anything in my life! Please, I need my head. I have a hat collection! All I wanted was to find some treasure.” Billy paused. “Who are you really and why are you dressed like Queen Victoria?”

  “One is dressed like Queen Victoria, because one is Queen Victoria. The question should be: why are you dressed like that?”

  Billy looked at himself. He was in normal clothes, ones that you can buy in any shop – well, apart from the wellies, which were a bit weird. Billy looked at the Queen, then he looked at the ground. Was she joking? It seemed fairly unlikely that she would bury herself in the garden for years, dressed as a dead monarch, just waiting to play a trick on him. Could she be telling the truth? Billy decided there was only one way to find out. He’d just been doing the Victorians in history, so he had a few facts up his sleeve and he was prepared to use them.

  “What year is it?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.

  “1882,” Victoria said without hesitation.

  “Who’s the Prime Minister?”

  “Gladstone … frightful man, always yakking on about this, that and the other,” she answered. So far, she was correct.

  “OK, what’s your favourite thing to eat?”

  “Pies, of all kinds.” She in turn narrowed her eyes.

  “What’s the best present you ever got?”

  “Does India count?”

  “Hmm, what’s your favourite TV show?”

  “What’s a tee-vee?”

  “Drat, you even beat my trick question!” Billy said. “OK, OK, so say you are Queen Victoria, how did you get to here, 2019?”

  “Well, one does not know what number your house is,” Victoria huffed.

  “No, that’s the year,” Billy said.

  “What are you talking about? It is 1882! Time cannot go forward … well, of course it can, but not like this … can it?”

  “I don’t know, but somehow you’re here … from the past.” Billy shrugged. “Maybe time can go backwards too?”

  “One has had enough of this conversation,” Victoria shouted.

  “TAKE ONE HOME! I ORDER YOU, TAKE ONE BACK!”

  “Well, I’m not sure it’s that simple…” Billy said, sticking his trowel into the ground and peering into the muddy hole. “Oh dear, what are we going to do?”

  “We? We?! One did not do this! You did!” Queen Victoria yelled. “Now, take me home before one chops orf your head oneself!”

  “Err, now, don’t do anything crazy…” Billy said, as the Queen strode towards him, her face pink and angry. “There’s a nice Queen.”

  “YOU! COME HERE AT ONCE!”

  Queen Victoria yelled and started running.

  “Argh!” Billy squealed and ran down the path. Victoria, despite her advancing years, and technically being well over one hundred and thirty years old, was fairly sprightly. She hurdled over the boggy bit and dashed past the blackberry bush – her little legs working twice as hard to keep up with him.

  Billy bolted through the patio doors, jumped over Nan’s legs and ran up the stairs. Shakespeare, thinking this was the best game ever invented, decided to join in as well, and the three of them bounded up the stairs to Billy’s bedroom. There was nowhere else to run, so Billy hid under the bed, hoping that it would all go away – a method that he’d used fairly successfully over the years.

  “Whot is this place?!” Queen Victoria bellowed as she burst into the room. “And whot have you done with my beautiful palace?”

  “Leave me alone! Get back in your hole!” a muted cry came from under the bed.

  “Is one … hiding?”

  “No…”

  “Is one under the bed?” Victoria said, sticking her head under the frame and coming face-to-face with Billy.

  “AAAAAAARRRRRGHHH!”

  he yelled again.

  “Well, that’s not very British, is it? Listen, you rogue, I am Queen of an unstoppable empire – an empire that will live for thousands of years!”

  “Hmm, I wouldn’t bank on that.”

  “Whot?”

  “Err … nothing.”

  “Then get up, man! One needs to go home!” Victoria bellowed. “It’s a Saturday, which means it’s pie for supper, so pull yourself together and get me orf home!”

  “You’re right.” Billy slid out from under his bed and dusted himself off. “I shouldn’t be hiding. I need to fix this. I’m the one who dug you up and I need to put you back in the ground again, so to speak. Hang on, what’s this?” Billy said, spotting an old comic under the bed. “I thought I’d lost this ages ago! Well, this is certainly a good day for finding stuff.” He smiled at Victoria. Her face didn’t flinch.

  “Sorry, it’s probably not a good time to read Adventures Through Time and Space, is it? Wait a second … this is just what we need!” Billy whooped in delight.

  “What are you going to do with it? Roll it up and use it like a hammer to thwack one back into the ground?” the Queen snapped.

  “No, it’s just an old comic book, but look at the front.” Billy pointed at the cover. “Look at the picture!”

  Queen Victoria scowled at it, then her eyes lit up. There was a spaceman climbing through a hole in the ground, with light pouring out of it.

  “Does it remind you of our situation at all?” Billy asked.

  “Yes, but this is a work of fiction. How can it help?”

  “It is fiction, but the science is real,” Billy said, smiling. “It’s a wormhole!”

  “A wormhole?” Victoria snorted. “One’s empire is down a wormhole? That will never do!”

  4 p.m.

  “Whot is that?” Victoria asked, looking at the strange contraption on Billy’s desk.

  “It’s a computer, for research – all good plans start with a good Google.”

  “Well, for goodness’ sake, nip orf to the lavatory and have a good Google in private!”

  “No, a Google is something else. I just need to press…”

  “Oh, whot
is that?”

  “It’s a button that turns on the computer,” Billy replied.

  “Whot is that?”

  “It’s a mouse—”

  “A MOUSE! ARGH!”

  “No no no, don’t hit it with my cricket bat! It’s not that kind of mouse.”

  “Oh, how many sorts of mice are there?”

  “There are ones for computers and, err … all the others.”

  “Whot is a computer again?”

  “Right!” Billy snapped. “I realize that you’re from another dimension and this is completely mind-blowing for you, but I can’t explain everything just now. This, in case you hadn’t noticed, is an emergency and I’m doing my best. I need to look something up on this machine, which is like the world’s biggest library, and I make it work with a button and a plastic mouse. Now, if it’s OK with you, I need to get on,” Billy said, firing up the computer.

  “Well, there’s no need to be rude … I am your Queen awfter all.” Victoria sniffed, perching herself on the end of the bed and sitting on her hands like a scolded child.

  “Well, technically, you’re not – we have a different one in this time zone,” Billy said, still tapping away on the keyboard.

  “Oh, really? Well, one does not want to be Queen of this time zone. Mice are treated better than monarchs! Nothing makes sense. I mean, what even is this supposed to be?!” Victoria said, holding up a big pink piece of rubber.

  “It’s a whoopee cushion,” Billy said mid-Google.

  “Whot does it do?”

  “Well, you blow in it and then sit down on it.”

  “Why?” the Queen said, blowing it up.

  “You’ll see…”

  Queen Victoria, with her newly pumped-up cushion, placed it on the edge of the bed and gently lowered herself down onto it.

  BRRrrRRRRRrrrrrrRRRRRRR!

  The sound of a comedy fart filled Billy’s bedroom.

  There was a moment of silence.

  “That sounds like a…?”

  “I know,” Billy said. “That’s the point.”

  “My goodness … how horrid!” She paused. “One is going to do it again.”

  BRRrrRRRRRrrrrrrRRRRRRR!

  There was another moment of silence before the distant rumble of laughter began in Queen Victoria’s belly. “BHAHAHAHAHAHA!” she cackled. “Oh, this is marvellous! It reminds me of my Albert after a pork-pie session. How wonderfully silly.”

  “Aha! I’ve found it!” Billy said, having finally landed on the right bit of research. “Wormholes,” he said, showing Queen Victoria the computer screen, “are like helter-skelters—”

  BRRaaaaAAAaaAA!

  The sound of a whoopee-ed fart vibrated out once more.

  “Terribly sorry,” Victoria said, putting the whoopee cushion down.

  “Wormholes are like helter-skelters through time and space,” Billy carried on, “so you could fall down one hole in one place and end up in another place in space and time. Err, then it mentions a lot of maths and science stuff that I don’t really get. What else … oh yes, it says that while wormholes are real, no one has ever seen one in real life. Wow, that’s exciting! I wonder how one ended up at the bottom of my garden? Anyway, it says that once one has opened, it may well keep getting bigger and bigger … that’s a bit annoying.”

  “So whot do we do now? Can you ask the mouse to go and fetch information on how to close the wormhole?” Victoria asked.

  “Yes, well, I don’t think that’s going to happen. No one has ever seen a wormhole in real life; they’ve just written about them,” Billy said, scanning the screen.

  “Like pixies?” Victoria smiled.

  “Sort of like pixies, but imagine if pixies could travel through space and time.”

  “Oh, so not really like pixies at all then?”

  “No, not really.”

  Woof! Woof! Woof! Shakespeare suddenly barked.

  “What is it, boy?” Billy said, looking at Shakespeare as he sniffed and barked at the window. Billy ran over and pulled back the curtain. “Uh-oh.” He sighed, taking a deep breath.

  “Whot is it?” Victoria asked.

  “The orange light … it’s back,” Billy said, staring down at the bottom of the garden.

  “Oh, how terribly exciting! I wonder who’s popping in for tea now?” Queen Victoria said.

  5 p.m.

  “Does this woman ever wake up?” Victoria asked, as she, Billy and Shakespeare hot-footed it back through the living room.

  “Nan? No, not really. She has her TV, the big box thingy,” Billy said, pointing at Antiques Roadshow, “and so long as it’s switched on, she stays sound asleep.”

  Victoria gazed at Windsor Castle on the TV. “Get out of my house!” she cried at the top of her voice.

  “THOSE INTERLOPERS ARE IN ONE’S HOUSE, LOOKING AT ONE’S STUFF!”

  “Would Your Majesty please shut up!” Billy said. “Later. I’ll explain later—”

  Suddenly there was a loud wail and a thumping sound in the garden. Billy and Victoria looked at each other and scampered through the patio doors, back towards the hole where Victoria had popped out. They squeezed past the bush, just in time to see a small legion of Roman soldiers fly out of the ground, as if they’d just come down a bumpy slide at a local fair.

  They yelled in turn as, one by one, the soldiers flew out of the hole, landing in a heap on top of each other until they were stacked like a pile of pancakes.

  “One … two … three … four … five,” Billy counted and sighed. “I guess it doesn’t matter whether I’m sending one person back through space and time, or six. Hello!” he cried out, speaking slowly like he did when he tried to talk to the locals on holiday. “I don’t suppose you’re all on your way to a fancy-dress party or this is all part of a huge joke that you’re playing on me?”

  “Why are you speaking the English? Where are you from? Where are we? Who’s that lady? What’s happened?” A volley of questions came from the top of the pile of pancakes.

  “Tell me, were you looking down a hole when things got a bit … weirdsy?” Billy asked.

  “I do not understand this word ‘weirdsy’,” answered a man dressed in full Roman centurion clothing. “But yes, one moment we were in battle formation; the next, we were falling. I am Atticus, leader of my men, centurion in the Roman Empire – the greatest empire in the history of the world!”

  “Whot now?” Victoria piped up.

  “You all speak English?” Billy asked.

  “I do. The other lads, not so much,” Atticus said, lowering himself down from the pile of soldiers and straightening out his helmet. “I was stationed in England for a year as leader of the road-building division. It was very hard work, all those curvy roads took a long time to build and caused many accidents.”

  “You should have tried building straight ones,” Billy said, thinking out loud.

  “Well, that is a good idea,” Atticus said. “I might mention it to the boss, Caesar – although he seems to have gone a bit quiet lately—”

  “Excuse one,” Victoria interrupted. “You were saying something about the Roman Empire?”

  “Yes … the greatest empire in the world,” Atticus said, pointing to the stack of dishevelled soldiers.

  “TAKE THAT BACK, YOU SCOUNDREL!”

  Victoria cried, rolling up her sleeves. “Otherwise, I’ll give you whot for!”

  “Well, I think we’re getting slightly off topic,” Billy said, trying to keep the peace.

  “Bring it on indeed, lady! Who are you and what business is this of yours? Women know nothing about what it takes to build an empire…”

  “ORF WITH YOUR HEAD!”

  Victoria screamed, lurching straight for Atticus’s throat with her tiny but pointy hands.

  “Right, now who wants to go first?” Billy said in his firm teacher voice, a voice normally reserved for when Shakespeare had stolen his slippers to do something unspeakable to them behind the big chair in the living room. “I can wait
all day, you know. I don’t have to be anywhere … I’m happy in this dimension.” He drummed his fingers on the dining-room table.

  “It just feels weirdsy to say ‘I am sorry’. I mean, one is a Queen,” Victoria said, looking down at her feet and avoiding eye contact with Billy and the mildly duffed-up Roman soldiers.

  “Violence is never the answer,” Billy said, looking at Atticus.

  “Well, we pretty much hope that violence is the answer. Otherwise, we’re all out of a job!” Atticus chuckled.

  Billy raised an eyebrow, his not-to-be-messed-with eyebrow. “If you fight as badly as you build roads, then you might well be,” he snapped.

  “Fair point… Maybe if the Queen says she’s sorry, then we can promise to not get too violent – even though, actually, if anyone’s the mean one around here, it’s her,” Atticus said under his breath.

  “I’m … sorry?” Queen Victoria said, trying her best to do as she was told.

  “It would be helpful if you didn’t say it as a question.” Billy sighed.

  “I’m sorry…” the Queen murmured.

  “No, say it so we can actually hear it.” Billy tutted.

  “I’M SORRY!”

  Victoria finally cried. “One didn’t mean to beat you all up. It’s just that empires are very personal things.”

  “That’s OK. We’re sorry for…” Atticus started.

  “Teasing you,” Billy said, helping out.

  “Yes, for teasing you. We also realize that we should all be a bit more grateful to Billy, who’s doing his level best to try and help us all,” Atticus finished. There was a murmuring of agreement from the rest of the soldiers.