by Sean McMahon
Hal swatted at a flurry of simulated snow, sending a gaggle of flakes into disarray, repelled by his body like he was an opposing magnet that gave them little choice in the matter.
‘What’s with the snow?’ asked Hal curiously.
‘I have no idea,’ said Malcolm, not wishing to mention that he always perceived it more like ash; a remnant from the eruption of the volcano that represented his long list of historic failures.
Hal and Kara spread out, unable to resist the urge to explore.
They were in an identical recreation of Fir Lodge. Identical in size, layout, and décor anyway. Notably, the lodge was entirely empty, with not a single person but the three of them roaming its halls. The balls on the pool table looked as if a game was underway; two pool cues suspended in place, one upright as if magnetised to the floor in a vertical position, implying an unseen individual was using it to prop themselves up whilst waiting for their turn to arrive. The second cue was suspended in mid-air, hovering motionlessly, an unseen echo seemingly halfway through taking a shot of their own.
The tip of the stick rested several millimetres above the blue baize cloth of the table, and despite being static, somehow managed to look as if it were poised for the motion that would follow, once the person wielding it was ready to proceed. Which was unlikely, as that person was presumably entirely out-of-phase within this particular slice of frozen time.
Hal slowly made his way down the corridor, past what was once his room, oddly drawn to Robert’s digs at the end of the hall.
As he arrived at the door, he reached for the handle, feeling with certainty that answers to a very particular question resided behind it.
There was a power behind the door. He could almost feel it.
Something vibrating with a temporal energy the likes of which even he had not encountered before.
Hal’s body shook, as he felt a large hand on his shoulder, and out of the corner of his eye he could see muted red sparks pinging from where Malcolm had made contact with him.
‘I wouldn’t go in there if I were you,’ warned Malcolm.
Hal scowled defiantly, but eventually nodded and followed his instruction all the same.
The two men made their way back to the communal lower level, and Hal panicked, realising Kara was nowhere to be seen. How long had he been at the other end of the lodge?
The thought brought with it larger concerns; his perception of the passage and flow of time as he knew it felt…a lot like being drunk. But the shit kind of drunk. The kind where you know you shouldn’t spark up a conversation about The Last Jedi in the urinals, but you do it anyway.
‘Kara!’ he shouted, his voice echoing up the staircase in front of him, the reverberations bouncing back towards him in reverse, as if the focus of the returning imitation of his own voice peaked with the first syllable, and faded into nothingness as he uttered the second part of his friends first name. An echo in reverse.
He shouted her name again, adding extra emphasis on the “K”, but the final “A” was once again all but hollow.
Hal sprinted up the stairs and sighed with relief, as Kara was walking in circles around the kitchen island that housed the cutlery, focusing intently on a four-inch-tall glass that was suspended mid-tilt, the contents of which a gross-looking black, with a viscosity reminiscent of melted candle wax. A grey straw jutting out from it daring those that found themselves here to take a slurp.
Kara was mesmerised. She knew when this was.
‘I think,’ she said, choosing her words carefully, as if pulling them into this realm would provide a rational explanation for her thoughts, ‘that’s me. Holding that glass.’
Hal looked confused, but knew better than to snuff out a ridiculous concept. In his experience, the more preposterous the idea, the more likely it was to be a game-changing fact in this barmy old paradoxical sarcophagus they were forced to call home.
Instead, he waited for her to continue.
‘I think that’s me, drinking the Bloody Mary I made.’ She thought back to that moment, which felt like an eternity ago; how she had made the drink to combat the hangover that had been sent her way via next day delivery, courtesy of mother-nature herself. ‘Which would make this…’
‘Saturday morning,’ said Hal. ‘Except there’s a pool game going on downstairs between Casper and the mum from “The Others” that would indicate it’s actually Saturday evening,’ he noted, his mind a complete jumble as he tried to shake off the nausea being brought on by his inexplicable drunkenness.
Kara extended her hand and pointed a finger, reaching out to touch the stick of celery that wasn’t a straw as Hal had first deduced, white particles of ashy-snowflakes spinning wildly to avoid her.
As her finger made contact with it, a sizzle of white energy caused her to recoil, the glass falling to the wooden table, the wax-like contents taking on the form of an oozing liquid instead, traversing across the wood, dripping over the edge, the droplets taking forever to reach the floor.
Kara kneeled down and placed her right palm under the slowly progressing droplet of vodka-laced tomato juice, which looked more like black coffee in its currently colourless hue. The droplet collided with her hand then, as quick as lightning, ascended back up the table, the contents retuning to the glass in a flash, culminating in the glass itself once more hovering above the central wooden island.
‘Was that deliberate, Sabrina?’ said Hal, wondering if she had actually willed that to happen.
‘Nope. And I’d gladly be a witch if it meant I was still in my teens,’ said Kara, pushing herself up from her kneeling position and dusting off her hands, the action generating faint claps that also echoed in reverse. Hal beamed at her, and they shared a look that signified a nineties-endorsed high-five.
‘Where the hell are we, Malc’?’ said Hal, turning to face the man who apparently knew everything, but seemed adamant to tell them nothing.
‘Fir Lodge, Harold,’ he replied smugly.
‘You’re the worst. You know that, right?’
‘And you are asking the wrong questions,’ said Malcolm enigmatically.
‘Okay,’ said Hal, mid eye-roll, ‘then riddle me this, Batman; When are we?’
‘Better,’ said Malcolm, clearly revelling in the theatrics, and extended his arms, gesturing outwards to their surroundings. ‘We are in every moment, in-between everything that ever happened during your time here.’
Kara frowned. ‘What? You mean all thirty-three-hours-and-change are happening…all at once?’
‘You’re not thinking big enough, Kara,’ said Malcolm.
Kara cringed at hearing him say her name. ‘Gross. Can you just…never say my name ever again please?’
Malcolm smiled, as if trying to increase her discomfort, but Kara just raised an eyebrow as if to indicate she wasn’t even remotely threatened, and his smug demeanour evolved into a furrowed brow, in a way only an apex predator who was losing his touch could fully appreciate.
‘Oh…oh wow,’ said Hal.
‘Oh, come on Hal, don’t be that guy,’ said Kara, who could tell he was blatantly gearing up for one of his patent-pending overly-dramatic reveals.
‘Be what guy?’ said Hal innocently.
‘I can tell you’re about to Obama this thing,’ added Kara, more than hint of a smile creeping onto her face.
Hal stood there, clicking his fingers at his side, the action generating the sound one would expect, only audibly manifesting backwards by the time it reached her ears, throwing her off balance a little. He then began to fidget further, shifting from foot to foot, until she finally caved and sighed at him, hung her head in futility, and half-heartedly fired a pretend bullet from her fingers for him to let slip the theory he was clearly dying to share.
‘I don’t think he means just the time we spent here whilst we were in-phase…’ said Hal, looking over at Malcolm as if seeking reassurance that he was on the right track. Malcolm’s nostrils flared unhelpfully, so the Restarter decided to just
run with it. ‘I think…he means every moment. Every restart, every possible outcome, it’s all happening in the same moment we’re currently occupying!’
‘Very good,’ said Malcolm.
‘Which means that this isn’t just a snapshot in time Kara, this is the crossroads that connects all of time. We’re in a freakin’ pocket dimension!’
CHAPTER MALFUNCTION
Pocket Full of Sunshine
R.I Timestamp Error: Recalculating…
System Error. Timestamp Failure.
'A what now?’ said Kara, wondering how her life had become so filled with terms such as Pocket Dimensions.
‘It's like a Fir Lodge Nexus!’ said Hal.
‘Please don’t make me say “what” again Hal,’ said Kara, growing increasingly frustrated by all of the made-up things she was being told were real of late. She was getting closer to the point of just sitting this restart out altogether.
‘You know, like in Star Trek Generations? Picard? Kirk? Riding horses for some reason. Back me up, Voldemort!’
Malcolm grumbled something unintelligible under his breath.
‘In his own idiotic way, he's right,’ said Malcolm in begrudged agreement.
Malcolm regaled them on how he had discovered this nook in reality. That upon ending his own life at the hospital, he had not freed himself as expected. He had, instead, re-materialised in a place between places. An identical recreation of Pentney Lakes, with what initially appeared to be one discernible difference; it was devoid of any other colour but white. For weeks – or perhaps months, it was impossible to know for certain – he traversed the landscape, until he began to notice that time was indeed free-flowing. The landscape would shift, and shadows would flutter in and out of sight. Eventually, he reasoned these were echoes of the past, re-enacting their own histories, entirely oblivious to his presence.
He had latched on to one such shadow, drawing on its miniscule amount of energy, refusing to allow it to vanish, his fingers drifting through the silhouette, until he found enough energy within himself to truly dig his claws into it. And when the apparition had finally disappeared, it had unknowingly pulled Malcolm along for the ride with it, bringing him back in-phase with a far more vibrant point in time.
It was purely by accident, during one of his attempts to pass through the boundary line, that Malcolm realised doing so no longer triggered a fresh restart for him. Instead, passing through that barrier brought him back to what he began to refer to as simply The White Lodge. Allowing Malcolm to try new shadows, taking him to new destinations, which he eventually realised were entirely separate restarts.
‘This is so awesome,’ said Hal, who was beaming with excitement. Never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined he would be witnessing something so fantastical, getting to see with his own eyes a pocket dimension that connected all of time. ‘Can we go check the garden?’ he said excitedly, eager to see more interactive dioramas of his own past.
‘Fine,’ said Malcolm. ‘But we don't have much ti–’ but Hal was already long gone.
Kara caught an uncharacteristic look of fear creeping across Malcolm’s face, as he arched over the banister of the stairs, as if looking for the early warning signs of…something, watching as Hal jumped down them three at a time.
‘What’s got you so spooked?’
‘It’s nothing,’ he lied.
‘Whatever,’ she said, following Hal down the stairs.
*
Having made it to the rear garden area of The White Lodge, Hal found himself fixated on what appeared to be a game of temporally-isolated beer pong; the grey cups with white trim angled oddly, clearly on the precipice of being knocked off by the floating white balls that were locked in time and suspended mid-flight above them.
Beer bottles and wine glasses lined the perfectly-white picnic benches behind him, some glasses raised and hovering, as if they were being held by unseen hands, which of course they were.
Meanwhile, Kara had become distracted by the game of pool that Hal had mentioned earlier, the floating pool cues vanishing, then reappearing in an instant, now in different positions. She reached out to one of the cues, touching it with her fingertip, and the cue sprang to life, potting one of the balls, then froze in time once again when she pulled her hand back warily.
‘Ha, this is pretty amazing!’ said Kara, noticing that Malcolm was now standing on the white shingle of the driveway, and went out to join him, weaving through several white cars. She glanced inside the vehicles as she did so, observing the pristine white interiors and unreadable number plates, due to the writing on the registrations being, well, as white as the plates they were printed on.
‘What are you looking for?’
‘Our destination…’ said Malcolm curtly. ‘There! Do you see it?’
She couldn’t see anything, thanks to the white sky and white trees which merged seamlessly to form an almost invisible horizon, looking increasingly like a blank canvas which only contained three-dimensional depth as you moved through it.
‘We need an anchor,’ said Malcolm, pointing into the featureless, fog-filled forest.
And then she saw it; wisps of red energy, that twisted and contorted until finally forming into a humanoid shape, energy flowing through a disembodied central nervous system that was gliding across the ground.
‘What is that?’ asked Kara, staring in apprehensive awe.
‘Me. Or, rather, a past version of myself. That’s who we need to lock onto, in order to align ourselves with his timeline.’
‘And that will put us in phase with the version of you we need to stop?’ asked Kara. ‘Can he see us?’
‘That is correct. And no,’ added Malcolm reassuringly. ‘He cannot see us.’
‘Well, that’s a relief.’
‘We need to find Harold, I’d prefer to leave sooner rather than later. You keep an eye on my past-self for me, would you?’ said Malcolm, setting off to locate their wandering colleague.
‘Sure, I guess.’
*
Hal came back in through the rear entrance of the lodge, having had enough fun witnessing the reality-bending re-enactments playing out before him out back, but once again found himself stopping outside Robert’s room, remembering Malcolm’s clear instructions not to go inside.
‘To hell with that,’ said Hal.
If Malcolm didn’t want him going in here, chances are it was because it held answers he didn’t want either he or Kara to possess.
Hal gently pulled down the handle, and pushed the door inwards, wincing at the sound of a deafening creak playing out in reverse.
‘Oh god,’ said Hal, as horror took hold of not only his body, but also his breath, causing his heart to pound.
A shiver rolled through him, as fifty or so faceless shadows – no not shadows, they had more substance than that – with skin as slick as oil, stood staring at the corner of the room. Hal realised that the creatures appeared to be focusing on the exact point where Peter had been pressed against the wall on the evening before their first death.
‘What the fu–’ muttered Hal, his involuntary whisper bouncing into what passed for the ears of the creatures.
The place where their ears should have been shimmered, like a small pebble being dropped into a cup of oily water, undoubtedly detecting his presence. Hal assumed these must have been the shadows Malcolm had mentioned; the ones he used to travel between timelines. Only they weren’t at all like Malcolm had described.
They were solid. And not in a “willing to help you move house” sort of way.
Hal swallowed hard, hoping against all odds that maybe, just maybe, they weren’t in phase with him. But that hope was immediately crushed by the bulldozer of bullshit that was the Callaghan Luck.
The horrific, faceless silhouettes span around in unison, their combined movement generating an amplified sound of a single synchronised footstep.
Hal slowly stretched an arm out towards the handle of the door, eager to close it to lock the
monsters inside. He stopped himself, his hand halting just before it reached the door handle, as each of the fifty androgynous beings before him mimicked his action, their arms now extending towards him.
He felt a prickle of electricity against his cheek.
‘Ouch’, said Hal, feeling a pinch of pain.
The creatures repeated the word in reverse, generating a noise that sounded far too much like a crescendo of the word “chew” for Hal’s liking. He watched in transfixed awe as the spark on his cheek slowly pulled away from him, all the way to the outstretched fingers of the nearest jet-black lifeform before him. As the energy connected with whatever the hell it was…
“He? She?” To be honest it became a moot point to Hal at that moment in time.
Regardless, as the blue spark of Restarter energy connected with it, the beast flicked its head back, squealing deliriously. The surrounding creatures huddled towards their brother or sister or significant other, seemingly desperate to absorb the scrap of energy Hal had unwittingly just fed them.
Realising the energy had now dissipated, the creatures slowly reasserted their eyeless gaze back towards the face of the Restarter, who was still standing on the threshold of the doorway.
‘Nope’, hummed Hal, quickly leaning in towards the door and pulling it closed.
He heard the beasts within collide against it, bashing furiously from the other side, each of them squealing and clawing, desperate to dig their knife-like talons into Hal’s self-described “too pretty for prison” flesh.
‘Malcolm!’ shouted Hal, as he was momentarily overpowered, the bedroom door being yanked away from him from the inside, creating a small gap that was just wide enough for sharp fingers to reach through. The nails dug deep into Hal’s hand, and he felt the weakening sensation of Restarter energy being drained from deep within him. Not dissimilar to how he had felt when making contact with Future Malcolm for the first time.
But much, much worse.
‘Oww! Piss off, Slender Man!’ snapped Hal, regretting the reference and making himself shudder once again.
