The Time Bubble Box Set

by Jason Ayres

  Was there another Amy, out there somewhere, living her life backwards, the way Thomas had? If there was, it seemed unlikely he would never find out.

  So, he had drawn two more blanks. This was becoming ever more frustrating. No matter what he did, who he saw, or where he went, he seemed destined not to find a way home.

  The only thing left to try was the time bubble in Cornwall. Heading back to the hotel, he pulled out his tablet and started looking for somewhere to stay in St Ives for the following night.

  Normally getting a room during the winter shouldn’t have caused too much difficulty, but he had arrived at a bad time. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve and nearly everywhere he tried was either booked up or closed. The few that did have places demanded payment by card, something he didn’t have.

  At last he found a cheap bed and breakfast who said he could stay in a single room if he paid cash on arrival, but there would be no breakfast on Christmas Day. That didn’t bother him; he just wanted a bed for the night and could take his own food. The B&B would suit his needs very well and at £40 a night wouldn’t eat too heavily into his funds. He committed to two nights and then got on with preparations for the journey.

  Checking his funds, he counted that he still had nearly £1,500 of his original £2,000. He had been exceptionally frugal up until now, but perhaps he could afford to spend a little more now on this trip. The currency he was carrying was not going to be of use to him much longer. Notes changed on a regular basis and soon he would arrive in a time when these wouldn’t yet be legal tender. What was he going to do for money then?

  He had at best two more trips with useable currency so it was time to start making use of it. To begin with, all of the clothes he had originally brought with him were now dirty and he didn’t have the time or the inclination to search out laundry facilities, so he went out to Primark and kitted himself out with three fresh sets of clothes. Once he was finished there, he went to stock up with provisions for the journey and for the following day. He didn’t want to get caught out with no food on Christmas Day, the one day of the year when no shops would be open.

  After a good night’s sleep he was all set for a bright and early start the following morning.

  By mid-morning, after another hearty breakfast at his usual café, he was on a train pulling out of Oxford station heading towards Reading, where he would change for Cornwall.

  The journey brought back memories of the time he had first gone down to the South-West on this same line in search of this same time bubble. That trip had taken place in heavy snow during the start of the Black Winter and the train hadn’t made it to the end, but he and Alice had got out and continued on foot. Eventually they had confirmed the existence of the second time bubble in the cave near Zennor.

  Thankfully today, like most Christmas Eves, was snow-free and he was able to enjoy the scenery on a pleasant, sunny winter’s day. At just after 3pm, his train pulled into the beautiful town of St Ives.

  He had been back here a few times over the years, and the views of the ocean never failed to take his breath away. It was stunningly bright, even in December, as the sun shimmered across the bay. He had heard it said that artists flocked here because the light was better than anywhere else in the UK. It certainly seemed that way today.

  Making his way down from the station into the picture postcard town, he wandered through a narrow, cobbled street. It was full of whitewashed fisherman’s cottages, now converted into holiday homes, cosmopolitan restaurants and art galleries.

  The streets were bustling with people as if it were midsummer; clearly this was a popular destination for Christmas, too. No wonder he had struggled so much to find a room.

  Locating his tiny B&B in a narrow street just behind the town centre, he got himself unpacked, cleaned up and ready to enjoy the evening. He knew that there was no point attempting to get to the cave today, it would be dark soon. He may as well relax and enjoy the evening.

  He dined at a gorgeous little restaurant at the top of some stone steps in front of the harbour, enjoying some locally caught fish. He then headed to his old favourite, The Sloop, for a few pints and some chat with the locals and the tourists, all of whom were full of Christmas spirit.

  The following morning, the serious work began. As he had anticipated, breakfast was hard to come by on Christmas Day, so he improvised with a cereal bar and a banana that he had brought with him, some free biscuits from the tray in the room, and a couple of cups of mediocre instant coffee. Just after 9am, he was out of the door and ready for action.

  A few well-wishers greeted him with “Merry Christmas” as he made his way towards Porthmeor Beach. He returned their wishes, although it felt rather hollow. He wasn’t feeling particularly Christmassy after all he had been through. Besides, it wasn’t even Christmas in his personal timeline. If he added all the time he had spent on this journey to the date he had left, it would be sometime in August.

  It was about a three-mile walk along the coastline to the cave, which was quite difficult to get down to, located as it was in a small cove near Zennor. He needed to get there as early in the day as possible as high tide was due just after 2pm. By this time the entrance to the cave would be inaccessible, cut off by the sea, and then he would have to wait until after dark for the waters to recede.

  What was he hoping to find when he got there? His best-case scenario was that the time bubble was there, and he could use it to jump forward to his own time. Hopefully then he could access the technology and materials he needed in order to repair the tachyometer, or even build a new one. Quite where he was going to do this without the resources of the university at his disposal, he hadn’t figured out yet.

  It was a plan fraught with pitfalls, like pretty much everything he had done lately. Even if the bubble was operational, it could end up sending him thousands of years into the future. He didn’t know the history of the bubble in this world, if it even existed, so he would be effectively jumping blindfold into the unknown. But then again, most of his jumps recently had been a bit like that.

  It was far more likely nothing would happen at all, because there was either someone in it already or it just didn’t exist in this world.

  The journey to the cave was a lot easier than the first time he and Alice had negotiated the snowbound coastal path on their first visit. In just over an hour he was rounding the small headland, opening up the view of the cove below.

  Remembering how Alice had fallen and hurt herself here, he was mindful of watching his footing at this point as he picked his way carefully down to the beach. The tide was still out, leaving him no difficulty accessing the cave. As he reached the beach, he could see it clearly, about a hundred yards in front of him on the far side of the beach.

  He hadn’t seen anyone since he had left St Ives, and hadn’t expected to. Most people at this time would be busy unwrapping presents and boiling sprouts. So what happened next was a complete surprise. He was no more than ten yards from the edge of the cave when a strange figure emerged from within.

  He was a teenage boy, no older than fifteen or sixteen. What instantly caught Josh’s eye was the unusual state of the boy’s attire.

  Unless he was taking part in some sort of pageant or being filmed for a historical TV drama, the lad could have stepped straight out of some past century. He was dressed in what would probably have been called Sunday best at the time – a white, frilly shirt with a notable ruff, a doublet over the top and a pair of brown, woollen breeches. His dress was even more historic than that of the people Josh had encountered in the Victorian-style world a few days ago.

  The boy looked fearful and was shivering in the cold breeze coming off the ocean, as the sea crashed into the rocks a few yards away, sending a fine spray of cold moisture over both of them. Josh noted that he wasn’t wearing any sort of coat.

  “Who are you?” asked the boy nervously. “Why do you wear such strange clothes?”

  Perhaps this lad really had come from hundreds of years in the pas
t. If he had, Josh’s clothing must look just as strange to him as his did to Josh.

  “Don’t be alarmed,” said Josh. “I’m a friend. My name’s Josh. What’s yours?”

  “My name’s Matthew. Matthew Trewella.”

  Matthew Trewella – the name rang a bell. Josh had heard it before somewhere.

  “What have you done with Morveren?” asked Matthew? “Are you a demon? Did you spirit her away?”

  His superstitious and fearful words left Josh in no doubt that this boy had come from long ago.

  “Relax, Matthew. I’m not a demon. Who’s Morveren?”

  “She is my love,” replied Matthew. “I came here with her after church. We wanted to be alone together so we went in the cave. Then she vanished. Why is it so cold?”

  It was obvious what they had come here for, thought Josh. It seemed teenagers were the same whichever century they came from. Josh decided to try and establish when exactly he had come from.

  “What time of year is it, Matthew?” asked Josh.

  “You don’t even know that?” asked Matthew. “It’s harvest time: we had our festival at the church this morning.”

  “And can you tell me the year?” added Josh.

  “Everyone knows that, mister,” said Matthew. “It’s the year of Our Lord, 1533.”

  What was Josh to do now? He had a person on his hands from nearly 500 years ago. That meant no jumping in the time bubble – it would send him almost a thousand years into the future. In addition, what was he to do with Matthew? He couldn’t just abandon him here. He would be completely lost in this century. He would have to try and help the boy, somehow.

  “Look, Matthew, I know this is going to be very hard for you to understand, but it’s not summer here or 1533,” began Josh. “Morveren I imagine is where you left her, in the cave. There’s a time portal in there, and it’s transported you forward to the year 2023. It’s Christmas Day, here.”

  Matthew had a perplexed look on his face, his primitive mind completely unable to grasp this concept.

  “You are a demon,” he said in a raised voice, starting to back away. “You brought me here, spirited me away from Morveren so you could have her for yourself.”

  “No, I didn’t, Matthew. It was an accident, but I want to try and help you get back.”

  “I don’t believe you!” he shouted. “I want Morveren. I love her. You said she’s still in the cave so I’m going back to find her.”

  He turned on his tail and ran back towards the cave, as the largest wave yet crashed close to Josh’s feet. The tide was coming in.

  “No, don’t!” shouted Josh. “You have to trust me.” He chased after Matthew, but he was too far behind. As Josh entered the cave, Matthew was too far ahead of him and before he could reach him, he vanished.

  In despair, Josh realised that Matthew had just leapt ahead to the next millennium. There was no helping him now and he had to get out of this cave before the tide cut him off.

  Leaving the cave, he trudged up the cliff path, with a crushing sense of failure washing over him like the sea over the rocks. This was turning out to be the worst Christmas Day ever.

  Chapter Sixteen

  August 2022

  A week had passed since the dramatic conclusion to his visit to the cave in Cornwall. After spending a few more days in St Ives, Josh had returned to Oxford, preparing to embark on his next journey.

  While he was down in Cornwall, he had uncovered some fascinating facts about his strange encounter on the beach. What he had unearthed solved a long-standing local mystery and explained exactly who the mysterious Matthew Trewella was.

  Looking up the name online, he had uncovered the story of The Mermaid of Zennor, an old English folk tale about a boy of the same name who had vanished, never to be seen again, many centuries in the past.

  The legend told of a beautiful woman who attended the church services in Zennor every Sunday. She was enchanted there by the beautiful singing of the young Matthew in the church choir. So entranced was she by him that one day, after church, she lured him down to the shore after which he disappeared without trace.

  Over the years, it became folklore that she was a local mermaid, known as Morveren, who had lured young Matthew there to live with her beneath the sea. Some claimed that it was possible still to hear him singing from beneath the waves.

  Now it seemed the mystery had been solved. Clearly there had been a Morveren, but Josh suspected she was just a mere mortal and the mermaid bit had been added later. The most likely explanation was that, like teenagers from any other generation, they had fancied a bit of nookie and gone down to the cave to have it off.

  Presumably that was when Matthew had inadvertently fallen into the time bubble. What had happened to the girl was anybody’s guess. Perhaps she had drowned in the cave or run away. It was interesting that her name ‘Morveren’ had come to be associated with the legend of the mermaid. How had this story evolved the way it had? Presumably it was just superstitious locals trying to make sense of Matthew’s mysterious disappearance and building the story around it.

  Josh didn’t like to think about what fate had ultimately befallen Matthew. Maybe he was now living in some incredibly advanced futuristic world sometime around the Year 3000. He hoped he had arrived safely, wherever he had ended up, and he hadn’t faced death by drowning, or encased in solid rock due to long-term changes in the shoreline.

  He couldn’t ponder much further on Matthew’s fate, not when his own situation was so perilous. If he didn’t want to find himself living back in the Middle Ages, he was going to have to either find a way out of this situation fast, or resign himself to living in the past. He was almost tempted to stay right where he was, in 2023. At least this was an era he had lived through, and the world was very similar to his own.

  What would happen if he jumped again into another unfamiliar or dangerous world? He would have to jump again and then maybe again. The years were going to start falling off pretty rapidly soon. It was like continually raising in a game of poker where you weren’t sure if you had the best hand. If he didn’t fold soon, he may end up going all in and losing everything.

  He mulled it over but in his heart he knew that, while there was still a chance, he had to try again. He would allow himself two more jumps and look for help in both worlds. If none was forthcoming and he was somewhere safe, he would stay put.

  Those two jumps would take him to August 2022 and October 2019. After that it would be 2014, by which time his younger self would be only thirteen years old and four years away from discovering the time bubble.

  The time bubble would almost certainly be inaccessible in 2014 in any universe. It was prior to the commencement of work on HS2 and would therefore be buried under the tons of earth and mud that had been gouged out to create the tunnel. There would be no chance of escape there. The situation was clear. He had two more shots at this, and that was it.

  He had used up a fair bit of money on his trip to Cornwall and was down now to about £800. To economise, he had finally caved in and taken a trip to a launderette on the Cowley Road. It was the first time in his life he had ever entered such an establishment and, after an entirely disagreeable experience, he vowed it would have to be his last.

  His money ought to be good for one more trip. After that he would have to find a way of getting hold of some older currency. Either that or find a way to make money some other way. Gambling was the most obvious option. As long as he arrived in a world not too different from his own, hopefully the results of major sporting events and horse races would be the same.

  In preparation for this, he went onto Wikipedia to check up on a few events, looking through the list of Premier League champions from the past few decades. Clearly this world was extremely similar to the original, as they all checked out as far as he remembered, including unusual results such as Leicester City’s triumph in 2016.

  It was definitely worth recording some of this information for when he went back to the past. He
spent the last evening before he left writing down the winners of various major events from 1980 to the present day. That would cover him for at least four jumps back in time in case the worst happened and he had to jump more than twice.

  He also noted down the results of the EuroMillions for the week after the arrival of his next couple of jumps. If he was destined to end up trapped in the past, he was going to make damned sure he lived a champagne lifestyle while he was doing it.

  Jumping from his usual spot behind the tree, his initial impressions were favourable. The skyline was as it should be and there were a few people around in the park – possibly not as many as he would have expected to see on a sunny summer morning, but seemingly nothing to worry about.

  It was only as he reached the High Street and began to walk up towards the centre that he began to get a feeling that something wasn’t quite right. Whatever it was, it niggled at him, but he couldn’t initially put his finger on it.

  Here, too, there were notably less people than normal around this busy part of town. The traffic was flowing freely, a rarity at anytime in Oxford, and the crowds of tourists were noticeable only by their absence.

  He also started to get an uncomfortable sensation that everyone was looking at him. Was all of this making him paranoid? He looked more closely. No, he wasn’t being paranoid – every woman he passed was staring at him. And then it clicked. They were all women. He couldn’t see any men.

  He began to panic, casting his eyes around him, desperate to spot a male face. Relieved, he saw a slim guy, aged roughly late-twenties, on the other side of the road. He quickly crossed the street and approached the man, hoping to engage him in conversation.

  “Excuse me,” began Josh, his intention to ask why there were so few males about.

  “Wow, look at you,” said the man, in a voice that didn’t sound quite right. It wasn’t low enough. “Where did you get your op done? You look fabulous. That even looks like a real Adam’s apple!”