step and actually walk outside? He checked his watch and saw that it was seven fifteen, or at least seven fifteen inside the Painted Lady. What time it was in the backyard was anyone's guess.
The would-be time traveler collected himself once again, glanced at the exterior door, and considered his options one last time. He patted his shirt pocket, felt the key, and decided to take the plunge. He picked up the second brick and walked to the door.
Mark hesitated only a moment before turning the knob and opening the door. He withdrew for a few seconds as daylight hit him hard and fast. When his eyes adjusted to the light, he stepped through the door, placed the second brick between the door and the jamb, and advanced to the first of twenty brick steps. The steps rose about ten feet to ground level.
Mark noticed something different the minute he got his bearings. The stairway looked clean and new – or at least restored. No weeds shot up between the bricks. No cracks marred the steps.
The collegian noticed something else too. It was raining. A steady drizzle fell from a light gray sky. Just minutes earlier, the sky had been cloudless, blue, and bright.
Mark took another breath and slowly ascended the stairs. Though he heard nothing unusual and certainly nothing that might cause alarm, he felt apprehensive. He was literally stepping into something new and unknown. He had no idea what awaited him.
Mark reached the top of the stairs thirty seconds later, walked to the center of the spacious yard, and stopped. He spun around, gave his surroundings a 360-degree inspection, and let the reality of the moment sink in. He raised his arms to the sky.
I did it! I really did it!
No matter where he looked, he saw something new. The lawn was plush and surrounded by a six-foot cedar fence he had never seen. A riding mower occupied a covered space near the house. Something that looked like Sputnik protruded from the roof. Even the Painted Lady looked different. It sported a fresh coat of latex and upgraded windows.
Mark saw a sign that read: THIS HOUSE PROTECTED BY SENTRY 2000. He did not, thankfully, see one that read: BEWARE OF DOG.
He felt a knot form in his stomach as the truth of his situation slowly set in. Mark Ryan, a college senior in 1959, was no longer in 1959. He was in another time and maybe another place. Percival Bell had been no lunatic. He was a man who had possessed an incredible secret.
For a few minutes Mark walked around the yard and basked in his surroundings. He noted sights he hadn't seen before and sounds he hadn't heard. He marveled at the sight and sound of a massive twin-rotor helicopter that roared over the mansion.
Mark wanted to explore. He wanted to see the world beyond the lawn of his once and present home. He looked for a way out of the fenced yard and saw two possibilities: a gate in front and a gate in back. The latter provided access to a neighbor's backyard.
Mark started toward the latter but stopped when he heard a tapping sound. He turned around, looked at a large paned window in the Painted Lady, and saw a young woman look back.
The woman frowned. When she lifted a small object, pressed it against her ear, and pointed at Mark, as if ordering him to stay put, he panicked and ran. He ran toward the house, down the stairs, and to the door he had propped open with a brick.
Mark opened the exterior door, grabbed the brick, and slammed the door shut as he entered the tunnel. When the flickering lights told him he could advance, he did just that. He opened the interior door, grabbed the other brick, and shut the door behind him.
He didn't bother to see if anyone followed. He ran through the dingy basement and up the stairs to the main floor of a home that looked comfortingly familiar.
Mark reached a recliner in the living room just as a clock on the mantle chimed and signaled a quarter past the hour. He collapsed in the chair, caught his breath, and stared at the wall. At seven fifteen on what
The would-be time traveler collected himself once again, glanced at the exterior door, and considered his options one last time. He patted his shirt pocket, felt the key, and decided to take the plunge. He picked up the second brick and walked to the door.
Mark hesitated only a moment before turning the knob and opening the door. He withdrew for a few seconds as daylight hit him hard and fast. When his eyes adjusted to the light, he stepped through the door, placed the second brick between the door and the jamb, and advanced to the first of twenty brick steps. The steps rose about ten feet to ground level.
Mark noticed something different the minute he got his bearings. The stairway looked clean and new – or at least restored. No weeds shot up between the bricks. No cracks marred the steps.
The collegian noticed something else too. It was raining. A steady drizzle fell from a light gray sky. Just minutes earlier, the sky had been cloudless, blue, and bright.
Mark took another breath and slowly ascended the stairs. Though he heard nothing unusual and certainly nothing that might cause alarm, he felt apprehensive. He was literally stepping into something new and unknown. He had no idea what awaited him.
Mark reached the top of the stairs thirty seconds later, walked to the center of the spacious yard, and stopped. He spun around, gave his surroundings a 360-degree inspection, and let the reality of the moment sink in. He raised his arms to the sky.
I did it! I really did it!
No matter where he looked, he saw something new. The lawn was plush and surrounded by a six-foot cedar fence he had never seen. A riding mower occupied a covered space near the house. Something that looked like Sputnik protruded from the roof. Even the Painted Lady looked different. It sported a fresh coat of latex and upgraded windows.
Mark saw a sign that read: THIS HOUSE PROTECTED BY SENTRY 2000. He did not, thankfully, see one that read: BEWARE OF DOG.
He felt a knot form in his stomach as the truth of his situation slowly set in. Mark Ryan, a college senior in 1959, was no longer in 1959. He was in another time and maybe another place. Percival Bell had been no lunatic. He was a man who had possessed an incredible secret.
For a few minutes Mark walked around the yard and basked in his surroundings. He noted sights he hadn't seen before and sounds he hadn't heard. He marveled at the sight and sound of a massive twin-rotor helicopter that roared over the mansion.
Mark wanted to explore. He wanted to see the world beyond the lawn of his once and present home. He looked for a way out of the fenced yard and saw two possibilities: a gate in front and a gate in back. The latter provided access to a neighbor's backyard.
Mark started toward the latter but stopped when he heard a tapping sound. He turned around, looked at a large paned window in the Painted Lady, and saw a young woman look back.
The woman frowned. When she lifted a small object, pressed it against her ear, and pointed at Mark, as if ordering him to stay put, he panicked and ran. He ran toward the house, down the stairs, and to the door he had propped open with a brick.
Mark opened the exterior door, grabbed the brick, and slammed the door shut as he entered the tunnel. When the flickering lights told him he could advance, he did just that. He opened the interior door, grabbed the other brick, and shut the door behind him.
He didn't bother to see if anyone followed. He ran through the dingy basement and up the stairs to the main floor of a home that looked comfortingly familiar.
Mark reached a recliner in the living room just as a clock on the mantle chimed and signaled a quarter past the hour. He collapsed in the chair, caught his breath, and stared at the wall. At seven fifteen on what
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