Short Story: The Time Travel Logs
Yarm, England.
My dearest companions, I thank you for following my travels across the wild and wonderful countryside.
Be it my battle against the Beast of Brixton, or swimming across the wild waters of Warwick, I am pleased that this journal has allowed me to mark my experiences. Even I would not believe these tales were they not written in my own hand.
I hope my regular day-to-day discoveries have not bored you, but if so, this entry may be of far more interest. Unfortunately, I cannot say for certain that this is for good reason.
Yarm is a market town and civil parish in the borough of Stockton, surrounded by the River Tees. The name Yarm is thought to be derived from the Old English gearum, meaning, “pool for catching fish.” It sounds ordinary, but my travels have proved that this statement could not be further from the truth. Be wary of Yarm, my friends, be very wary.
It is down to this very river looping around the town that I found myself in a rather peculiar situation…
See, I was rowing along the river, watching the wildlife that surrounded the banks, until my boat floated towards a large viaduct at the town’s border. The 2,280-foot-long railway viaduct is a pinnacle of Yarm’s historical architecture, built to support the county’s great industrial trading community, so I gazed up at it with fascination. It is definitely a sight to behold, and its arching legs reflect in the water most beautifully, creating the image of a circle upon the water. Forgive me for sounding presumptuous, but I believe this circle to be the reason for my experience in this town. At the time, I joked to myself that this reflection was some sort of portal, but now I fear that this is no joke.
As my boat approached the viaduct, it was a sunny day. There were voices and laughter all around the area, an ease that only the beginning of Spring can bestow. But when my boat slipped under the arches, I felt a sudden tossing and turning, which I assumed to be a product of the currents underneath such a large bridge. Oh, how they shook me! Distracted by my desperation to remain in my vessel, I did not fully take in my surroundings, but I could spot a dazzling light out of the corner of my eye. One may assume it to be the sun, but this light created colours that I do not think the sun is capable of producing! I would have attempted to record these colours were I not so concerned with keeping my belongings out of the watery depths, but believe me, my friends, they were magnificent!
Once my boat had thankfully righted itself, and I made it out from under the viaduct, I sighed with relief, believing that to be the most precarious event of my current journey. But that was not to be the case.
I noticed immediately that there had been a shift in my surroundings. It was not freezing, but the sun had disappeared, as too had the cheers and laughter. There was a silence in the air, one that chilled me to my very core, and my first thought was to immediately turn back. But I had faced greater challenges than cold quiet before, so I rightfully swallowed my uncertainty and instead turned my boat in the direction of a dip in the riverbank.
Once I had successfully tethered my transportation to the bank, I spotted a sign which confirmed that I was now, officially, in Yarm. I had never been here before, but as I consider myself to be a knowledgeable explorer, I knew of it. I had heard stories of its marvellous fair each year, along with its devastating floods, which would explain the large number of flood gates surrounding the area next to the river.
I noticed a nearby pathway that would lead me into the heart of the town, so I gathered my belongings – bar my lunch - and began to make my way into that heart, which took the form of a high street. And what a magnificently built high street it was! Situated on a small peninsula, it easily evokes Yarm’s historical aura. The straight-lined street and its cobbled walking areas are fronted by many multi-coloured Georgian-style buildings with red pantile roofs. Phone Booths litter the area, and flowers hang gracefully from rooftops. I can only imagine what acclaim this street has brought to the town!
But I was not solely here to admire. In the centre of the high street stood a Dutch-style town hall, which I imagine would amuse the ordinary traveller as its structure was akin to that of a child’s dollhouse, as was its size, if I may jest. But while quaint, this hall struck fear into my own heart, as there was a clock at the spire of the building, which stated that the time was 3:22 in the afternoon!- This was when I knew for certain that I had travelled far further than simply along the river, as it was the early morning just before I had reached the Viaduct! While my heart pounded against my ribcage with a mighty fervour, I managed to remain composed, for I knew that there was no point in panicking until I had gathered further information.
The problem, however, was that there were no large crowds or establishments to gather information from. Shop doors were shut, some even barred. The roads were only travelled occasionally. It was quiet. Too quiet.
There were people, of course, but they stood apart from one another, and made little noise. I wonder what had affected them so, for they seemed to be going about their business in the most ordinary way that they could, but they had a weariness about them that I could not help but pity.
What was most fascinating to me was that they all had pieces of fabric tied to the lower half of their faces, as medical professionals do, though many citizens had masks that were far more brightly coloured and patterned than your average doctor’s. I couldn’t help but stare as I passed pedestrians, which led me to overhear a few comments.
“I just want to travel again, or go to a party, you know?” one woman muttered to another. The comment confused me, as I had been able to travel just fine, goodness I had travelled here, so what was preventing this for other people?
Something must have happened, because the air about this town suggested that this had once been a lively, warm place. I even guessed that this warmth was not lost that long ago, one could see remnants of life from signs that littered store windows, whispering encouraging messages of how this situation shouldn’t last too long. I made it my business to get to the bottom of what this situation might be.
I made my way back to the boat to collect the rest of my things, as I now planned to stay much longer than I had intended. But to my horror, it was not where I had tied it! I looked around frantically, wondering if it had been procured by hooligans of some sort, but instead I found it floating along the river by itself!
I dashed frantically alongside it on the riverbank, and attempted to grab it with a large stick that I had procured, all to no avail. I prayed to God before I made my next drastic decision, and I leapt off of the riverside, flying through the air momentarily, and into the boat! I am only thankful that I made it, despite getting one of my legs rather wet.
My boat would not stop tossing and turning no matter how much I attempted to steer it to shore. It would not stop until we were heading underneath another arch of the viaduct, and when I tell you, my friends, that I was both apprehensive of and intrigued by what could happen in equal measure, I am not being facetious.
Sure enough, there was another flash, another session of shaky water, and I was once again transported to - and I am aware this may be a difficult thing to believe but - a different time! You may wonder how I was able to decipher this new change so quickly, but it was simple: the sky was sunny once again. I could hear laughter and voices. For a moment I wondered if I had returned to my own time, but the air still felt different.
For the second time, I tied my boat to the shore and made my way back into the high street. The clock on the town hall now stated 4:12pm, which confirmed my assumption of time travel. I noted that plaques below the clock included markers at various heights, which indicated the levels of floods that have affected Yarm over the years. The highest marker, from 1771, is seven feet above ground! This is clearly a town that has known struggle, and I assume that it was through their resilience that they had made it to this happier period in time.
For people did seem happier. There were far more of them around, at least; shops and salons were bustling with patrons. It was as if the town had never been abandoned! School children ran through the streets gleefully, only pausing slightly to look me up and down with confusion. It was only then that I realised how out of place I must have looked to the town’s inhabitants, but I was too enthralled to take much mind of it.
Footsteps and feverish conversation littered the air, and I found a much more prominent spring in my step, as opposed to my cautious gait in the town’s prior situation. And there was even a Sainsburys, which I never thought I’d see there, what a delight that was!
I was very tempted to step into the supermarket, and also the library, as I imagined that any literature I were to find would be infinitely useful to my travels. But alas, one thing I had noticed was that the face coverings, of which I possessed none, were still prominent, and it seemed that one would not be able to enter an establishment without one. I instead contented myself by sitting on a bench and studying the people’s interactions.
The liveliest conversation was coming from a tavern in the middle of the street, which had outdoor seating stretched across the entire footpath and the nearby cobblestone areas. People were even sitting on window sills and door nooks, as if the pub was the place to be. I enjoyed seeing them all drink heartily and slur words of affection for their surrounding group of acquaintances, as if they had been unable to attend an event with one another for a long while.
This joy was interrupted momentarily when a rather burly man was ushered out of the tavern. I initially assumed that he had had too much to drink, but he seemed rather sober whilst yelling at the owner. From what I could gather, the man had refused to wear a face covering, and was now angry that his access to the tavern had been denied.
“I just want to have a drink!” he yelled from the street, “Lockdown’s over, I’m entitled to a drink! Or at the very least a meal!”
Many customers whispered nervously, and I even considered stepping in to assist, but the owner stood his ground, and bravely did not heed the man’s intimidation attempt. Eventually the man stormed off, and conversation returned to its usual level. I have to imagine what could make one so furious over a tiny piece of fabric. Fascinating, utterly fascinating.
I mostly enjoyed my time sitting and observing, which I did for several hours while eating my lunch. I wish to say that this was the end of my troubles with Yarm, and that the gloomy atmosphere of the high street had been overcome. But despite the positive changes, I unfortunately must tell you that there was still an aura of unease. The feeling is rather hard to put into words; there was a sense of hope in the street, but a fearful one, as if the place could potentially go back to the dark way that it had once been. I once again felt great pity for this town, and planned to figure out some way that I could help.
I began to formulate plans in my head of how to help these people. I attempted to recall similar events from my previous travels, in the hopes that any of them would provide an answer. My happening with the hysterical Hull or my plight with the savage pigs of Plymouth came to mind, but they didn’t quite give me the answers that I was looking for. I looked through the reading material that I always brought, revised maps and historical artifacts that I carried. But this was all to no avail. There was nothing that could be applied to Yarm’s situation.
But I was adamant something had to be done. Travellers are allowed to remain impartial to the events they witness, but not I. One has a duty to their fellow man. So I eventually decided that, as nerve-wracking as it was, taking yet another shaky trip through the arches of time was my best bet.
I would be the hero. I could save this town, and subsequently humanity, from its destruction.
I quickly headed back to the boat, stepped inside, and let the current pull me once again towards the viaduct arches. The boat once again began to toss and turn as a blinding light appeared, letting me know that another time jump was about to commence. I held my resolve, along with the sides of the boat. I assumed that since I was now expectant of this shaking, I would be able to maintain my composure. However, the waters appeared even wilder than usual, and I was almost thrown out of the boat several times! Eventually, it became too much, and I decided that it was best that I abandon ship rather than get dragged down with it!
Holding my belongings above the water, I swam to the shore once more, and watched as my boat crashed against the walls of the viaduct, shattering completely. I was glad that I had gotten out when I had, though I was concerned about how I was essentially trapped here in this time. Do not worry my friends, I was able to get back eventually, but that is a story for another day.
There were more important matters to attend to. I dried myself as best I could on the riverbank, and swiftly made haste back towards the high street. I checked the time on the town hall clock, which read 5:17pm, and prepared myself for what else lay in store on that street. My time-jump held more answers potentially, but I was fearful of what could have awaited me. The progress the town had made last time felt so tentative, things could have now gotten worse. I imagined restaurants closed down for good, shop roofs caved in, wild dogs running rampage as people hid in their homes from the horror of the outside world. I held my notebook at the ready and calmed my nerves, finally giving a proper look at my surroundings to see that…
To my utter confusion, everything seemed fine.
Shops and restaurants were running perfectly well, their doors open. People joyfully ate their meals and drank their wine. Feet walked the streets, and a lively chatter remained in the air. The sun poured down from the blue sky, lightened by a gentle breeze, and the public noise was only matched by the cawing of seagulls. The atmosphere felt like what I assumed it had always been.
Okay, not everything seemed back to normal. People were still wearing face coverings and there was still chit chat about the desire to return to full normality, but there was no immediate danger to overcome.
I could only stand there. There was nothing for me to do. Nothing really for me to fix. To be honest, dear readers, it was all a little anticlimactic.
But I think that was the point where the purpose of my journey stood up and looked me in the eye. I realised that this journey, as outlandish as it was, was one for me to observe, rather than control.
There was nothing wrong with me asking questions, though. I decided to request an explanation from a Yarm local directly about what had happened. I walked up to a man heading out of the bakery (bakery attendees tend to be rather good fellows,) and asked if he would be so kind as to tell me what had transpired over the past months that I had been there. At first, he was confused at my lack of knowledge, especially as he admitted that the troubles had been going on long before I arrived, but after I told him that my questions were for research purposes, he began to tell the tale of Yarm’s plight, along with the rest of the world’s.
He explained it all, and it was rather frightful to hear. I imagine it would have been even more horrifying had I been able to decipher him fully; he spoke in rather strange words that I did not understand, but an experienced traveller knows to accept local dialect, to fill in the gaps, in order to obtain the information required - in many cases this has saved me.
When he was done, I only had one question left. “So, now that you have this new medication, and the streets are unmasking, what will you do?” I was curious about how life could continue to change from this day, were I to jump through another time loop. “Will you go travelling? Host a large banquet? Attend a ball, even?”
The man laughed and shook his head. “No,” he said, “The only thing I want to do - the most important thing of all - is to go to my mum’s house and hug her.”
These events had taken me on a whirlwind of emotions, so I gave into temptation and asked the good man where one may find the best drink on the street. He directed me to a lovely little tavern called the Black Bull, where I sat down with a delightful glass of brandy, and watched peacefully as friends walked side by side in the sun.
My dear followers, it seemed that my fears for Yarm may have been false ones. Or at least, my assumption that there was an underlying horror that I could stop with my traveller’s knowledge. I did not stop the terror that had plagued Yarm throughout all of these time jumps. I was as vulnerable to the troubles as everyone around me had been, and could not be its saviour. It seemed like the passage of time, and the resilience of these people was what brought this town to its salvation. This salvation was a delicate one, yes, but if there’s anything I’ve learned from my travels, it is that one can always remain hopeful that even the wildest of journeys can still end with the most delightful of destinations.
And I have also learned that I really need to get a better boat.
END
This piece was commissioned for the Hive 2021 “Our Streets Unmasked” project, which involved writing a piece based on our local area during the recent global restrictions.
The stories were then recorded and made into podcast episodes, which can be listened to below.