Destiny

From there he went to the birth, marriages, and death's index. In 1913, they had a son Fredrick and as far as he could see, he never married. The electoral lists confirmed they were still living there at the outbreak of war, but strangely the house was not even listed from 1949 onwards. Back he went to the BMD only to find that neither Alfred nor his wife was listed as having passed away, 'How strange.' Had they moved away? If so, why not take their belongings?

That only left the son Fred. he tried different avenues until he hit upon it in the local paper from that period. Fred had died sometime after D-Day it was presumed and was honoured on the local cenotaph, but with a body having never been found, he was listed as being "Missing in Action presumed dead." At the end of the article, there was a footnote that intrigued David, something about Fred's parent's disappearance several years earlier. It took a while, trolling through several years of newspapers, but Gladys was the first one he came across.

"Police are appealing for information regarding Mrs Gladys Philips, age fifty-nine, who disappeared around about March 25^th, 1943. Friends and workmates say they have seen nothing of her since that date and that she was due to retire in a few months. One friend told this paper that she had been suffering from depression since the disappearance of her husband Alfred eighteen months earlier. Anyone with information of her whereabouts should contact police on Colston 57672".

With an approximate date, it didn't take him long to locate the other article.

"Police are investigating the disappearance of Alfred Philips aged sixty-four after his wife told them he had failed to return home. Mr Philips, a railway engineer, was last seen shortly before setting off to go to work at the railway marshalling yards in Blackthorn, the neighbouring town to his home in Colston. Police are not treating his disappearance as suspicious because of the attack by German aircraft on the yards that evening. Several bombs hit their target and there were up to at least thirty casualties among the men working there."

So, that was it, with his parents gone, had Fred set out from here one morning, reporting for duty after a short leave and finding that several weeks later he was crossing the channel only to die as he and his comrades stormed the beach. David felt sad, what must have been going through Fred's mind, fighting in a war, no chance to say goodbye to his parents, and then facing the guns and carnage. The house had stood forlorn ever since, the gardens becoming overgrown and then turning into a jungle, people forgetting that a family had once lived there and then forgetting that the house had even existed.

Friday morning, he headed out again, still having the rest of the first floor to photograph as well as the exploration of the top floor. The bathroom and toilet were quick and easy, the master bedroom taking a lot longer. One by one, David laid out clothes on the bed and took pictures of them, especially the dresses, blouses, and skirts; drawers were full of old-fashioned underwear and proper stockings. The dressing table held a jewellery box, rings, necklaces, and broaches, he had no idea in any of them were valuable but photographed the contents anyway. Thankfully, the third bedroom looked like it wasn't used. The bed was made up, but the wardrobe and drawers were empty. As each room was completed, he pulled the blackout curtains closed, protecting the contents, and remembering that at the time, a war was going on.

On the top floor and by the attic room door, he had to use the torch to re-attach the lock because it was so dark. he'd expected either a single room or maybe two, what he was faced with was a passageway, very narrow and very dark. From the door, it turned left for about eight to ten feet and then turned right, running what felt like the length of the house, he found it claustrophobic, the air feeling stale and surprised as he came across the first door. Inside the largish room, the ceiling sloped from standing height to less than four feet at the far end, a board covering the small window that nearly met the floor and ceiling. Taking it away allowed daylight in and allowed him to see the rows of shelves that lined the two walls.

One snap followed another, there was an old-style slide projector and several boxes of glass slides, shining his torch at them, quite a few seemed to be scenic views. There were several box camera's, a model aeroplane, partially completed, its struts and members made completely of balsa wood. An old dartboard, the darts themselves with proper feather flights, wicker and lacquered whatnots and other pieces of old furniture. Working his way around, he came to a large biscuit tin, a painted Christmas scene on its lid. Prising it open he was astounded to find money, white five-pound notes, green pound notes and brown ten-shilling notes, nowadays all worthless other than to a collector.

There were also bags of coins, shillings, two-shillings, and half-crowns. A quick rough count and he estimated that the tin contained upwards of nearly five hundred pounds, enough back then to buy you a house or even two or three cars and now sadly, un-spendable. Nevertheless, David took samples of each, probably about fifty pounds worth, a memento of his discovery.

Having photographed all the contents of the room he returned to the passageway, moving along slowly by the light of the torch until a brick wall was facing him and found another door to his right. As his hand rested on the knob, he suddenly got a sense of foreboding, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. As much as he wanted to explore, suddenly he had an irrational fear of opening the door. he must have stood like that for several minutes before removing his hand and checking his watch. It was midday already, 'time for a brew,' he thought, turning around as he retraced his steps, went downstairs to the kitchen, and retrieved his flask. Away from the attic, he immediately felt better, dusting off the table and one of the chairs as he sat and had his lunch. It seemed that he lingered over his break, unable to raise the enthusiasm to return to that last attic room.

As it was the weekend tomorrow, he'd take a break and return fresh on Monday. Perhaps he'd tried to do too much all at once, it wasn't like he was a young man anymore, better to have a rest and start again the following week. Packing up his stuff, there was one last check, making sure all the windows were covered once more. In the kitchen, he'd come across a black painted board which he supposed was for the window in there. Fred probably hadn't bothered when he left that final time, there wasn't anyone in the house to shine a light out into the darkness.

David spent his weekend seeing his kids and grandkids, though he did not disclose his discovery. He was still jealous about it, wanting to keep it all to himself for a while. Once the news was out, he was sure there would be many who wanted to take a look, or worse still, many who wanted to help themselves. he couldn't allow that to happen before the house and contents could be properly catalogued and secured.

A good night's sleep Sunday night had him ready and eager to go on Monday morning. The day was looking to be decent, and he waited before heading out, giving locals time to be on their way to work and then after that, those who were heading out to the shops. Dressing casually, he chose a polo shirt and some jeans, with the path he'd cut flattening down each time, he dispensed with boots and chose trainers instead.

Sliding his arms into his Harrington jacket, he made sure he had his phone, torch, spare batteries, and camera bag. A quick double-check, patting his pocket to ensure he had the keys and then off he went, a nice sedate walk. He hadn't bothered with flask and sandwiches today, most of the work now done, it was just that final room and then he would secure the house and make his way home, he'd already looked up the number for the secretary of the local history society and would give them a call once back home and invite them to visit him to learn of his exciting discovery.

Normally on each of his visits except the first, he'd entered by the back door. Having given the lock on the front several squirts of oil and worked the new key in the mechanism several times, David decided that as this was his last time, he would enter by the front door. Inching his way around the building, he had to tramp down some of the nettles and brambles that were threatening to take over once more, eventually arriving at the main entrance and placing the key in the lock. It turned smoothly and although the door still stuck a little, a gentle shove had it open.

No messing about today, he went straight through the house to the kitchen and up the rear stairs. The front staircase only led up to the first floor it seemed, so perhaps the rear ones had been for servants at one time he pondered, perhaps the attics rooms had been their quarters. With torch in hand, he advanced along the passage until he reached that final door, the sense of foreboding returning as soon as he placed his hand on the knob.

Taking a deep breath, he turned it and pushed the door open. Inside the room was pitch black, a deeper type of darkness than in the passage or other rooms. It was the type of darkness he imagined you experienced underground when you turned out your light, your eyes straining to see where no light permeated. The torch beam didn't seem to penetrate the blackness properly as he inched into the room, as though the batteries were failing despite the fact, they had been replaced that morning. He had a mental image, the room had to be similar in size to the one next door, all the while inching forward with his arm outstretched. For the first time in many years, he felt scared, no, it was more than that, he felt fearful.

Goosebumps covered his body, the hair standing up on the back of his neck and a building compulsion to turn and run. He'd counted his steps, the last room had been about fourteen paces and so he should be approaching the far wall as he began ducking his head, remembering how the previous one sloped. The sudden sharp pain in his chest was intense, as though someone had him in a bear-hug, squeezing the life out of him. Struggling to breathe and continuing to inch forward, the weak beam of the torch surprisingly picked out another door. It was with a sense of relief that he turned the knob, if there had have been anything in this room it was impossible to see, and presently, all he wanted to do was get out of there.

The door opened into a passageway, the beam of light suddenly increasing in intensity. Turning right into the passage, he again felt he was walking the length of the house. At the end of the passage, he turned right and suddenly found himself at the top of that second landing.

David felt sick to his stomach with legs like jelly. He couldn't breathe and sweat prickled every inch of skin as he rushed down the stairs back to the first landing. If he didn't sit down in a minute he was going to fall over and pass out he was convinced. Stumbling into the master bedroom, he threw himself onto the bed and closed his eyes, finding himself panting and the world spinning due to his dizziness and disorientation.

He had no idea how long he'd lain there for, perhaps he'd dozed. Whichever it was, when he opened his eyes, he felt refreshed and full of energy, better than he'd felt in a long time.

'That was it. he was done. If there was anything in that last attic room, someone else could explore it!'

As the thought permeated his mind there was another niggling notion. At the top of those stairs and with the door open, he'd been forced to turn left...... which should have meant on his return journey...... a right turn back to the small landing.

He'd done a left turn back to the landing...... but that was impossible, there was only one door that opened against a brick wall. It felt like he had gone around in a circle, but the wall by the door made that an impossibility. Shaking his head, he put it down to the darkness, disorientation, and sickness he'd felt, but presently was not inclined to go back and check.

Getting to his feet. he closed the bedroom door and for once headed for the main staircase and down into the hallway. It felt sad to be leaving as he opened the front door and stared back into the house, when he turned around again, what confronted him sent a shock wave through his body.

David stood rigid, his mouth hanging open as he looked out to the front garden. It was overgrown but nowhere near as bad as it had been when he first arrived. He could still make out what had once been flowerbeds on either side, the shrubs and plants, unattended, had gone wild, weeds growing among them whilst what had been the lawn was several feet high and filled with nettles and brambles It wasn't as large as he'd expected and he could just make out a gate at the far end which opened onto a jungle of tree's, overgrown bushes, wild grass, weeds and more nettles and brambles.

'What the fuck was going on?' When he had arrived, it had been completely overgrown, there was no way people had been and done work in the last few hours without him hearing the noise. Starting to feel scared, he slammed the front door shut and locked it, dashing through the house to the back door and faced with another astonishing sight. The rear garden like the front was overgrown, but not to the extent that it had been. The path through it all that he had cut was now gone and poking out over the growing disarray, was the top of an "Anderson" shelter and nearer the house, the roof of a garden shed.

David very nearly shit himself, his mind trying to work out an explanation and failing to do so. A sudden thought, 'Had someone been here while he was in the house?' Hurriedly locking the back door, he bulldozed his way through the undergrowth, receiving stings and scratches as it fought back. In amongst the tree's, he'd had to find an alternative route, until breaking through he'd nearly run into the barbed wire fence. It was, with relief that he slid beneath it and stood in the field, feeling better as he made his way back towards the gate. Out on the main lane, everything looked the same and yet different. Walking up and down, what would have been the entrance to the house looked as impenetrable as it always had done. He and his friends had been correct, it was a fight not worth taking as he rubbed at the wounds and scars, he'd sustained just trying to escape.

The camera bag over his shoulder was safe and he checked his pockets making sure he hadn't forgotten anything. The walk towards home was full of surprises, firstly, he didn't feel tired or out of breath, it was as though he had a spring in his step but irritatingly, he kept having to pull his trousers up as they seemed to be sliding down all the time. Secondly, the streets looked somehow, slightly different, he eventually worked out what it was, there seemed to be an inordinate amount of older vehicles along the roadsides that he passed. He did not need to go into the actual centre of town, using the side streets and alleyways which would take him home. That was when he got the biggest shock of all.

Walking past the row of houses, David turned into the cut-through that would bring him onto the next street, all he had to do was cross over the road and then down his own street and home. He came to an abrupt halt, shock freezing his features and a strange sensation working its way up and down his spine as his legs started wobbling. Standing on the pavement, he looked across the road. There was no street opposite, there were no houses opposite, he was staring at the entrance to the old, abandoned cotton mill that still occupied the site where his bungalow should be. He slumped onto the garden wall behind him as his mind whirled, a strangled cry issuing from his lips. 'What the fuck was going on?'

When at last he did find the strength to stand upright, he couldn't stop his hands from shaking. His brain was trying to make sense of what his eyes were seeing and making a bad job of it. In a daze, he started walking in the direction of town, traumatised as his brain tried to work out a rational explanation for those impossibilities. Only now was he beginning to notice the true differences, This wasn't the town he had inhabited these last few years, this was the town of his youth. Buildings that had been torn down had reappeared, shops names that he remembered were back in situ.

David stood, eyes wide as he looked up and down the high street, memories flooding back of being a youngster. Places and names he had forgotten, suddenly there in front of him and as large as life as he managed to put one foot in front of the other and set off up the hill. He had managed half its length when a voice called his name. Turning slowly, he looked at the woman approaching him and then his eyes were full of tears, misting her image.

'Hiya David, where have you been to? Is that a new camera setup I see there? You been out wandering again, enjoying your week off?'

David picked the woman up and hugged her, twirling her around as he held her close. It was his mum! She laughed when he put her down. 'Well, I've never had a reception like that, are you ok?' she asked him, noticing the tears in his eyes. David couldn't speak, his voice refused to work, his mother had been dead for over twenty years.

She patted his cheek, giving him a look of love, 'Don't forget, teas at five o'clock. What are you wearing, those clothes seem too big for you? Anyway, I must get on, I've just got some bits to pick up.'

And then she was walking away from him, down the street as his shaking became acute. There was a bench on the opposite side of the road, set back between two shops and he just managed to make it across before his legs gave out. It took quite a while before he felt he could stand again, glancing at his reflection in one of the shop windows. The face that stared back wasn't his, it was, but it wasn't, it was the face he'd had nearly fifty years ago. He was coming up to sixty-eight, but the young man that stared back could only be nineteen or twenty. It was hard to tell, his memories from that period were hazy now, a mishmash of images and events but in no particular order.

He remembered where he'd lived previously, his parents' home, as he set off in that direction. What was happening to him? This morning he had been an old man, now he was a youngster again and his mum was still alive. He couldn't remember receiving a bang on his head, surely this was a figment of his imagination. As a teenager, he couldn't remember what he did yesterday, as his true self he could remember all of the things that had happened in his life. He had set out to explore that old house, the one everybody had forgotten about, what had happened there to change him? Even though he had been there that morning, the hidden house suddenly felt like a distant memory.

Arriving at his parent's home, he'd had to knock on the door, how long ago was it since he'd had his own key? 'Forgotten your key again?' He stared at his sister Carol, she must have been about seventeen or eighteen, and as cheeky as he remembered her. As she stood to one side so that he could enter, he hugged her and kissed the top of her head. She stared at him suspiciously, 'Are you feeling all right?'

It was the same throughout that evening, everyone receiving that same intimate hug from David as though he hadn't seen them for years. His father received the biggest hug, it had been nearly forty years since he had passed away and David had missed his influence. On the outside he was calm, inside, his mind was in constant turmoil. When his dad had finished, he'd borrowed the paper, it was March nineteen seventy-two, he would be twenty this year and was reading news items that had long been forgotten.