Lights in the Distance

The children, all twelve of them, made their way through the darkened mansion. It was 10:00 PM, the time that, on their first day here, they had been told was to be designated as "story hour." The oldest two led the procession, lighted candles atop golden candle holders grasped in each of their right hands. They stopped periodically, to make sure none of the others had wandered off or gotten lost, especially the youngest. It was a real concern considering the maze-like layout of the estate. Fortunately, this time, they made it to the library without having to send out any impromptu search parties. All of the staff were asleep, so they'd be on their own if they had to.

In the library, before a great and blazing fire, itself situated inside a grand and ornate fireplace, sat their grandfather. Adorned in a red robe and gold slippers, eyeglasses perched upon his nose, he stared at the flames silently as his descendants shuffled into the room and dutifully took their places on the floor around his grand leather chair, just as they had done every night during their Christmas "vacation" at Timberridge.

For a few moments more he watched the dance of the fire, while the winter storm raged outside. The children hoped, quietly, that it would end before Christmas day. They, understandably, didn't want to spend the holiday cooped up inside, like they had been for the past few days.

Finally, and perhaps because he had settled on what he wanted to talk about, or how he wanted to tell it, the old man turned toward the assembled, and started to speak.

"This is your sixth night here, at Timberridge," he began. "Each evening I have told you one fantastic tale after another."

"First, there was my discovery of a remote, hidden island full of beasts once thought to be long extinct, along with its tragic sinking beneath the waves of the Pacific Ocean shortly after I had made my escape via seaplane.

"Then, there was the time I rescued the love of my life, your grandmother, from a pack of fiendish centaurs, who had stolen her away from me and sought to make her the bride of their chieftain! I know you especially liked that one, Mary, as it ended with the story of our wedding."

Mary, the oldest of the girls, blushed and giggled.

"Next, I told you of the epic saga of me and my compatriots' (including your grandmother) successful battle against the cartoonish invaders of a parallel reality, bent on nothing but the destruction of our own! And all because, in their world, there were no cartoons, and they found live-action programming so boring!"

"Then, our subsequent adventure in which we saved the Soviet Union and all its people from the wrath of Jack Frost! That was the last time any nation ever conducted nuclear tests in the Arctic Circle, and for good reason! We came close to meeting our demise in that one, if you all recall, if not for the timely intervention of a mysterious figure that I'm still not convinced wasn't an ancient Norse god in a mortal disguise.

"Finally, last night, I told you all about my personal battle with a witch from Eastern Europe, whose demise I still find myself entirely doubting in the late hours. She was only one of my many rivals from over the years, though she was my sole female one. I always found that fact interesting"

Some of the children exchanged excited glances at one another, an acknowledgment of the thrill and awe that each of their grandfather's stories had inspired within them, that had lasted beyond the nights and still burned brightly throughout the days.

"Yes, account after account, each more fantastic than the last. And yet, all true. Your parents all doubted me at the time, too, when they sat where you are all now. Of course, they've now all gone on to have adventures themselves, many of which have been even more extraordinary than my own!"

Their grandfather's tone became more sober, and a shadow drew across his face.

"But none are more terrifying than the events I am about to relay to you tonight, I regret to inform you. I am sure of it. I know some of you are not quite old enough for this particular story, but I want you to hear it from me, and I don't know how much longer I have left in this life before I join your grandmother in the next."

"So, please forgive me if you have nightmares tonight. But also always keep in mind that fear is sometimes justified, and I would never scare you if I didn't have good reason too."

He paused then, and the house shook under the force of the howling winds. The ornaments on the Christmas tree in the corner of the study rattled delicately. Some of the children huddled closer together for warmth. The house creaked above and below under the strain of the elemental force outside.

The children were no longer looking forward to this particular story.

...

It was the day before Christmas Eve. I had gone into the city to go shopping for presents. I was on my own, not even having requested the assistance of a driver, as I thought the long ride there and back by myself through the countryside, what you might call "the long way," might do my mind some good after the stressful events of the previous few weeks. I'll tell you about that particular ordeal tomorrow, don't worry.

I was on my way back - successful, but lighter in my wallet - when things took a turn for the strange. I was driving on one of the many back roads through the forest when, out of seemingly nowhere, a snowstorm hit. While the radio hadn't mentioned any snowstorms on the forecast for the day, let alone one of such severity, I didn't think much of it at the time. It's not like they hadn't been wrong before, of course.

I tried to make my way through the blizzard, inch by painful inch, but even after a few minutes, it was clear that I was headed for a car accident under the conditions, and on such a particularly curvy and treacherous road. Nor could I simply stop the car and wait it out, as I did not have nearly enough gas to last the night, which was quickly approaching. I was relieved then, to see a small wooden sign with the name of a town inscribed upon it: "Noel", it was called, and the arrow below it indicated all I had to do was turn off the main road I was on to reach it. Not wanting to crash or freeze to death, that's what I did.

After about fifteen minutes of driving, I finally saw the lights of Noel in the distance, faint as they were. Green, red, and white they sparkled, fitting both the namesake of their origin point and the time of year. My mind, involuntarily, conjured images of my destination: rows of single-family homes, each with a lit Christmas tree in one window, while lights glittered from their roofs and shingles. With any luck, there'd be a small hotel or Bed and Breakfast where I could wait out the storm. And if not, well, hopefully they were a generous people.

A few minutes later, I was driving down the main street of the village. But it was not as I had pictured it at all: it looked as if no new structures had been built there since the late 1800s! But this was obviously a small, rural community, I told myself. I never should have expected to see what you might call "modern development." And, again, I was still in the middle of the gall, and had to find some sort of lodging, so beggars can't be choosers. But, along with the unexpected storm, the lack of weaponry on my person, enhanced or otherwise, was beginning to feel like more and more of a problem. I had simply experienced too much over the course of my life to not be concerned.

At the end of the main drag, I spotted the only building that had any lights on at all. To my relief, the headlights of my car illuminated a sign outside it that read "Bed and Breakfast." I parked in front, behind another car (the only other one I had seen in hours), and went hurriedly inside, bracing myself against the bitter cold.

In the foyer, lit only by a candle sitting atop the front desk, I met two brothers, who, like me, had found themselves trapped in the middle of the sudden storm. They were much younger than myself, however, and had been traveling back from college together for the holiday. Their names have been long forgotten by me now, but some details remain: they were only a few years apart in age, about the same height, and had the obvious physical builds of athletes. This will all be important later.

Despite our predicament, they were in good spirits, and we all agreed that we hoped that the wind and the snow would stop before morning, so that we would not risk missing Christmas with our families.

The owner of the establishment then emerged from somewhere deeper in the house, dressed in her nightgown and holding another candle, obviously not having expected any more customers so late and with the current weather. She was a plump, kind-looking woman in her early 40's, and introduced herself as Agnes.

"Did the power go out?" I asked her, looking at the candle. She didn't answer. I wasn't sure if she was being rude, or didn't hear me, but I didn't want to press my luck with her, considering this was seemingly the only available lodging in town.

I paid for a room for one night. It only cost a quarter! And when I handed the coin over to her, she held the candle up to better inspect it, as if it was in some way strange or new to her. But then something changed, and the look of confusion I had just observed plainly on her face was suddenly gone, and she placed it in some hidden pocket in her gown without further fanfare

I said goodnight to the brothers, and Agnes led me upstairs and down a hallway to my room. It was modest but still very cozy, and I was not surprised to see it did not contain a television.

"Do you have a telephone?" I asked Agnes. Even if the power was out tonight, I hoped I could use one in the morning, to at least let my wife know I was safe, and would shortly be on my way back.

Again, Agnes look confused.

"No, we don't," she said, slowly, as if she wasn't entirely sure of what she saying.

I was too tired to press her any further. I bid her goodnight, removed my coat, and, despite my growing unease and the prospect of sleeping in my clothes, I still found myself collapsing upon the very comfortable bed.

Before unconsciousness overtook me, I went over the events of the past few hours in my head: the spontaneous blizzard, the discovery of this town, perhaps (not) coincidentally called Noel, and its decidedly un-modern appearance. Had I somehow found myself in the middle of some sort of paranormal phenomena, when I, ironically, had least expected it? My conclusion: maybe. But I knew I had to get some sleep before any of my questions could be answered anyway, and maybe the cold light of day could assist me.

In the meantime, I was happy I had remembered to lock the bedroom door.

...

I awoke the next morning, happy to see the sun was indeed bright and shining. My instinct was to get back on the road immediately, but I was hungry, and still had a few hours of driving left before I reached home. And I had paid for breakfast, as cheap as it was.

I went downstairs, where I caught the two brothers, along with Agnes, already eating. It was a veritable feast: pancakes, eggs in all their varieties, waffles, muffins, bacon, sausage, crepes, croissants, and probably even more that I'm now forgetting. I have to admit, it was the greatest breakfast I have ever had, in quality and quantity, to the point where I barely spoke at all the entire meal, my mouth was so full.

But I did make a few observations. Agnes, out of her nightgown and dressed for the day, was wearing a very... retro outfit. I don't exactly know what everything was called, never having been an expert in women's fashion, but, like the town itself, it looked to predate the turn of this century. It was the kind of thing you'd imagine the ladies in A Christmas Carol to be wearing, if that helps.

Second, and much more concerning, I realized one of the brothers, the younger of the two, had appeared to have changed, physically, overnight. It was subtle, but still noticeable, at least to my trained eye: his hair had grown a little, and he appeared a bit thinner. And when they both stood to excuse themselves from the table, having each met their stomach's maximum capacity, I made a final observation: he had shrunk a few inches in height.

I had two thoughts, at that moment. My first was that this was further evidence that there was something more going on here. My second, and which inspired much more panic, was a question: had I changed as well? I finished eating, thanked Agnes, who I had learned over breakfast ran the business with her husband and son, and retired to my room. It was difficult to climb the stairs back up, I was so full with her cooking.

There, I examined myself in the mirror, even getting undressed out of my days-old clothes to make sure I didn't miss anything. As far as I could tell, nothing had changed. Nothing that is, beyond the usual ravages of time, that I had observed with much chagrin over the past decade. That, however, was regrettably all too natural.

Naturally, I began to second-guess myself. Maybe the young man hadn't morphed at all, and I was simply misremembering? It was dark in the foyer last night, and I had been tired beyond all measure, after all.

Whatever the reasons, ultimately, my short-term goal was the same: get home. I could figure out the rest later, when I had the assistance of my brilliant and capable team. I retrieved my coat, went back downstairs, thanked Agnes for her hospitality, and went outside.

...

My stomach sank when I saw how much snow had fallen the previous night. The road was covered by at least a foot of it, and the cars, mine and the brothers', were inundated to the point that not even their basic shapes could still be discerned.

Agnes had followed me outside. She placed her hands on her prodigious hips, and shook her head.

"My husband and my son will get your machine out for you," she said. I noted her use of the word "machine", instead of "vehicle" or "car".

"But what about the roads?" I asked. "Will some snowplows be coming through soon?"

"Yea, the horses will be out here before too long," she answered.

Horses, I thought. Of course they're using horses.

"Listen," Agnes continued. "Why won't don't you go into town in the meantime? It's Christmas Eve, and everyone will be out shopping and doing the rounds! Oh, there's no place else like Noel on Christmas Eve! I'm sure you'll love it!"

I weighed the risks. Something odd was going on, I was now sure of it. The evidence was insurmountable. And I was alone, and without any of my instruments. But my curiosity had grown with my suspicions, and exploring the village might reveal some answers. And if it was obvious that this was more than I could handle on my own, I would simply come back with the lads and the ladies later. In the meantime, I would be sure to keep my guard up. It wasn't like this was my first time.

I thanked Agnes for her help and her suggestion, and began to walk back into the main area of the hamlet that I had first glimpsed last night, albeit in the dark.

...

Over the subsequent hours, any lingering doubts were erased: I was in the middle of what began to think of as a "time warp". Everyone I met and talked to was convinced it was 1899, with the turn of the century only a week away. All of the technology, fashion, and culture I observed were also squarely of the same period as well.

I had thought, initially, that maybe this was all some kind of grand performance by a community that had simply wanted to escape the modern age. But, unless they were all trained actors as well, that seemed unlikely, as none would drop the act even under intense examination. And why couldn't this be some sort of "hole" in time? Stranger things had happened, especially to me.

Around noon, after hours of conversation with anyone that would entertain me, I sat down on a bench in the middle of the town square, in front of their massive Christmas Tree, and watched the citizens of Noel as they shopped, ate, talked, and played in the snow. I spotted young couples, full families, groups of friends, elderly retirees, and gangs of young children: all happy and content on this Christmas Eve. Overlooking the town was a large mountain, and I could see a mansion seemingly embedded on its face. This, I had been told, was the residence of Barnaby Wilson: industrialist, philanthropist, and notorious playboy.

It reasoned that this man, in some way, was responsible for Noel and its condition. After all, he was apparently benefiting the most from it. But should I consider him an enemy? All around me were happy people living simple lives. The pews would be full at the midnight mass later, I had been assured.

By contrast, out in the real world, we had hate, disease, division, famine, crime, and the threat of Nuclear War hanging like the sword of Damocles over all of human civilization.

So what was the problem, exactly?

At that moment, I actually felt blessed to have stumbled upon the town of Noel when I did, as if God himself was rewarding me for my good works with a glimpse into this miracle. I even considered not telling anybody about any of this when I got back home, so as to preserve it from the wider, cruel world beyond its invisible borders.

I gazed up at the moon, faded in the daylight, but still visible. Was it altered as well? Was it the same heavenly body that had been so recently conquered by mankind? Was the American flag implanted on its surface?

Would it be good, if it weren't? The thought even surprised myself.

But then, my gaze shifting back to the Earth, I saw something that quickly annihilated my optimism, or any notion that the good God of Abraham had anything to do with this.

I saw the two brothers again, walking arm in arm. And the younger one, the one I had noticed physical changes in earlier at breakfast, was now even shorter, thinner, and had longer hair. Moreover, he was now also sporting what were obviously, even under his (women's) winter jacket, two large breasts, accompanied by much wider hips, and a behind that stuck out further than a bustle alone could account for (I'm sorry to be so explicit, children, but I need to explain how I knew he had turned female).

I ran up to the pair, and began to question them. They explained to me that they were born in the village a few years apart, had started as childhood friends (not siblings), before graduating to lovers in their teenage years, and now, were engaged to be married come spring. They had no memory of who they had been a mere twelve hours before, even after I reminded them. They took offense to that, actually, and abandoned me in disgust.

"How dare you say such a thing, and on Christmas!" said the now-woman, in shock and disbelief.

I hurried back to the Bed and Breakfast. Every bemused person I ran past, I couldn't help but wonder: were they like the two brothers? Had they too been sucked up by this place, and changed to suit its twisted means? My mind raced with possibilities: had siblings become lovers, children become parents, and parents into children? Were even the pet dogs and cats I spotted once human beings? I could have ejected my breakfast onto the snow.

And why hadn't I been affected? Actually, there I could make an educated guess. On my person I presently had: a cursed ring on my right ring finger, enchanted tarot cards in my left breast pocket, a necklace once worn by King Solomon himself resting on my chest, and a vial of sacred water from the Ganges in my right pocket.

There were also the various times I had been blessed by priests, shamans, rabbis, imams, and medicine men, and granted spells of protection by white witches, mages, and warlocks.

All of these were the prizes won from my previous adventures, and any of them, or even multiple working in concert, could have been responsible for keeping me from succumbing to whatever evil force was at work.