August 2, 1993.
What the fuck.
I stand up, now in a full-blown panic. “This isn’t funny, Dylan. End the joke now, please.”
“Lucy.” He stands beside me and places his hands onmy shoulders, the pressure calming me down a bit. “I’m not joking. I swear to you, it’s 1993.”
“This makes no sense,” is all I can say back, still racking my brain, trying to understand what is happening right now.
“Here, come outside with me. We’ll walk over to Killick Bay, and I’ll find you a newspaper.”
“We can drive. My car is parked out front where the path starts.”
“Okay, fine.”
I grab my purse, and we walk down the stairs to the main level. When I start to head toward the entry room, he walks over to the cream-coloured door behind the stairs. I follow him as he opens it up, sunlight pouring over us, blinding me temporarily. Once the door is shut and we’re outside, I look around, noticing something feels off.
“My car should be right around here.” I walk around to the front of the lighthouse, finding the gravel path and looking ahead to where my car should be.
It’s not there.
“What the fuck? Where’s my car?” I shout. “Someone stole my car!”
“Okay, let’s not jump to conclusions. Maybe it was towed? I don’t know if you’re supposed to park there.”
“It’s never been towed before. Not even a ticket. I don’t remember seeing a sign.Fuck, why is this happening now, of all times?” He grabs my hand as I begin to spiral and turns me to face him. Taking my first deep breath, I look into his emerald eyes, lost in them momentarily.
“Let’s walk into town. It’s only ten minutes, and then we’ll figure out what happened.”
“This would be a hell of a lot easier if my phone just held a charge,” I grumble as I follow him down a different paththrough the rocks. To my left, the ocean waves crash against the cliffs below us. Ahead, the path cuts through rocks and plants as it weaves into the approaching small town.
We walk into Killick Bay, and while it’s a cute town, something is different about it. Almost as if it’s stuck in the past. The clothes the people are wearing, the cars that are parked on the street, even the stores feel… old.
“This place is odd,” I mutter, while Dylan walks into a general store on the main street.
After a few minutes, he comes outside, holding a newspaper. Funny, I haven’t actually seen a newspaper in who knows how long.
“Here,” he says, handing me the paper. “This istoday’spaper. Look at the date. At the top.”
August 23, 1993.
I drop the paper on the ground in disbelief. “What the…”
“Are you okay?” he asks as he picks it up, rolls it, and tucks it under his arm.
“No, I’m not.” I look at him, eyes pleading. “Dylan, it’s August 23, 2025.”
Around us, people are walking through the street, carrying plastic bags filled with groceries, sipping coffees, trying not to stare at me as I flip out. The smell of fish and salt lingers in the air from the water close by. I spot a young woman who looks to be in her forties, with skin so pale it’s almost translucent and long, wild dark hair. She stands and stares at me with a slight gleam in her steel-blue eyes that pop behind her glasses. She must find this amusing.
“Luce—”
“Okay, is this one of those reenactment towns? You know, like an Upper Canada Village or something. Wheretheyactlike it’s a different time? Is everyone around here just an actor playing a part?” I’m grasping at straws here, but this feels like the only logical answer.
“I don’t even know what Upper Canada Village is.” He scratches his head and tilts it to the side.
“It’s like a living history museum, where everyone pretends it’s the 1800s.”
“Oh, like Sherbrooke Village. Well, this is not that. It’s 1993.”
