Excerpt from "Here By Mistake: The Secret of the Niche"
[Fourteen-year-old Brandon, from upstate New York in 2005 (now stranded in New Orleans in 1965), finds out what happens when something he has brought from 2005 encounters itself in 1965.]
Quint reached into his pocket and brought out a ring of keys. “Faye gave me these the other day, t’keep ’til I drive her north. These’ll get us in the house in Rollin’s. I’m expectin’ the day we arrive t’get y’all through the niche and start headin’ back. That’s what we need t’be thinkin’ about.” He set the keys on the table.
The round brass tag stamped BIRMINGHAM caught Brandon’s eye. “Wait a sec,” he said. “Those are the keys I took from your house . . . I’ve got those keys in my pocket.”
“What?” Quint asked.
Brandon brought out his keys. He held the tag on his ring next to the one on Quint’s. “Look,” he exclaimed. “My tag’s not shiny, but that same little piece is broken off under the M.”
“He’s right,” Stephen gasped. “They’re the same keys.”
“Impossible,” Quint huffed.
Suddenly Brandon yanked his hand back. His keys hit the table. “Ow,” he cried. “They burned me.”
Sarah took his hand and turned it over. Then she looked back at the table and let out a shriek.
A pencil-thin line of smoke was rising from Brandon’s keys. Before anyone could say a word, another line of smoke appeared, and just as quickly still another did. An acrid smell began filling the kitchen. Brandon waved the smoke out of his face and glimpsed the marbled pattern of the tabletop through his keys. “They’re disappearing,” he cried.
Everyone watched as the keys grew fainter and fainter. In a few seconds they were gone. All that remained were a scorched spot on the table and the awful smell in the air. Sarah rushed to open the window.
Quint stammered, “They . . . th-they . . . ”
“So that’s what happens,” Stephen said. “It makes sense.”
“What does?” Sarah asked, wiping her eyes.
Stephen tapped the scorched spot lightly with his finger. “There’s only one set of those keys. We had two because we came through time. One set had to go, and that’s what just happened. The keys from 1965 are still here, and they’ll age into the set B had.” He fell silent. And then he trembled.
“What?” Brandon asked.
Stephen gripped the table to steady himself. “I was just thinking about us. What if we go back to 2005 and come face-to-face with . . . ourselves. What’ll happen?”
“You mean, the same thing that happened just now?” Sarah cried.
“I don’t know,” Stephen said ominously. “And I don’t know what to do about it before we jump through the niche.”
Quint reached into his pocket and brought out a ring of keys. “Faye gave me these the other day, t’keep ’til I drive her north. These’ll get us in the house in Rollin’s. I’m expectin’ the day we arrive t’get y’all through the niche and start headin’ back. That’s what we need t’be thinkin’ about.” He set the keys on the table.
The round brass tag stamped BIRMINGHAM caught Brandon’s eye. “Wait a sec,” he said. “Those are the keys I took from your house . . . I’ve got those keys in my pocket.”
“What?” Quint asked.
Brandon brought out his keys. He held the tag on his ring next to the one on Quint’s. “Look,” he exclaimed. “My tag’s not shiny, but that same little piece is broken off under the M.”
“He’s right,” Stephen gasped. “They’re the same keys.”
“Impossible,” Quint huffed.
Suddenly Brandon yanked his hand back. His keys hit the table. “Ow,” he cried. “They burned me.”
Sarah took his hand and turned it over. Then she looked back at the table and let out a shriek.
A pencil-thin line of smoke was rising from Brandon’s keys. Before anyone could say a word, another line of smoke appeared, and just as quickly still another did. An acrid smell began filling the kitchen. Brandon waved the smoke out of his face and glimpsed the marbled pattern of the tabletop through his keys. “They’re disappearing,” he cried.
Everyone watched as the keys grew fainter and fainter. In a few seconds they were gone. All that remained were a scorched spot on the table and the awful smell in the air. Sarah rushed to open the window.
Quint stammered, “They . . . th-they . . . ”
“So that’s what happens,” Stephen said. “It makes sense.”
“What does?” Sarah asked, wiping her eyes.
Stephen tapped the scorched spot lightly with his finger. “There’s only one set of those keys. We had two because we came through time. One set had to go, and that’s what just happened. The keys from 1965 are still here, and they’ll age into the set B had.” He fell silent. And then he trembled.
“What?” Brandon asked.
Stephen gripped the table to steady himself. “I was just thinking about us. What if we go back to 2005 and come face-to-face with . . . ourselves. What’ll happen?”
“You mean, the same thing that happened just now?” Sarah cried.
“I don’t know,” Stephen said ominously. “And I don’t know what to do about it before we jump through the niche.”
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