Jason swung the club hammer again and hit the bolster chisel squarely on the end. This time he felt the brick move slightly. He stepped back and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. It was uncomfortably hot in the loft and despite wearing a mask and goggles, the dust created by taking down the wall was in his nose and the back of his throat. Luckily, the roof space of the old building was big enough to stand up in and he didn’t have to crawl around on his hands and knees, as he had to on some jobs. He was ready for a break, some fresh air and a cuppa, but he’d hoped to get the wall down first, or he’d have Dave, the boss, complaining. It had been Dave that insisted on it coming down, as it seemed to be a false wall that served no useful purpose. It was built on top of one of the beams – it certainly wasn’t a retaining wall. Nobody knew what it was for and it had obviously been ignored during previous renovations, when the old building had been turned into a nursing home. Just another few blows and then he’d stop. He swung his arm out again and hit the chisel hard. A couple of the bricks fell away into the space behind. He repeated the action a few more times, working from the top down, until he was able to push and wobble a large chunk of the wall away. He heard a strange clunk as the bricks fell. A few more blows and he was able to see over what was left of the wall. It appeared to be a small, cupboard like space and there was something in there, but he couldn’t make out what it was. He fumbled in his tool bag for a torch.

“Have you got that wall down yet?” a voice called up from the bottom of the loft ladder.

“Nearly,” Jason replied, “but there’s something in there, behind the wall.”

“What do you mean there’s something in there? What is it?” Dave didn’t have much patience with the younger lads in the crew and wished they’d just get on with things.

“I dunno, some sort of kid’s toy? Maybe… a prop from a film? I don’t know what it is.”

“Well stop messing about with it and get that wall down. We’re supposed to be working quickly. They don’t want us upsetting the residents and we’re already behind schedule.” 

Jason climbed over what was left of the wall. It was cramped and he found himself pressed up against the contraption, shining his torch over it, trying to work out what it was. He’d never seen anything like it before and couldn’t imagine what it could have been used for. There was some sort of saddle on it so it must have been designed for sitting on, but then what? He couldn’t even make out what it was made of, it seemed to be a mixture of metal, and, was that bone? He wished the light was better. It was held together with what looked like rods made of some sort of quartz. Jason brushed some of the dust off and sat down on the saddle.  As he tried to figure out what it was, he absentmindedly pulled down one of two levers in front of him. Instantly he felt the sickening, exhilarating feeling of freefalling, like he had felt once whilst riding the steep roller coaster at Alton Towers, as if he had left his stomach somewhere behind him; but this time there seemed no end to it. He didn’t reach a plateau and slow down. The feeling continued, even increased, with a strobe light effect of light and dark flashing through the roof at high speed. He couldn’t shake off the feeling of reckless, relentless motion, even though he wasn’t sure if he was moving at all. As nausea overcame him, he yanked at the second lever in desperation, and suddenly the sensation stopped.

Jason flung himself away from the machine, his head reeling, not registering that the wall he had been dismantling had disappeared. It was pitch black in the roof now and he’d dropped his torch somewhere near the machine. He groped around but couldn’t find it and cursed whoever it was that had closed the loft hatch. If that was Dave’s idea of a joke he didn’t think it was very funny. Reluctant to touch the machine again he felt his way along the floor, desperate to get out into the fresh air before he threw up. He was disorientated and the loft hatch didn’t seem to be where it had been. Eventually he found a heavy hatch door but it was impossible to get it open from the inside. He crawled around searching for his tool bag in the darkness but that didn’t seem to be where it had been before either. Finding instead a length of piping, he eventually managed to lever open the hatch. He breathed a sigh of relief as light flooded into the roof space. The ladder was gone but he was able to lower himself from his elbows down onto the balustrade at the top of the stairs and jump off into the hallway.

What confronted him made him shake his head violently, as if to clear away the images. It was a different hallway. Or was it the same hallway as before but decorated completely differently? The modern brass and marble balustrade and clean white walls that had been there before had been replaced by ornately turned, dark wood balusters which continued down the stairs in the bannisters. Green papered walls with a wide decorative frieze along the top were hung with numerous dark framed paintings. What was happening? Where was Dave and the rest of the lads? More than anything he wanted to get outside and breathe some fresh air. He felt dazed and dizzy as he stumbled down the unfamiliar stairs to the front door.

Out in the open Jason drew in a deep breath of the warm, sea air and blew it out noisily as he looked around. He couldn’t make any sense of it. Where the nursing home car park had been, there appeared to be some sort of railway, with a small wooden platform beside it. He ran out onto Radnor Cliff Crescent to see if Dave and the boys were parked there in the van, but what he found was little more than an unmade cart track curving downwards towards the sea, spanned by a bridge. Where had the bridge come from? It definitely hadn’t been there before although now that he thought about it, he could remember seeing walls either side of the crescent at the entrance to the nursing home, which looked very similar to those he was looking at now. There was no sign of the others. Real fear gripped him. Breathing rapidly and still feeling nauseous from his experience with the contraption in the loft he leant up against the wall of the bridge, closing his eyes and putting his head into his hands, hoping against hope that when he looked up again things would be back to normal. He stayed like that for a couple of minutes, trying to calm his breathing, but when he eventually opened his eyes, the bridge was still there and the road was still just a track. He couldn’t imagine any explanation for what was happening and in a panic, not knowing what else to do, he turned and staggered back towards the house, his heart pounding. An unusual, rumbling, mechanical sound made him look to the right and from over the bridge there appeared a sort of carriage; not a train but something similar to the carriages of the old Leas lift that ran from the harbour end of the coastal park up to the Leas Memorial Arch. It stopped at the platform and a man alighted. He had a large moustache and was formally dressed in a three-piece suit with a stiff, white collared shirt.

“I say,” he called out to Jason, “what are you doing here? Who are you?”

Jason couldn’t find any words to answer the man. He had no idea what he was doing here. 

“This is private property,” the man said, as he drew nearer and then, taking a closer look at Jason, exclaimed, “well, I’ll be damned. You found it, didn’t you!” Jason

opened his mouth to speak but still no words came out. 

“I expect you’re still feeling pretty sick from your journey. Come inside, I’ll pour you a drink. You look as if you could use one!” Putting his hand on Jason’s back he steered him towards the front door of the house.

Finally, Jason was able to stammer out, “journey? Have I been on a journey? How did I get here? Where am I?”

“I think you need to sit down for this,” said the man, as they entered what appeared to be some sort of study. He held out his hand. “I’m Herbert, Herbert Wells. Perhaps you’ve heard of me? H. G.? Writer? This is my house, Spade House.”

Jason looked at him blankly wishing he’d listened a bit more when he was at school. Dave had told him that Wells House Nursing Home, where they were working, was named after the famous author that used to live there but beyond that he hadn’t got a clue who the man might be. “Jason,” was all he could reply as he shook the man’s hand. “Where am I?”

The man looked a little sad. “Perhaps I haven’t had the longevity I thought I might have,” he said wistfully, as he handed Jason a glass of neat whisky. “I always imagined my books would be enjoyed in posterity. But to answer your question, you’re exactly where you were before – just not at the same time.” 

Jason screwed his face up into a frown, trying to understand what the man was saying as he continued, “you, my boy, have travelled in time. Backwards, it would appear. Welcome to the year 1905.” Jason took a gulp of the whisky. He’d have preferred a beer or even a glass of water but the burning in the back of his throat at least told him he wasn’t dreaming.

“How…?” His voice trailed off. 

“My time machine,” said the man. “I’ve hidden it well but I knew it would only be a matter of time…” he chuckled at the inadvertent pun, “…before somebody discovered it.”

“You built a time machine?” Jason said incredulously, trying to take it in. “But I thought you said you were a writer, not an inventor.”

“Indeed I am,” said the man, “but having investigated the possibilities of time travel in order to write my book ‘The Time Machine’, I felt I had to have a go at building the thing, to see whether it could actually work. Nobody could have been more surprised than I to discover that it did! I’ve been on a few little journeys myself but the toll on my health is too great. You will be feeling as I did, I imagine, so will understand what I mean. I realise I’ve built something momentous – but flawed. And

I’ve had a small glimpse of what the future might be. I’m not sure that there is much to look forward to. I don’t think the world is ready for it yet, and the consequences of it falling into the wrong hands are unthinkable – but I can’t bring myself to destroy it. So I’ve hidden it, hoping that later generations might be able to improve on it and eradicate the adverse physical effect on the body. Perhaps there will be a time in the future when somebody can find a way to use it for good and alter the course we are on, to make the world a kinder, cleaner and better place for everybody.” 

The man looked him up and down with what Jason felt was a somewhat disappointed expression and he was suddenly aware of how he must appear to this smartly dressed gentleman. Dishevelled from the journey, covered in dust from the loft and wearing scuffed, worn trainers and his old, paint spattered work gear, he wasn’t a great advert for the future.

“Will I be able to get back?” he asked.

“Yes, it’s simple,” replied the man, “just a question of reversing the levers. But you are here now, let’s take advantage of that. I’ll find you a change of clothing. We can take the funicular lift at the end of the garden to the Leas. You’re supposed to get on it on Sandgate Hill but they always stop for me if they see me. I call it my moving staircase. Or we can walk into Sandgate and stroll along the Esplanade. The sea air will clear your head and you can tell me all about your time. When is it you come from by the way?”