by Eric Bower
“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked with a frown.
“Pouring maple syrup on my eggs,” I told him, and tried to pull my wrist away.
He looked at me as though I’d just sneezed on his toothbrush.
“Pouring maple syrup on your eggs?” he said, his jaw beginning to clench. “That’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard. One simply does not do such things.”
“This one does,” I told him as I pointed to myself with my free hand, feeling annoyed that my new friend was already telling me how I could and could not eat my breakfast.
“Maple syrup isn’t meant for eggs,” he insisted, “it’s meant for starchy things like pancakes. You’ll make your eggs all sweet and sticky.”
I glared at Werbert as I finally pulled my hand free, and then began to pour a large splash of maple syrup all over my eggs, using five times as much as I’d originally wanted, turning my plate into a sweet and savory breakfast soup to prove a point to him. I stuck my spoon into the syrupy mess and shoveled it into my mouth, showing him that he couldn’t tell me what to do.
“Mmmmmm,” I said as I grinned defiantly at Werbert. “Sweet and sticky eggs.”
Werbert started to lecture me again about the proper and improper uses of syrup, so I took a full container of syrup from another table and then poured it all over my bacon, sausage, ham, fried potatoes, and then added a generous sploosh to my glass of ice water.
“Mmmmmm,” I said again, as I swigged from my disgusting drink, beginning to feel a bit sick from the overwhelming sweetness. “Delicious. Just how I like my water . . . thick and sticky.”
Werbert retched as he knocked my glass out of my hands and then spilled my syrupy plates onto the floor. While I was secretly glad he did that (it’s always a bad idea to use syrup for revenge), I was also quite angry, which was why I decided to break our truce. I grabbed the time eraser and quickly jotted down a location, hoping to escape Werbert and trap him in the crazy future—with its bright lights, giant menus, and friendly hamburger sandwich aliens—forever and forever. But as the time eraser began to emit a plume of smoke, he quickly reached out and grabbed me by the arm, and we were once again tumbling through time.
We ended up traveling to a beautiful place in January of 1891, hovering high in the air above a beautiful redwood forest in sunny California. Even though my mind was as scrambled as the eggs I’d covered with a half-gallon of syrup, I somehow recalled being in that forest before, so I wasn’t particularly surprised when I looked down and saw myself running down a path. At first, I thought I was simply running after the pretty young lady dressed in black, who was running several yards ahead of me, but then I realized that the two of us were actually running away from a pack of wild pigs. I squinted at the scene and felt more of the memory begin to stir within me. I was beginning to remember not just the event itself, but also the people involved with the event. The young woman in black wore a rose in the band of her hat, and my brain was suddenly jolted by the recollection of who she was, and how I knew her. Her name was Rose Blackwood. I took in a deep breath as the memories continued to flow like a ruptured pipe: Rose had tried to kidnap my family, but we learned rather quickly that she was actually a good person, and my parents (I think that I was beginning to remember them as well!) had then hired her to be their assistant. Rose was the closest thing I’d ever had to a sister, and as I looked down at her while wrestling a scientifically modified pen and a notepad from a foul-tempered madman, I couldn’t help but smile. I remembered her! I actually remembered someone who’d been erased from existence!
“Rose!” I yelled down to her, though I knew I was too high up for her to hear. Werbert was still squirming on my shoulders, trying to wrestle the time eraser from me. “Up here! It’s me, W. B.! Help!”
Rose then slowly lifted her hand, and for a moment I thought she was pointing at me. But when I squinted my eyes to get a better look, I realized she was actually holding up a pistol. I suddenly remembered why she was doing that. She was trying to frighten the wild pigs away with a gunshot, so that they wouldn’t stomp me into mulch and then make me an afternoon snack. It was the moment when I knew that she genuinely cared about me and my family, and also, that we genuinely cared about her. It was a beautiful moment in our family history.
Rose then fired her gun into the air, frightening away the wild pigs.
The bullet struck me in the upper arm.
Werbert looked down at Rose Blackwood, and then over at the wound on my arm.
“Well that’s a bit ironic, isn’t it?”
As I agreed with him, I felt my body slowly going into shock—the fear and pain I’d just felt had begun to paralyze my system. My mind felt as though it was shutting down—I was having difficulty thinking of anything with any clarity. I needed to get down to the ground, so I could get help from Rose Blackwood and . . . and P! And M! I suddenly remembered both of my brilliantly eccentric inventor parents! And all it took was a literal shot to the arm!
“P and M,” I gasped, “I need to get down to the Baron Estate! P and M will help me . . .”
Werbert’s eyes went wide as he quickly looked down at the Baron Estate.
“I don’t know how you did this,” he growled. “You’ve somehow managed to travel back to a time period where Rose and your family still exists! How did you do that? I erased them! I wrote it right here in my notebook, that they would disappear from all existence for all eternity! How did you do it??? How did you find them?”
“I’m very talented,” I slurred, suddenly feeling unbearably tired and rather cold as well.
“No, you’re not,” he spat. “You’re a dundering fool!”
“That’s true too. I’m foolish and lucky.” I agreed, feeling my eyelids begin to droop as I clutched my wound, hoping that I wouldn’t feel any more pain in my dreams.
Werbert’s expression darkened.
“Goodbye, Waldo Baron,” he told me, as he started to write something in his notebook, the top of his pen emitting an even thicker stream of steam. “I’m afraid that our little dance has come to its end. I think I’m going to take you back to the sea, and then I’m going to drop you in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, where there isn’t a ship or island for miles. That sounds like quite a fitting conclusion to your story. A burial at sea.”
“Sounds good,” I murmured, curling up on Werbert’s shoulder, trying to use the lapel of his uncomfortable suit jacket as a tiny blanket. “Try not to wake me during the trip.”
“You’re pathetic,” Werbert spat, as his fingertips tightened their grip on the pen. “Did you know that? You’re absolutely pathetic. I hated your father, but at least I could respect the fact that he was an exceptionally clever man. You’re as dim as a stray dog, and you’re as lazy as a potato, and yet, for some reason, I haven’t been able to destroy you. That baffles and upsets me.”
“So go drop me in the ocean and get rid of me,” I responded with a yawn. It must have been the shock from being shot, but I suddenly found myself caring about nothing other than getting some sleep. If I had to be dropped into the middle of the ocean for a few moments of shuteye, then so be it. “Hurl me into the sea, Werbert. Preferably the Red Sea. I’ll bet it’s red because it’s the warmest one.”
Werbert’s temper (and nostrils) flared. He sneered at me, his eyes wide and his eyebrows arched—and then he exhaled in the manner of an exhausted horse, turning away to indicate that he was through with me and my nonsense. He returned his attention to his writing for a brief moment, but then he stopped again. He looked up at me with one of the most hateful looks I’d ever seen. His perpetually perturbed face portrayed an even more peeved and pointed presentation as he pouted.
“No, that’s not good enough for me,” he hissed, beginning to shake with his rage. “You’ve embarrassed me, Waldo Baron. And I don’t allow people to embarrass me. A man named Doc Holliday embarrassed me once, and I changed history to transform him from an American hero in
to one of the country’s most infamous bandits—I also changed his personal history to make sure he was wedded to a woman who was famous for having one of the world’s largest noses. Your father embarrassed me as well, and I erased him from existence, after stealing his family from him, one by one. But now the question is what should I do to you? Dropping you into the sea isn’t special enough. My punishment to you should be awful, terrible, and completely unexpected.”
“How about you change history so I’ll be a successful man with a comfy house and an even comfier bed?” I suggested sleepily. “That would be very unexpected. I’m totally not expecting any of that.”
“Silence!” he demanded, smacking me atop the head with his pen. “I need to think about how I’m going to make you suffer. Maybe I should slowly lower you into an active volcano, or change history so you’ll be responsible for everything terrible that happens in America between the years 1890 and 1980. Maybe I’ll make you responsible for the next great war, or for introducing a deadly disease. Or maybe, I’ll do something a thousand times worse than any of that, and I’ll make you the next—”
I didn’t get to hear his final idea because the pointed rooftop of the Baron Estate suddenly struck Werbert right on his backside, knocking me and the time eraser from his clutches. Rose and I from 1891 must have recovered and gotten back into the flying Baron Estate, which, if I was remembering correctly (all my memories were slowly returning, even the ones that I didn’t particularly want to return), was now on its way to Chicago for the completion of our race around the country.
The jolt of the Baron Estate had also managed to rouse me from my shock, and I quickly reached into my pocket, pulling out my handkerchief and tying it around my bullet wound. Then I spotted Werbert’s pen and notebook at the far end of the rooftop. Stumbling due to the heavy winds and from my weariness, I slowly tottered across the roof of the magnificent flying Baron Estate, coughing as the large billows of steam blew up from our furnace and into my drenched face.
I ducked a flying V of ducks (ducks seemed to have it out for me today—strange, it was usually squirrels and monkeys that tried to ruin my life . . . maybe all animals were against me), and then I spotted Werbert edging toward the time eraser as well. He hadn’t suffered from a gunshot wound like I had, but he’d been injured by the flying Baron Estate in his own unique way. He waddled like a constipated penguin as he tried to reach the time eraser before I did.
When we were only a few feet away, we both dove for the pen and notebook, but this time, things didn’t go in my favor. I was still much taller, and had a longer reach, but Werbert was much cleverer with his second dive. He actually flipped over and landed onto his back, extending his knee and fist so that he could kick me and punch me when I tried to land on top of him, which I did. He knocked the wind from me, and I clutched my aching stomach and chest as Werbert reached out for the pen and notebook, accidentally knocking the notebook over the side of the house!
We watched as the notebook slowly fluttered a thousand feet to the ground, landing somewhere in the large and fertile California forest below. I knew that we wouldn’t be able to find that notebook again, not in that dense collection of trees, not even if we had a hundred years and a hundred friends to help us search. That notebook, which contained all of the changes that Werbert had made to the world and to my family, was gone.
“It doesn’t matter,” he cackled madly as he wiggled the time eraser in my face. “It’s the pen that’s important, not the book. I can rewrite your tragic ending wherever I like, Waldo. In fact, I might write it directly onto your forehead, tee hee! Wouldn’t that be hilarious! I think it would be quite fitting if I were to write the time, date, location, and method of your destruction, right on your face! Hah! Haha! Hahahahahoo!”
He sounded absolutely insane (I’ve never been a fan of maniacal laughter, and his was particularly maniacal), and I winced and turned away as he leaned over me with the pen, preparing to seal my fate.
Just as he was about to ink me with the time eraser, I suddenly reached into my pocket, and pulled out the heavy item that I’d been lugging around with me for what felt like a hundred years. I slapped it over Werbert’s head and quickly fastened the leather strap in the back before he had a moment to react.
It was P’s Open Wide, Stephen, Device. Werbert had worn it once before, and I have to say that he didn’t look particularly excited to be wearing it again. I didn’t blame him. Aside from the obvious reasons, it was also a very unattractive fashion accessory. Werbert’s eyes bulged out, but he was unable to move any other part of his body, as the old and rusty dental device had paralyzed him. I took out a piece of chocolate (which I’d borrowed from a sweet shop we’d passed in Switzerland during our long and confusing battle through space and time), and stuck it in Werbert’s jacket pocket, knowing he’d likely need something sweet to get the foul taste out of his mouth later.
I finally took a moment to get comfortable, sitting on the rooftop and stretching my legs, enjoying the steady pace of the flying Baron Estate as it puttered through the sky, with a silent and mad-eyed Werbert lying motionless beside me. I suddenly remembered that my family was currently celebrating with Rose Blackwood inside the house, as we believed that we were about to win the race around the country. That made me smile. I wasn’t usually fond of heights, but I found myself enjoying them immensely as I sat there on top of the Baron Estate, and watched the impossibly blue and open sky up ahead.
When we finally passed a recognizable landmark where Werbert could safely be dropped, I leaned over my father’s mortal enemy, and after giving him an apologetic pat on the head, I undid the leather strap of the Open Wide, Stephen, Device, and shoved him off the roof. The dental tool came undone in my hand, and Werbert came back to life as he tumbled through the air like a rag doll, screaming as he quickly fell toward one of the most recognizable places in all of Arizona Territory. I looked down to see precisely where he would land with a splash, but then I gasped.
Oops.
It turns out that our battle through time had changed a few more things in history than I’d originally thought.
Namely, that the Grand Canyon was no longer filled to the brim with water.
WHAT A DOPE
Even though my father’s mortal enemy had been defeated, I knew that my work wasn’t finished yet. I had managed to travel back to a time where my family and Rose existed, but that didn’t necessarily mean that when I returned to my present time, they would exist there as well. Werbert had been utterly shocked that Rose and my family were there in 1891 when we arrived at the forest in California, which meant that it should have been impossible. I suppose I had done the impossible by un-erasing them, possibly because (as Werbert had said) I’d literally fallen out of time, or it was possibly due to our time-traveling-battle which changed the face of the world, or maybe it was simply due to my seemingly unending streak of dumb luck. There was also the possibility that it was a combination of the three. I don’t know. In fact, thinking about all of that is starting to make my face feel numb, so I’m going to move on.
What I did know was that I had a device in my hand that was capable of changing time. I tried to press a few random buttons on the pen to see if I could undo all the trouble that Werbert had caused, and watched in horror as the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans quickly switched places, and a couple of other weird things happened too.
Alright, no more pressing random buttons. That would be an easy rule for me to follow going forward. If anyone asked, I would lie and tell them that I’d never pressed a single button on the device, not even once; I would also tell them that it definitely didn’t seem weird to me that Iceland was always green, and Greenland was always icy.
Werbert had mentioned that the only thing he needed to do to make the time eraser work was simply to write, and so write I did. If the only way to fix everything was to write how it used to be, how it should be, then it would be my task to tell the tale of the magnificent Baron family, one s
tory at a time. I would bring them all back, and make sure they existed not just in the past, but also in the present and the future.
So, I sat on the roof of the flying Baron Estate in January of 1891, rolled up my sleeves, and began to write everything I remembered, about M, and P, and Rose, and even Aunt Dorcas. Since I didn’t have any paper, I wrote on my forearm. When that forearm was filled up with words, I switched to my other arm—the arm with the bullet wound, which I quickly fixed by using the time eraser to change what had happened. I altered the past so that Rose’s bullet actually missed me by a few inches and struck a duck instead, hopefully that same smug duck that whomped me in the face earlier (lousy, smug, whomping ducks . . .). When I filled that arm up with writing as well, I switched to my legs, and then to my stomach, and then my hands and my feet. I wrote about my family’s early adventures, and then about our later adventures, as well as the adventures we planned on having in the future when we had finally made some more money. I wrote about flying houses and other flying machines, rocket ships and submarines, shrinking machines and bigging machines, Doppelgänger Devices and horseless carriages, listening devices, time machines, time erasers, outdated dental devices, and more. I wrote down everything I could remember about our lives, and then I got a bit creative and started adding a few other things, tiny little changes to our circumstances which probably wouldn’t make that much of a difference in the grand scheme of things.
When I had finished my writing, just as the sun had begun to set on the flying Baron Estate, I found the last bit of bare skin on my body that wasn’t covered in writing (just behind my left ear), and wrote the time, date, and location of where I wanted to be.
JANUARY 30TH, 1892
THE BARON ESTATE
“W. B.! Wake up! We need to be ready to leave in less than an hour!”
My eyes popped open and for a moment I felt practically paralyzed with fear. Where was I? When was I? Was I alright? Did I still exist?