Write a short story about a person who goes to bed on New Year's Eve and wakes up in 1920.

I hate this place. I’m leaving as soon as I can. I glance up at the calendar on my wall and sigh; two more years until my coming of age. They say it’ll be gone in a flash, and then I’ll wish I could have it all back again. But I know that’s all bullshit. I’m sick of hearing ‘when I was young’. That was a long time ago; you didn’t have internet, so what? No one asked. We’re in the god damn 21^st century for Chrissake. As soon as I turn 18 I’m out of here, and there’s nothing they can say or do to stop me.

I slump down onto my bed and scroll through my phone. I can’t believe they wouldn’t even let me go to Christie’s New Year’s Eve Party; it’s not like we’d do anything stupid. I stare at the blue screen blankly. All of the posts are about Christie’s and it’s definitely not helping. I switch my phone off and ditch it across the room.

“Excuse me, missie! You pick that up right now!” Mum’s angry voice booms down the hallway and I roll my eyes.

“Yes, Mum. Whatever-the-fuck-you-say.” I mutter under my breath. I’m so done with life. Why couldn’t I have cool parents? Christie’s Dad is a racecar driver and he buys her vodka on New Year’s. My Mum won’t even let me drink coffee past 2pm.

“What did you say?” I think I just awakened the beast.

“Nothing!”

“You want me to confiscate your phone?”

“Mum, that is not what I said!” But it’s too late. She’s already storming up the hallway, and I’m screwed. I don’t understand how she never hears me when I call to her from my room, but she can hear me curse under my breath from almost a kilometre away.

I want to punch her when she storms through the door but that would guarantee me a lifetime’s more suffering, so I keep my cool.

“Hand me your phone.” I do as she says. I’m already neck deep in a trench and I’m not willing to face any further consequences. As soon as she’s got my phone she storms back from whence she came, slamming the door angrily behind her.

I collapse on my bed. I wish they would all just disappear. Like, I don’t even care what happens. I’d rather be stuck in ancient times than here, now. I contemplate taking my shoes off, and eventually decide they’re my best bet. Without further ado, I tug at the laces, kick my docs onto the floor, roll over and close my eyes.

***

The light from the window wakes me before anything else, but I whimper and roll over. It’s way too early. I close my eyes and draw the covers back over my head. And it’s only then that I realise. I don’t have a window in my room. I sit bolt upright. What I face is anything but what I’d been expecting.

The room is small but welcoming, and the morning light pours in through the window and dances across the carpeted floor. The walls are covered in floral wallpaper and, as much as I’ve always hated Nan’s flowery wallpaper, I sort of like it. Don’t tell her that, Iggy. I grimace, but dismiss my thoughts immediately. In fact, there’s not just one but two long windows, draped in heavy velvet curtains… I’m not home anymore. In fact, I don’t even know where I am. Is all I can think as I fling back the covers and stumble out of the extravagant four poster bed.

I yank the door open and head down the corridor. Sure enough, it’s lined with paintings upon paintings of old white men in elaborate tuxedos. At least New Year’s can’t really get any worse. I perpetually reassure myself. I try to tell myself that this is all bullshit; that it’s probably just some stupid nightmare. But it all seems so real…

“Take me back to the land of the living, you bastards!” I scream down the long hallway as I topple a vase on a nearby nightstand. It looked hideous anyway, I tell myself, but I feel like I honestly would’ve smashed it regardless of how pretty it was.

I don’t recall how many more ornaments I smashed after that. The last thing I remember was crashing my head into something, and then black. No, that’s a lie. I do remember thinking ‘oh yay, this is when I wake up’. But that was it.

***

I don’t understand why they make it so glamourous in movies; like you pass out, wake up and everything’s great. It’s all fake. Everything. I suppose I should listen to Mum more; even when she says stuff I don’t want to hear. More often than not she’s ri– wow. I shake my head in disbelief; I can’t believe I’m actually apologising.

“What shall we do with her?” Before I can contemplate my strange thoughts any further, a voice yanks me from my silent reverie. I open my eyes, expecting to match a voice to a face, but everything is a blur, and my head is still throbbing. I try to form words, but I sound like more like a wailing baby than anything else.

“I say we oughta dump her on the street. We ain’t a home for lost souls.”

“Send her to the orphanage, perhaps?”

“No, no, no. Why shan’t we appoint her here?”

“My God, Lizzie. Are you mad?”

“Well, we’ve visitors coming next week. We could do with an extra set of hands.”

“She’s right.”

“Lizzie ought to look after her then, coz I definitely ain’t.”

“Yes, course I will.”

“It’s settled then.”

A bang and then… black. For the second, no, third time? That’s all I remember. By the time I finally resume consciousness my head is pounding, and my ears are ringing. I’m lying in some sort of ‘bed’, but the mattress is so hard it may as well be a stone tile. My vision is a bunch of blotches of colour, no more.

A white blob shuffles into the room, and I’m passed a cup of… tea?

“Do you have any coffee here? I could really do with a caffeine hit right now.”

“Hullo Missie, I’m Lizzie. And you are?”

“Iggy.”

“Can I call you Betty?”

“Sure.” I pause, and then find myself adding “please don’t take this personally but this is all really freaking me out.” I flail my arms before me.

“Tha’s aright. You get some more sleep. I’ll come back later.”

“Sure thing. Can I have a coffee?”

“I’ll leave the teapot here.” I already told her I wanted coffee, but something tells me that she doesn’t have any. This is so lame. I sip my tea (that was not intended to be ironic) and stare in the blobby distance.

***

By the time Lizzie returns I haven’t slept at all, but at least my vision has adjusted slightly.

“Hi Lizzie.”

“Hullo Betty. The others needed help polishing the silverware.” I wish she wouldn’t call me that.

“When?”

“Pardon?”

“When? It’s an expression. Like, ‘when did I ask’ sorta thing.”

“Oh, okay. Would you mind pitching in?”

“I suppose I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

But Lizzie just laughs, “you’re rather funny, Betty.” I attempt to force a smile, but it’s more of a grimace.

“Can I borrow your phone?”

“Course, come with me.” Lizzie smiles and grabs the teapot and my teacup, and I follow her through the tiny doorway.

The corridor is cold, dark and damp; but it doesn’t smell bad, which I am thankful for. Even so, I’m starting to miss home and everyone back there. Everything here is white, and the place is practically empty. As we approach the stairwell, I can’t help but marvel at how small and plain it is. I suppose you don’t really appreciate something until it’s gone, and now I do really miss the big modern stairwell back home. I sigh and follow Lizzie down the two flights of tiny steps. When we reach the bottom, the place is a little less empty and not completely white, although I wouldn’t go as far as calling it elaborate. There are several people in matching tuxedos, carrying empty trays and jugs. Lizzie tells me to keep to the left of the corridor, as it generally gets pretty busy. I nod and follow her as we sidle into a nearby room.

The room isn’t at all spacious, and there’s a tall thin lady sitting behind the desk who rises as we enter.

“Morning Ma’am.” Lizzie greets her with a curtesy almost immediately. I just stand and stare. She looks so thin she could be anorexic. That’s the first thought that goes through my mind; not ‘she’s wearing something different so she must be a superior’; not ‘the telephone on her desk looks like it could be 200 years old’. No. ‘She could be anorexic’ is all I can think. Good one, Iggy. You’ve done it again. Lizzie nudges me back to life.

“Howdy. Nice to meet you, Ma’am?”

“Who is this?” The woman examines me disdainfully.

“I’m Ig–”

But Lizzie interrupts me before I have a chance to finish, “this is Betty, and she’s exceedingly sorry.”

“I am?” But Lizzie just scowls at me. “I am.” I concede eventually. But by then it’s already far too late. The anorexic looking woman is fuming. I am suddenly reminded of Mum.

“Send her to muck out the stables, the ungrateful little brat.”

“Y-Y-Yes, M-Ma’am.” I didn’t expect Lizzie to be this nervous, but she’s trembling. I don’t say anything else, but I give her the finger as we exit. She doesn’t react, so I don’t think she saw it. Whatever.

Once out of the room Lizzie doesn’t say much, but I can tell she’s on a mission. She doesn’t want to talk about her trembling knees, and she definitely wants to be alone. I follow her along the corridor, out the door and across a massive lawn that could probably be split up into at least 50 small houses. Cash cow. Definitely.

The stables are the epitome of grandeur. Like, there are people who are homeless, and there’s money to build shit like this? The government really need to get their priorities straight. Since when did I care? I shrug away the thought and enter the stables.

The place is empty. I don’t know why, but I’d been expecting to see a really cute boy or something. Literally me every day. Hormones, honestly. Lizzie shows me what to do and hands me a rake, shovel and a bunch of other tools I would’ve called ‘pooper scooper’ tools if she wasn’t there. She calls them something different, of course. Once she’s gone, I decide that I’m the one stuck here cleaning up the faeces, so I’ll call the tools whatever I like. I didn’t say that to her face, though.

I want to go home. I never thought I’d say that, but I absolutely hate this place. This hellhole. And as soon as Lizzie’s gone, on top of everything else, I feel lonely too.

“Get me out of here!” I find myself screaming, to no one in particular.

I’m not religious and I don’t believe in any kind of superior being, but something very strange happened after that. I can’t even tell you what, because I don’t even know it myself. All I know is that it happened. There. I think I sort of… fainted? Passed out? Well, not exactly, but I suppose you could call it that. And then I plummeted headfirst down this massive tunnel. In that moment I honestly felt like my insides were going to pop right out of me. They didn’t though, of course. But it was bloody terrifying.

Anyway, back to the story. I woke up in the middle of my parents’ bedroom. On the floor. I’m not even going to attempt to explain how or why that happened. It just did. And now I’m going to take you there.

***

“Mum?” I find myself clutching to the edge of her bed.

“Iggy?”

“I’m sorry.” Why am I apologising? I never apologise. And then it hits me, like a heavy blow to the head. “I’m sorry for not listening to you. You only say those things because you care about me. Christie might be someone else’s friend in 2 years’ time, but you’ll always be there for me. I’m sorry for giving you such a hard time.” I pause before continuing. “All the time. I love you, Mum. And I’m so so sor–”

“Come here, Iggy.” Mum opens her arms and I crawl across the bed to embrace her. “I know I can be hard on you sometimes, but it’s only because I love you, sweetie.”

A tear rolls down my cheek. “I know.”

“It’s going to be a great year, hun. I promise.” I don’t say anything, but I hope she’s right. I just sit there, hold her and relish this moment. And I don’t ever want to let her go.