The Past is Calling

(UK)

“What’s dial-up?”

Natalie’s twelve-year-old son looked up at her.

“The Internet.”

He narrowed his eyes, doubt clouding his expression. He was approaching those teenage years when he wanted to correct everything she said, but he was still young enough to not dare push his luck. She had been complaining about the Wi-Fi speed while trying to browse nearby restaurants on UberEats, but the app wouldn’t load. Earlier, Jack had tried without success to connect his devices. Now, he was browsing the shelf full of board games and books left by the owner for guests.

“This place is boring!“ He said.

”It’s… basic.”

She had resigned herself to the fact that, for now, they were stuck here. Hiring an AirBnB cottage for a weekend away in a quiet village in the depths of the countryside sounded like bliss. An escape from relentless city life with her son. In reality, it felt like visiting the land that time forgot. Natalie was paying £300 per night to stay here and it looked nothing like this on the photos. She intended to complain at a later date. The address was correct, but photographs showed a remodelled kitchen and bathroom with updated appliances. Whoever had listed this place had used photos from another property, or it was a scam, she couldn’t be sure.

Driving through the high trees of the dense forest to find the village had felt like entering a vortex. The winds were strong, the rain lashed against the windscreen. The road signs ended after she passed the second farmhouse. Then, the SatNav disconnected.

God knows how she found her way here.

It was getting late.

There was no supermarket nearby, only a corner shop, a pub, and a post office. There was certainly nothing glamorous about it, but the decor held a certain amount of nostalgia. At least for Natalie. It reminded her of her grandparent’s house when she was younger. The same shades of magnolia and peach painted the ceilings and walls of this house. None of it had seen a lick of paint in decades. The floral patterned sofa with too many cushions sat against the back wall, opposite the TV and a gas fire. Ceramic ornaments and little bowls of pot-pourri fill the space on the wooden side tables, making the room smell of vanilla and cinnamon.

Her grandad died in 1997, followed by her grandma some years later. As an adult, she held a deep longing to return to their house. To recapture simpler times.

Giving up on finding a board game he wanted to play, Jack crouched at his games console on the floor. He muttered, praying for something to happen as he mashed the connection into the port at the back of the TV. The screen flickered between grey and black before it turned off completely.

“The PlayStation still isn’t working.” He bashed the top of the box. She had let him bring it with him in the car so he wouldn’t “lose his mind”. The TV was a boxy thing. A grey plastic cube with a 14-inch glass screen and a built-in VHS player that turned on with a big silver button on the front of it. Jack couldn’t find the remote, so watching TV wasn’t an option either.

“The TV is probably just too old.”

He turned to his phone and had no luck, desperation etched in his face. “I can’t take much more of this!” He cradled his head in his hands.

He held his hands out for her phone. “Can I try yours? PLEASE?”. He begged. She doubted he’d have much luck with that either, but handed it over, anyway. The blue screen lit up his face. He looked calm as it took its pacifying effect, but his face dropped and he stamped his feet on the floor. “YouTube won’t load!”

He threw the phone at the cushion. Panic was setting in now. He was staring ahead. Natalie could read his thoughts and felt a pang of guilt. He was envisaging an entire weekend of just… this. Real life. Torture for a twelve-year-old.

Natalie looked out of the window. “We could go to the park tomorrow? See if there are any other kids your age?”

She was desperate for him not to have a miserable time. There was a landline phone on the floor, plugged into the wall behind the sofa. She picked up the receiver. A dull monotone hummed in her ear. It was connected. “Call someone from school?”

He sighed, irritated. “Look, I don’t know their phone numbers. I just want to go home.”

Even she was feeling boredom setting in. She had no idea what to do. Make the long drive home, perhaps. Families occupied the cottages opposite, all there for a similar reason. Since her divorce, she missed doing things like this. This was her opportunity to get some alone time with her son before he went away skiing with his dad and Vicky in the summer.

A teenager on a bike rode past the window wearing a blue and purple tracksuit ensemble, distracting her from her thoughts. He had a Sony Walkman plugged into his ears with headphones. Greasy, straggling folds of hair sagged down both sides of his face. A hoop earring glinted in his ear. A large pink bubble of bubblegum popped in his face.

The nineties trend was still going strong. Those younger consider the look “vintage”. It made her an antique. Behind her was the living proof that kids today wouldn’t last two minutes in the real nineties. But they could enjoy the fashion at least.

She spent several minutes watching the world drift by the window. She saw little until a car passed, stopping at the roadside. A pillar box red Ford Escort, the reg plate started K948. A young man in the driver’s seat wearing a dark denim jacket. Even from here, she could hear the music blasting out from the tinny speakers. He had pulled over to change the tape on the tape deck. She watched him sort through the boxes until he found the right one.

Oasis, Wonderwall.

The exhaust rattled as it pulled away, blowing smoke from the tyres.

It was starting to feel spooky, like it really was the land that time forgot. The two occurrences so close together struck her as odd. They regularly held vintage car shows in this part of the country. That could explain it.

”I’ll sort dinner out.” She said to Jack. He shrugged in response, practically lifeless with boredom. There was bound to be a takeaway menu somewhere, she thought, as she made her way into the kitchen. If not, the snacks they brought with them might have to do. The kitchen was pine wood with laminate flooring and white appliances that didn’t include a dishwasher. Opening the cupboards of the kitchen, she began putting the snacks away and found food left by the previous guests. She wouldn’t eat things left behind by strangers. In fact, she felt quite put out that they hadn’t bothered to tidy up after themselves. She opened the fridge door to see if any other horrors lay in wait. A glass bottle of milk, foil-topped, and a mayonnaise jar sat there. She took out the jar. The yellow faded sticker on top read: “Best before: 02 June 1996”

Natalie peered more closely at the jar in her hands. 1996?

A sickly feeling settled in her stomach. That couldn’t be right. She set it on the kitchen table, her brow furrowed. Her eyes were tired from a long drive.

“Jack, come here a minute please,” she called.

He trudged into the kitchen, still sulking, clutching the instructions to Cluedo in his hand. “What?”

“Look at this,” she said, pointing to the sticker. “What does that date say to you?”

He squinted at it. “1996. That’s, like, older than Vicky, probably.”

Natalie clenched her jaw.

”And really disgusting.”

Something felt wrong. The jar looked fresh. There was no dust, no sticky residue. Unscrewing the lid, she sniffed it. It smelled fresh, like it had been placed there yesterday. She shook her head, brushing the thought away. “Maybe someone reused an old jar.”

She handed it to him to throw in the bin beside him. Before he did, he took a newspaper out of it.

”Look, the date on here is the fourth of March 1996.” His face lit up. “Wait, there are videos on YouTube of urban explorers who break into really old run-down places and find loads of old stuff! Is that where we are? Are you sure we’re supposed to be in here?”

At last, he was interested.

”That’s not what’s happened here.”

”Are you sure?”

”Yes.”

Natalie said, but she wasn’t sure exactly what was happening here. He fell flat again.

“Then can we just go home in the morning? This place is creepy.”

“It’s not creepy, Jack.”

But even as she said it, she didn’t believe herself. He sulked away, leaving her alone in the kitchen. She kept eyeing the newspaper, reading the news, stories about politicians she hadn’t seen in decades. Princess Diana.

In the drawer, she found a paper takeaway menu. She took it into the living room and handed it to Jack. “Get whatever you want.”

She hoped to see a smile, but she was disappointed.

She took Jack’s order, sat on the floor, and dialled the number.

A man’s voice answered. She couldn’t be sure. The line sounded like static, but she thought he said the name of a pub.

”I’m looking for the Dragon Palace Takeaway?”

The man laughed, “It was here, but disappeared years ago. Think you need to update your contacts. It’s a pub now.”

”A pub? Are you sure?”

”Well, I own it. Have done for the last twenty-five years or so.”

”I’m sorry. I must have got the number wrong.”

She put the phone down. She dialled again, slowly and meticulously pressing the numbers this time. The same voice answered. She hung up.

There was a sound from the living room. The TV had turned on. “I found the remote!” Jack shouted from the living room, pure joy in his voice. She followed the sound. The TV was working but the image was grainy and the colours looked dull. He turned up the volume with several clicks of the remote.

”When’s food getting here?” He asked, without looking at her.

”We’ll have to go out. There’s bound to be somewhere we passed earlier.”

”Go out?!”

The TV crackled and fuzzed, grey scale colours bleached the screen. When it cleared up, Jack nodded to the face. ”Who’s that?”

A show was starting. A voice she recognised but hadn’t heard in years introduced the host. Another face from the past.

”It’s Blind Date with your host, Cilla Black!”

Natalie settled on the arm of the chair. ”Is this a repeat? On Sky?”

Jack’s head lagged to one side, ”So far I’ve only found, like, four channels that work, mum…” He pressed the middle button on the chunky remote, “This is ITV.”

She felt a chill creep up her spine.

This doesn’t make sense.

A thought crossed her mind and she shook it away. She was losing it.

But what else could it be? It wasn’t just one or two things, it was everything. Her mind was racing, piecing together the date on the jar, the car, the phone call.

The phone call.

The landline worked. If the crazy explanation was right, then it let her call... She felt ridiculous for even thinking it, and she was even more glad that her twelve-year-old couldn’t hear it. If she can call the future from the past, that means she can call the… present?

She nervously drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair. Trying to work out how she would explain it to Jack. He was watching Blind Date and didn’t seem to care anymore, just grateful for the interaction with a screen that was showing him anything. He went to the bathroom during the ad break.

She pounced on the phone. Her parents hadn’t moved house, their number was the same as it was when she was a child.

One test remained that would confirm her suspicions. She dialled the only other number she knew by heart and listened to the phone ring.

A voice answered. ”Hello?”

”Hi, grandad.”