Evelyn

Garan stepped out of the front door, pausing on the threshold. He hesitated, glancing back into the quiet, sunlit house. The comforting sounds of home—his mother’s footsteps, the faint hum of the kitchen appliances—seemed to cling to him as he lingered. For a moment, he considered staying inside, avoiding the outside world where everything felt unnervingly perfect.

“It’s only four blocks, Mom. Don’t worry so much,” Garan said, his voice soft but with a familiar edge of teenage impatience. He listened to his mother’s reply, her concern evident even though he couldn’t make out the exact words.

“I’ll be careful. I love you too,” he added with a hint of a smile, his tone gentler now. He knew his mother meant well, but the over protectiveness that had settled over their lives since his father’s passing sometimes felt stifling.

Garan pushed himself out the door, letting it close behind him as he descended the steps to the street. The neighborhood stretched out before him, a near-perfect picture of suburban tranquility. Identical houses lined both sides of the road, each with manicured lawns and precisely trimmed hedges. Only slight differences in color marked one house from the next. It was as if the entire street had been plucked from a brochure, advertising the ideal life.

As he walked, Garan noticed how eerily quiet everything was. The street was immaculate, not a single scrap of litter in sight, and the yards were empty, devoid of any sign of life. Occasionally, a vehicle would drive by, its tires whispering against the pavement, but the sidewalks remained deserted.

Garan turned left onto Maple Avenue, and the unsettling feeling of being watched crept over him. He glanced up and saw a couple staring at him through their dining room window, their eyes fixed on him as if he were an intruder. He quickened his pace, but two houses later, he caught sight of an old man in a second-floor bedroom window, his gaze just as piercing.

Across the street, a father hurriedly scooped up his young son and retreated into the house, the door shutting with a resounding thud that echoed down the empty street.

“I don’t understand these people,” Garan muttered under his breath, a frown creasing his brow. “Nothing ever happens here. This is Woodlawn Terrace.”

As he approached the entrance to the neighborhood park, Garan slowed his pace. A stone wall flanked either side of the entrance, offering a sense of grandiosity to the otherwise simple park. His eyes caught the sign mounted on one of the walls: “Woodlawn Terrace.” Beneath it, in smaller letters, the subscript read, “Society Perfected.”

The park was as pristine as the rest of Woodlawn Terrace. The trees that lined its perimeter were identical in height, their leaves rustling in perfect harmony with the breeze. The benches were spaced with mathematical precision, and the grass beneath his feet was softer and greener than any he had ever seen. It was a picture of order, beauty, and control.

He entered the park, following the path that wound its way to the center where a statue of a man stood tall and imposing. The statue held an open book titled “The Rebirth of Man” in its left hand, while its right hand reached for the sky, as if to touch the heavens.

Garan stopped as a familiar chirp broke the silence. He smiled, recognizing the sound immediately. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small piece of bread, carefully placing it on the statue’s book. Almost immediately, a tiny sparrow fluttered down, picking up the morsel with quick, delicate movements. The bird lingered for a moment, its beady eyes locking with Garan’s, as if to thank him, before it took flight, disappearing into the blue sky above.

With a contented sigh, Garan resumed his walk, exiting the park on the far side and turning onto Willow Street. The apartment building he sought came into view after a few more blocks, its façade plain and unremarkable, blending into the uniformity of the neighborhood. Garan pushed open the door and climbed the stairs to the second floor, the familiar creak of the wooden steps underfoot a welcome sound in the otherwise quiet building.

Garan walked down the softly lit hallway of the apartment building, the sound of his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet beneath him. The corridor was lined with wooden apartment doors, each one identical except for the small brass numbers affixed to them. As he passed the first few doors, his pace slowed slightly when he reached unit #203. He lifted his hand to knock, but before his knuckles could connect with the wood, the door swung open.

Garan jumped back slightly, startled. Standing in the doorway was an older man with a light hearted grin, his face framed by a few wisps of silver hair. This was Mr. Johnson, the kind of neighbor who always seemed to know what you were about to do before you did it.

"Hello, Garan!" Mr. Johnson greeted warmly, his voice a rich baritone that still carried a youthful energy despite his 71 years. "We've been expecting you."

Garan shook his head with a smile, stepping inside as Mr. Johnson held the door open wider. The apartment was modest, with a cozy atmosphere that spoke of many years of care. The main room was split between a small, open kitchen with a dining area on one side and a compact living room on the other. At the far end, a short hallway led to the master bedroom, a bathroom, and a smaller bedroom.

"Hi, Mr. Johnson," Garan replied, glancing around the familiar surroundings. "You really love that trick, don't you? Maybe you should find a new hobby."

Mr. Johnson chuckled, closing the door behind them. "Hobbies? No, no time for that now. Not with the baby here."

Garan’s expression softened at the mention of the baby. "How is Evelyn?"

"Well," Mr. Johnson began, his voice taking on a gentler tone, "I just put her down for a nap, but knowing her, she’s probably still awake. Would you like to see her?"

"I’d love to," Garan replied, his smile widening.

Mr. Johnson led Garan down the short hallway to the master bedroom. The room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn to keep the light soft for the baby. In the corner, a small crib stood against the wall, with a delicate blanket draped over its edge. As they entered, Evelyn, a tiny bundle of warmth and innocence, rolled over in her crib and looked up at them. Her sleepy eyes blinked slowly as she recognized Garan.

Garan approached the crib, placing his hands gently on the railing as he leaned over to get a closer look. Evelyn’s small hand reached up, her fingers wrapping around Garan’s much larger one. For a moment, her face lit up with a big, toothless smile, but it quickly faded as her eyelids drooped. She released Garan’s finger and drifted back to sleep, her breathing soft and steady.

Mr. Johnson and Garan exchanged a quiet glance before they tiptoed out of the room. Mr. Johnson closed the door with the care of someone who had done it many times before, ensuring it made no sound.

“How is she doing since the accident?” Garan asked in a low voice as they walked back into the living room.

“Oh, Evelyn’s fine,” Mr. Johnson replied, though there was a hint of weariness in his tone. “Alvin and me? We’re going to need some time. The three of us have to look out for each other now, especially Evelyn. There’s something special about that one, eh?”

Garan nodded. “Well, she is adorable. That’s for sure.”

Mr. Johnson smiled, a touch of pride in his eyes. “I told Alvin I’d send you in when you got here. So, in you go,” he said, waving Garan toward the smaller bedroom across the hall. “I’ll let you know when it’s thirty minutes until curfew.”

“Thanks, Mr. Johnson. My mom worries about that stuff,” Garan replied, appreciating the older man’s thoughtfulness.

“That’s what parents do,” Mr. Johnson said with a knowing smile before he turned back toward the living room.

Garan walked over to the door of Alvin’s room and tapped it lightly with his index finger.

“Come on in, Garan. I started level one without you,” Alvin’s voice called out from inside.

Garan opened the door to find Alvin, his best friend, sitting on the edge of his bed. Alvin was intently focused on a video game displayed on a small television perched atop a wooden dresser. He didn’t look up as Garan entered, his thumbs moving rapidly over the buttons of his controller.

Garan smirked and, without a word, shrugged off his jacket and tossed it over Alvin’s head, temporarily blinding him.

“Damn it, you got me killed,” Alvin grumbled as he yanked the jacket off his head and tossed it to the floor.

“Oh no. Now you’ll have to start over,” Garan replied sarcastically, unable to hide his grin.

Alvin shot him a mock glare. “So rude.”

“You couldn’t even wait twenty minutes for me to get here?” Garan teased as he plopped down beside Alvin on the bed.

“I guess you’ll just have to learn how to teleport,” Alvin retorted, his attention already back on the screen.

“Why would I want to read your mind? That doesn’t make any sense,” Garan said, pretending to be confused.

“What? No, that’s tele—never mind,” Alvin sighed, shaking his head. “Just hurry up and join the game.”

Garan picked up the second controller and settled in beside Alvin, ready to dive into the game.

***

As Garan stepped out of the apartment building and onto the street, the first thing that struck him was the stillness. The vibrant colors of the sunset painted the sky, casting long shadows across the empty sidewalk. He paused for a moment, allowing himself to enjoy the fading light before turning left and beginning his walk.

The streets were eerily quiet. No one else was out, but a few curious faces peered from behind windows. As he walked by, curtains were hastily drawn, and porch lights flickered on one by one. The hum of the streetlights, now glowing with a bright yellow hue, filled the silence.

Garan continued his walk, passing a row of houses and apartment buildings that seemed lifeless despite the lights that had just turned on. After a few blocks, he reached the park and turned left, cutting through it as before. The park was as beautiful as ever, with well-kept paths and not a single piece of litter in sight—except for one.

As Garan reached the trees at the far end, he noticed the lone piece of trash lying on the ground. He bent down to pick it up, but just as his fingers touched the paper, he heard a faint noise. The sound grew louder, morphing into the unmistakable rhythm of marching boots.

His heart quickened as he ducked behind a nearby tree, peering around the edge to see a group of twelve soldiers. They marched in perfect unison, dressed in black military gear with a golden letter H emblazoned on their shoulders. Honor Guard. They moved quickly, their footsteps echoing through the empty park as they passed by without noticing him.

Garan let out a slow breath, relief washing over him. He was about to stand when he turned around—and froze. Mr. Johnson stood directly in front of him, holding a sleeping Evelyn in his arms.

"Mr. Johnson?" Garan whispered, his voice ringing with shock. "How did you... an Honor Squad just ran past."

"Garan, you must take Evelyn," Mr. Johnson said urgently, his eyes full of intensity.

"Take her where? I don’t understand," Garan replied, confusion lacing his words.

"You must trust me," Mr. Johnson insisted, stepping closer and lifting the baby toward Garan.

After a moment’s hesitation, Garan took Evelyn into his arms. The tiny weight of the baby felt both familiar and foreign at the same time.

"Close your eyes," Mr. Johnson instructed.

Garan did as he was told, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Keep them closed as long as you can. I owe you everything. Thank you, Garan," Mr. Johnson said, his voice softening.

With his eyes shut tight, Garan stood still, holding Evelyn close to his chest. The world around him faded to sounds—the rustling of the wind through the trees, the pounding of his own heartbeat, the distant noise of running, shouting... and then, gunshots.

He opened his eyes.

The park was gone. The tree he had hidden behind was now half its former size, and the sun, which had just set moments ago, was now shining directly in his eyes. Garan blinked in disbelief, his surroundings completely changed.

"Mr. Johnson?" he called out, but there was no response.

The entire neighborhood had vanished, replaced by an open field dotted with willow and oak trees. Crouching down, Garan held Evelyn closer, scanning the area for any sign of danger.

"Hello? Mr. Johnson? What’s going on?" he called again, his voice echoing slightly in the empty space.

Evelyn stirred in his arms, but she remained asleep, her peaceful expression a stark contrast to the confusion swirling in Garan’s mind. He looked down at her, marveling at how she could sleep through such an ordeal. A small smile tugged at his lips as he gently reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

"No signal? Where the hell are we?" he muttered, staring at the screen in disbelief.

Garan took another look around, this time more carefully. Everything felt off—too quiet, too empty. "Well, Evelyn," he said softly, "I don’t know about you, but I say we head toward the city center... if it still exists... if we’re still on planet Earth."

He began walking again, his steps heavy with uncertainty. The small ridge in the distance seemed to grow farther away with each step, the landscape stretching out endlessly before him. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Garan reached the top of the ridge and looked down.

In the valley below, the city center came into view, but something was wrong. "There’s the city," Garan wondered aloud, "But what happened to Woodlawn Terrace?"

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out, his heart skipping a beat. The screen showed a calendar update: October 7, 2025. "That’s sixty years in the past. Time for a new phone," he said, a half-hearted attempt at humor.

Just then, he noticed a trio of automobiles driving down the street below, followed by another, and then another. People walked along the sidewalk, going about their day as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

"That’s weird," Garan muttered, his brows furrowing in confusion. "Why is everyone driving classic cars and dressing like my grandparents? Is there a costume party?"

He continued down the hill toward the city, his concern growing with each passing moment. When he finally reached the street, he spotted a blue metal box with a transparent door, filled with folded papers. Garan opened the door, pulled out a paper, and unfolded it.

"City Gazette," the headline read. His eyes scanned the front page until they landed on the date in the upper right corner: October 7, 2025.

"Sixty years in the past. Son of a bitch," he whispered, the realization hitting him like a ton of bricks.

At that moment, Evelyn opened her eyes and looked up at him, a sweet, innocent smile on her face. Garan couldn’t help but smile back.