THE CARRIAGE

         So, I found myself alone in Regents Park. Like most

Americans, names like Regents Park bring vague recollections

I can’t really define. I knew, of course, it was a part of

London. I knew I had heard the name many times in my

lifetime; but was it a name remembered from re-runs

of an old Basil Rathbone Sherlock Holmes film or news. One

thing I was sure of concerning Regents Park: it was the

home of H. G. Wells. The reason I was so sure was that I

was staring at a plaque on the side of a building that

proclaimed it to be the writer’s home.

         I figured “What the heck! When will I ever find myself

in this position again.” I went to the door and knocked and

it was soon answered by a middle aged woman with a very

friendly smile.
         
         “Yes. Sir. May I help you.”
         
         I decided to be straightforward with her and simply

explained that I was an American in London for my first,

and probably last, time and would it be possible to see the

interior of Mr. Wells’ home? She beamed broadly and opened

the door wide.
         
         “By all means. Please do come in and make yourself to

home.”          I removed my foolish New York Yankees cap and

entered the domain of the greatest science fiction writer of all time.
         
         “I have a few chores I must be about tending to, but

please explore to your heart’s content until I return.”

With that gracious offer, she scurried up a set of stairs,

leaving me in the entranceway. Just think of it. I had been

given free run of the home of H. G. Wells!
         
         I quickly made a circuit of the drawing room, dining

room and private office area and wandered into the kitchen,

I imagined Mr. Wells giving directions to his cook

concerning his dinner. He might have any sort of guests

coming to dinner and would want everything perfect for their

evening’s repast. It was then I noticed the small doorway

on the left side of the room, and decided to explore some

more.
         
         There was a stairway that led down into the cellar of

the house. In Mr. Wells’ day, perishable foodstuffs would

be kept there, away from the heat of the day. Near the foot

of the stairs, I found a table that held a clock (which no

longer ran), an assortment of writing instruments and what

appeared to be a set of blueprints, undoubtedly one of his

experiments. There was also some unused rolls of paper

lying on the table.
         
         Farther into the room was a large object of some sort,

covered by a tarpaulin type material. “I really shouldn’t

disturb it,” I thought, but who was I kidding? I pulled the

material off what appeared to be an old fashioned carriage

of some sort. Examining the carriage, I found a dial built

into the front of the thing. Wells, or somebody, had marked

different dates on the wood around the dial.
         
         I almost laughed aloud. H. G. Wells’ famous time

travel machine. What a kick! Just for the memory, I sat in

the thing and leaned back. How many people could say they

had actually sat in H. G. Wells’ time machine!
         
         I mused that it was too bad the thing didn’t really

work. Imagine the terrible tragedies that might have been

avoided if someone had known they were about to happen. As

I started to rise and leave the carriage, I glanced at the

dial once again. Why not? Just for the fun of it.
         
         “Let’s see. This is 2007. Why don’t I set it for 2009

and see what the world will be like in two years. Maybe

pick up some stock tips and winners at race tracks.” I

giggled at my fantasy, but I guess there is still a little

bit of a kid in me.

         I felt a wave of nausea hit me. It was not a very long

attack and relatively mild, but it convinced me I should

get back to my hotel and maybe take a nap. I crawled out of

the carriage and climbed the stairs. When I opened the door

into the kitchen, a younger woman was standing at the sink.

She turned toward me when she heard the door open.
         
         “Who are you and what do you want here?” she demanded.
         
         “I’m just an American in London for a visit and the

other lady said it would be okay to look around. Sorry if I

startled you.“
         
         “What other lady?”
         
         I described her as best I could from the short time we

had been together.
         
         “Oh, her. Well. She no longer runs things around here.

You should have done your looking while she was still

employed here.”
         
         “I thought she still worked here.”
         
         “No, she retired last year. Now get out before I call

the bobbies.”
         
         Confused, I mumbled “Yes, ma’am.” and hurried through

the house and out the front door. “Boy, what a crank.”
         
         Still thinking the hotel would be my best destination,

I retraced my steps to a bus stop and waited for the bus I

had ridden earlier. When it arrived, I seated myself and

tried to enjoy the ride to my temporary home. London seemed

to be the busiest place I had been in a long time. Cars,

buses and trucks were going in every direction and the

sidewalks were crowded with pedestrians. But, there was an

odd stench…or taste…or something I couldn’t identify. Maybe

it was the result of the attack I had suffered in the

carriage. Whatever it was, it was the most disgusting thing

I had ever encountered.
         
         When I walked into the hotel lobby, the manager rushed

from behind the counter to meet me.
         
         “Mr. Johns! I am so glad to see you. I have been

wondering if you were a survivor! Frankly, I had about

given up hope of ever knowing.”
         
         “A survivor? Of what?”
         
         “How long has it been since you heard any news about

America?”
         
         “I don’t know, not too long. Why?”
         
         “You know they were attacked with nuclear devices?

Just ten days after all the disappearances.”
         
         “What? Attacked?“
         
         “Apparently smugglers managed to get forty small

nuclear weapons into the major cities of the United States

and detonate them.”
         
         “But what disappearances are you talking about?”
         
         “Millions of people all over the world just vanished.”
         
         “When did this happen?”
         
         “Two or three weeks ago.”
         
         “You got some bad information. I was in the U.S. until

day before yesterday and there was no attack. And I never

heard of anyone vanishing.”
         
         “But there was. The telly had the videos of it!”
         
         “There’s something wrong somewhere. Pal. At any rate,

I’d like to go up to my room and rest.”
         
         “I believe the same room you had the last time you

stayed with us is available. Would that suit your needs?”
         
         Thoroughly disoriented, I murmured something like

         “Yeah, okay, whatever.” He handed me the key and I

went back to my room. It was empty! No clothing, no

suitcases, no toiletries, nothing!
         
         Almost immediately, there was a knock on the door and

the manager walked in, carrying my suitcases. “I put these

in safekeeping when you disappeared. I’m so pleased you’re

back with us. Now maybe we can have that game of darts we

talked of.” With that, he hurried out of the room, leaving

me with my mouth hanging open.
         
         A newspaper was lying atop the suitcases. One of the

things I liked about this hotel was that they furnish a

London Times daily. I glanced at the front page without

picking it up. Nothing much interested me there and I was

about to turn away, when I noted the date. “This has to be

a gag.” I thought. A newspaper dated two years from now?
         
         A cold chill suddenly made its way the full length of

my spinal cord. If they weren’t putting me on, what had

just occurred was impossible! It just couldn’t be real! It

was pure madness!
         
         The next morning I arose early and went downstairs and

outside. The stench was still there. I recognized it

now…..unbridled…..malignant….evil!
         
         I took a taxi to the office of the London Times, where

I examined the front pages of the newspaper for the past

two years, So many things had happened. The destruction of

the United States was documented.
         
         But the other item was the one that totally captivated

my attention. Just ten days prior to the destruction of

America, millions of people had suddenly vanished, leaving

no word as to where they were going. Some sources were

calling it a scientific evolution; others called it a dark

plot. With a queasy stomach, I realized what had really

occurred. The catching away of the church had occurred and

I had missed it!
         
         I knew I had to get back to Wells’ house and the

carriage, machine, whatever it was. As ridiculous as it

seemed, apparently it had worked. Now, I had to try to get

it to work again. I had to warn my friends and loved ones.
         
         Even as I had the thought, I recognized the futility

of such a warning. Who would believe my story. I wouldn’t

if it hadn’t happened to me. No, the story would have to

remain untold. I would have to concentrate on warning folks

based on biblical information. I knew that I would be

labeled a “religious fanatic”, but that was okay. In a

sense, that was exactly what I intended to become.
         
         Was there a way I could help move the unwieldy federal

bureaucracy in time to stop the infiltration of the enemies

of democracy? Not that I could see.
         
         I decided to take it one step at a time. The first

step was to get back home two years ago. Without even

returning to the hotel for my belongings, I took a taxi

straight to the Wells house. I knocked on the door and was

met by the same unfriendly young woman I had seen earlier.
         
         “What do you want?’
         
         “When I was here earlier, I left something in the

cellar and I desperately need to retrieve it. It won’t take

but a moment and it is very urgent.”          
         
         “Well, be quick about it.”
         
         “Believe me, I will.”
         
         With no further comment I strode rapidly to the

kitchen, through the door and down the stairs. The carriage

was not there!
         
         “What happened to the carriage?”
         
         “It’s really none of your business, now is it?”
         
         “The things I need are in the carriage, so yes, it is

my business,” I lied.
         
         “Well, you won’t believe me……..but, I was cleaning the

thing and…Well, I reached in and turned the little knob

there in the front and the bloody thing just disappeared.”
         
         “Do you remember which direction you turned it?”
         
         “Let’s see. Yes, I turned it to the right.”
         
         “Do you know how far you turned it?”
         
         “Just a little bit. I don’t know. Maybe a centimeter or two.”
         
         Frustrated, I sat down and dropped my head. After

composing myself, I told her. “Thank you very much for your

courtesy. If it should reappear, would you please notify

me? I’ll leave you my number. And, if you don’t mind, I may

drop by from time to time to check with you. Believe me,

I’ll make it worth your while.”
         
         So, I find myself standing in Regents Park, beside a

plaque identifying the home of the late H. G. Wells. I’ve

come by every week for the past three months and still the

carriage has not returned. Someday it will, when time

finally catches up to it. I just hope it is in my

lifetime, so that I can accomplish my mission. I keep

thinking “Oh, my dear loved ones, don’t wait for me. Become

a ‘religious fanatic’ yourself while there is still time!”