Stories we already told | Larry Stylinson

Chapter Three

September 3rd 1977, Greentown (UK)

I tried to remember which turns Harry took the day before. At some point I thought I had gotten lost in the woods, but luckily I managed to find the right way again.

I saw Harry's beige car approaching in the distance. I hid behind a tree, feeling guilty. It wasn't nice of me to leave like that, but I couldn't stop thinking about his face printed on a missing person poster.

What was the meaning of this? Was I dead? Was it a dream? Or was I going crazy?

I crossed the Old Gillmoor Bridge, it didn't look like I remember it. It had less cracks and I was pretty sure the road sign wasn't the same I had seen the last time I had been there.

From the Old Bridge I knew the way to Green Town by heart, having spent twelve of my years travelling along it thousands of times to go to the Green Lake.

As I was walking it became more and more obvious that there was something slightly different in everything: from the trees that ran along the roads to the facades of the houses that slowly became more and more numerous as I approached Greentown.

I came across another car. This time it wasn't Harry's, but it was another vintage car, a red Volkswagen Beetle to be precise.

Weird.

My theory about being dead or dreaming seemed even more plausible.

But can a dream last so long? And why am I dreaming a guy who went missing before I was even born? I asked myself. I didn't even care about him.

Before, I added. I didn't know the real Harry, but dream Harry was kind and I liked him, it just creeped me out knowing that he disappeared without leaving any track. Again, I felt bad for running away from his house.

Maybe I was dead and that was some sort of afterlife. After all Harry hadn't been found in twenty-seven years, he was probably dead.

I shook my head and kept walking.

It took me about fifteen minutes to reach the town. Usually it was a half an hour walk from the Old Bridge to Greentown's centre, but I had been walking so fast I was almost running, eager to get as far from that photograph as possible.

The town wasn't the same too. The shops were different and I didn't recognize any of the people I came across in the streets. I kept walking, not really thinking about where to go. I ended up in the main square of Greentown. It wasn't big but it had a nice fountain in the middle. The instrument shop next to the city hall I always went to wasn't there anymore, but what really hit me was the church.

I knew for a fact that St. Peter's Church had been restored in 1999, but every sign of that intervention had vanished.

Instead of the instrument shop there was a café, at one of the outside tables sat a man reading the Times. I walked towards him, trying to get close enough to see the date on the newspaper. After squinting my eyes for I while I was finally able to read it: September 3rd, 1977.

After all I had seen being in 1977 made sense: it explained the old cars, the streets and people being different, Harry's presence... but at the same time it was completely impossible. I was born in 1979 and I was a hundred percent sure it was 2005 when I drove my car into the lake.

I shot another glance at the church, that's when the realization hit me.

If it really was 1977, I didn't have home anymore, since me and Martha bought our flat in 2000.

"Where the hell am I supposed to go now?"

The man raised his eyes from the newspaper and gave me a confused look.