Tangled In Time

The Gates Of King Lodge

The car jolted over another pothole, and William's sticky head lolled against my shoulder, leaving a damp patch on my shirt. Lovely. I wrinkled my nose and nudged him off, wincing as the faint smell of warm drool wafted up.

Four hours. Four sticky, cramped, miserable hours wedged between a microwave and a snoring five-year-old. This was not how I envisioned my life choices paying off.

"How much longer?" I asked, leaning forward to avoid William's head flopping back onto me.

Dad's hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel. "Not much longer," he said, his tone carrying the weary patience of someone who's repeated the same lie a dozen times.

I sighed, staring out the window. The endless fields blurred together, broken only by the occasional clump of trees or the skeletal remains of a dry stone wall. If we weren't already in the middle of nowhere, it felt like we were careening straight for it.

Behind us, Mum followed in my green VW Beetle, her car a bright smudge in the rearview mirror. I couldn't see her properly through the sun's glare, but I knew exactly how she'd look: back straight, one hand lightly on the wheel, the other resting on the gearstick. Always calm, always composed. She'd probably rolled down the windows, letting the breeze ruffle her hair as she soaked up the rare silence away from us.

At least she got her own space. I twisted to glance at Tom, who'd claimed the front seat, leaving me to deal with William. He sat slouched against the door, his hoodie absurd in the summer heat. His headphones were firmly in place, a universal sign for Do Not Disturb. The sulk practically radiated off him.

"Cheer up," I muttered, tugging out one of his earphones. He turned to glare at me, his expression pure teenage fury.

"What's the point?" he grumbled, shoving the earphone back in.

Classic Tom. Angry at the world, furious at Dad, and irritated with me just because. I wasn't thrilled about this move either, but at least I wasn't burning through all my emotional energy sulking.

Dad adjusted the mirror, his broad shoulders shifting slightly. At well over six feet, he always seemed larger than life, even in moments like this. His smooth, brown, bald head caught the sunlight streaming through the windshield. This whole move had been his idea—a fresh start, he'd called it. He couldn't resist the house when he saw it online. "A project," he'd said, like a crumbling Edwardian estate in the middle of nowhere was just a weekend hobby.

"Perfect for us," he'd insisted. Perfect for who? I still wasn't sure.

I glanced at Tom again. He had plenty of reasons to hate this. Leaving behind his friends, his football team, his life. Me? Most of my friends had already scattered to universities or jobs, and I was in the awkward limbo of figuring out what came next. But Tom—this move was ripping his world out from under him.

The car slowed, jolting me out of my thoughts. Ahead, a battered sign loomed, half-obscured by ivy:

WELCOME TO KINGS LODGE VILLAGE
POPULATION: 324

Dad flicked on the indicator and pulled into a lay-by just past the sign. Mum followed, her car sliding neatly into place behind us. Grateful to escape the cramped backseat, I climbed out, stretching my arms as the sun beat down.

Dad stood by the gates ahead, inspecting the heavy padlock and chains that barred the entrance. The gates themselves were tall and black, the iron bars woven together in an intricate, almost sinister design. At the top, two ornate gold letters—"K" and "L"—gleamed faintly in the sunlight. They didn't look inviting. They looked like they were meant to keep something out—or maybe in.

"Locked," Dad muttered, patting his pockets uselessly. "I'll go find the caretaker. The cottage is just inside the grounds. Won't be long."

"This is how horror movies start," I said, folding my arms and giving him a skeptical look.

He chuckled, brushing off my comment with a wave. "You watch too many films."

I watched as he disappeared into the woods, his laugh lingering in the still air longer than it should have. Silence followed, thick and heavy, like the trees were holding their breath.

Tom leaned against the car, hood pulled up despite the heat, pretending I didn't exist.

"You could at least try," I said, tugging his hood lightly.

"Try what?" he snapped, glaring at me.

"Not sulking. For Will's sake." I gestured to William, who was happily scaling the gate like a small, determined monkey. "We'll be at the house soon. Then you can go back to ignoring everyone."

Tom sighed dramatically, like I'd asked him to move mountains. "Fine. But I'm still not talking to Mum or Dad."

"Fair."

Minutes dragged by, the sun inching lower and casting long shadows across the gravel. Finally, Dad reappeared, an old man shuffling behind him. The man's frame was stooped, his movements uneven. A ring of keys dangled from his bony fingers, jangling faintly with every step.

"This is Mr. Baker," Dad said, wiping his forehead. His cheerful tone didn't quite match the grim figure at his side.

Mr. Baker's watery eyes flicked over us. His face was gaunt, almost skeletal, his thin lips pressing together as though every word cost him something. "Didn't expect you till tomorrow," he croaked. His voice was dry and thin, like leaves rustling in a breeze.

William crept closer to Mum, clutching the hem of her shorts.

Mr. Baker shuffled to the gate, his keys rattling as he slid one into the padlock. The sharp twist of the key made the chain fall loose, clattering loudly. "Follow me," he said, jerking his head towards the gravel drive beyond. "I'll give you the tour later."

Without waiting for a reply, he shuffled off, moving faster than he looked capable of.

"Friendly," I muttered as he disappeared into the distance.

Dad didn't respond, gesturing instead for us to switch cars. "Felicity, you take the VW. Tom, you and Will go with her. Your mum and I will follow."

Tom shot me a look that screamed I hate this but didn't argue. He slouched into the passenger seat, while William scrambled happily into the back.

The moment the gates swung shut behind us, the air inside the car felt heavier. The trees seemed to press closer, the gravel drive narrowing as we rolled forward. Sunlight dappled through the branches, fleeting and pale.

"Is it much further?" Tom asked, his voice sharp with irritation.

"Not much," I replied, though I wasn't sure I believed it myself.

The house was somewhere ahead, hidden by the trees. But all I could think about was the way the gates had locked behind us, sealing us into something I wasn't sure we were ready for.