Scorched Earth: The Prequel to Miss Peregrine's Peculiar Children (editing)

Chapter Six

We walked back to the village in no time. I was amazed at how different everything was. Many people roamed up and down the village's small streets. Men wiped their brows as they put tar on a torn up street. Women walked in groups and gossiped about each others families and the latest scandals of the upper class. A couple dogs ran about and young boy chased after them. Another woman was leaning halfway out of a window, yelling for him to come back. Two young girls walked out of a store with baskets in their hands, pretending to be adult women. A man holding a stack of newspapers called out to anyone passing by that they were only worth a shilling. We walked past a spice store, a small produce store, and several stores filled with house items and simple knick knacks. The village was so lively and filled with people moving quickly, eager to finish the days chores. Alleys filled with women washing clothes and hanging their skirts and stockings along clothes lines.

The way people dressed made me sure about being in a different time period. Some men wore trousers and coats with neckties and hats. Others wore walking or sporting suits. I bet they wore coats and tails for dinner. The women were in long sweeping dresses that clasped around their necks and fell all the way to the top of their feet. Much less revealing that typical 1930's outfits. In fact, as we walked, several people stared at us with disgust and whispered to each other, probably something along the lines of how inappropriate it was to walk around in a dress that showed your chest, and where the length was just below the knees instead of the ankles. Miss Peregrine paid no attention to the onlookers, just kept walking with an aura of confidence. I felt no shame as I walked by her side.

We took a turn and passed through an alleyway that emerged next to a post office. Carts drawn by horses rolled over these streets. Many carriages streamed past and Miss Peregrine narrowed her eyes at each one and kept looking at her watch and counting to herself until one in particular approached. She stepped out quickly and stopped the carriage before reaching up to talk to the driver, asking for a ride. He hesitated but when offered a large sum of money, finally accepted.

"What's the destination?" he questioned as we climbed into the carriage and took off.

"Bellsover Castle please," Miss Peregrine told him. He shot us a perplexed look, but didn't say anything else.

As we went through the village I observed all the horses pulling carriages. I thought they were the most majestic animals, big and strong. I remember seeing horses once when I was real young. The ones I had see were white with silver hair running down their necks, and they galloped across the green land of Ireland. These horses in Derbyshire were brown and hooked up to a carriage, being forced to pull us along. I didn't feel like they deserved to be doing this. They deserved to be free.

"What year is it?" I asked Miss Peregrine.

"It's July 15th, 1867. St. Swithun's Day. This loop isn't that far from the real worlds current date, is it?"

I thought about it. The present day was July 25th, just ten days off.

"So this day just repeats over again?" I asked.

"Yes, and everything resets. The weather, the people, everything. Same thing happens everyday," Miss Peregrine took out her watch and began counting along with the tics. "For example, in precisely sixteen seconds Mrs. Grenaway is going to sneeze twelve times in a row," Miss Peregrine pointed to a small old lady shuffling along the road. Then as was said, she broke out into a fit of vicious sneezes.

"And in twenty two seconds you'll hear the wife of Mr. Merrill screaming from the hospital two blocks away."

Once again, a moment after she spoke, an ungodly scream sounded throughout the streets, ringing in our ears.