His bedroom was replaced by a vast field of graves, with thick black woods clustered at the edges. The sky was as white as the mist that rolled across the deserted cemetery. Marble angels guarded the headstones. In the fog, their silhouettes made them seem real, their wings poised to fly to the heavens. Adam had to rub his eyes to make sure he was seeing correctly.
The entrance to the cemetery stood next to Adam, a stone arch towering above wrought iron gates. CANDLEWICK CEMETERY, it announced. Engraved underneath was an inscription: BLESSED ARE THOSE WHO MOURN, FOR THEY WILL BE COMFORTED.
Adam slowly went into the cemetery, his shoes shuffling along the dewy grass. The cloudy day, the gravestones, the eerie quietness of it all gave him the shivers. They also reminded him of a similar day seven years ago, though that had been at a different cemetery. He recalled again the crows, the two black caskets that lay side by side, the bundles of white flowers. He recalled the adults in pressed collared shirts who told Adam that they were terribly sorry for his loss.
Adam circled the gravestones, half-afraid to read them. But he didn’t recognize any of the names.
The edge of the cemetery revealed another level beneath the hill. He peered down into the mist. There, to his surprise, he spotted a boy in an aviator helmet standing beside one of the graves. A bicycle lay next to him in the grass.
“Jack?” Adam called out timidly. He headed down the slope.
Jack looked as startled as Adam felt. For a moment, neither of them said anything.
“I knew you’d be back,” Jack finally said with a grin. His eyes lingered on Adam’s winter coat. “A bit warm for that, isn’t it?”
Adam didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t quite sure what year it was, let alone the month.
Jack went back to looking at the gravestone beside him. Adam glanced at the inscription.
HERE LIES ELBERT WALSH
DEC 5, 1890 – JUN 1, 1960
Candle Maker Extraordinaire
Who Discovered the True Gifts of Gold
“My grandpa,” Jack explained shortly. “He was a magician.”
“I’m sorry,” Adam murmured. He had never really known his own grandparents, on either side of his family.
“It was a while ago. I was pretty young.” Jack looked back at the gravestone. “But I still remember him. He traveled all over the world—Grandma Angie and Dad used to tell me all these fantastic stories about him. So…I like to visit, and imagine asking him questions about his travels.”
Adam thought of something. “What’s today’s date?” he asked.
Jack answered it was the thirteenth of August. That explained the warm weather.
“No, I meant…” Adam wanted to ask what year it was, but paused. He didn’t want Jack to know he was from the future. At least, not yet.
While Adam debated what to say, Jack gave him a wary look. When Adam didn’t say anything, Jack murmured, “Grandpa would never have wanted to be buried here. But Dad said it was the easiest thing to do.” He spoke with a faraway look in his eyes, as if he were talking to the trees in the distance. Then he bent down and adjusted a small compass that had been perched against the headstone. A note tucked under the compass read:
STILL SEARCHING FOR THE ONE TO TURN BACK TIME
–Claudia and your faithful comrades
“His friends still come by to pay their respects,” Jack said. “They were all really nice to me, even though my dad thought they were a little off. They had these fantastical ideas about time and magic. Dad told me Grandpa’s priorities had changed by the time he was born, and his days of journeying with his group were over, but…” Jack glanced at the card again. “Seems they’ll always continue in his footsteps and keep sharing his ideas.”
Adam was intrigued. “What kind of ideas?”
Jack blinked and seemed surprised Adam had asked. “Nothing. Kind of complicated to get into.” Then he said abruptly, “I’m going to the city. Want to come?”
With that, Jack hopped on his bike and pedaled toward the cemetery entrance, leaving Adam behind. Stunned, Adam glanced at his snow globe. The tiny cemetery was still inside. He shook it. Nothing happened.
He did the only thing he could think of. He ran after Jack, yelling, “Wait up!”
He passed the cluster of woods. The black trees stood idly against the white haze, their skeletal branches both enchanting and sinister. Over the treetops, Adam glimpsed the topmost part of a familiar smokestack. He realized the town of Candlewick must be on the other side.
Down the path was a deserted train station. Jack had stopped beside a bench on the platform, huffing for air. He adjusted his aviator helmet. Adam caught up to him.
“Hey…did you ever get my music box?” Jack asked when his breathing slowed.
“Huh?”
“I went back to my old place before coming to the cemetery, and the music box was gone,” Jack went on. “I was hoping…” Jack saw the confused look on Adam’s face, then looked away. “Never mind. For some reason I thought you’d have it.”
Adam swallowed and said carefully, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Jack didn’t reply. Instead, he busied himself with locking his bicycle to the bench. Adam tried to think of something to say but couldn’t. He didn’t think now was a good time to bring up the factory fire.
A few minutes later, a sleek black train arrived. Jack hopped aboard, and Adam hesitantly followed suit. They went down the train corridor and found an empty compartment. It was surprisingly nice and spacious.
Adam didn’t have a train ticket, and he murmured this worry as he sat down on the brown leather seat across from Jack.
“Don’t worry about it,” Jack reassured him. “It’s a short ride. They won’t check.”
He tugged on his aviator helmet and looked out the
