Everyone has their own timeline.

There is a timeline that leads up to your birth …

… and one that continues till your death.

You constantly walk, divert from, change and connect to

a multitude of ever changing timelines.

 

This is why the future is hard to read …

… but it can be manipulated in your favor.

 

While it is a severe crime to change the past,

You most definitely can change your future—in the present.

 

With a few calculated nudges, you can take control of your timeline.

However, it should be understood, any change you make

also affects someone else’s.

 

 

Beginning …

 

Camp Krystal Pond

June Friday the 13^th 1958

 

Summer at the camp was exciting to all the children who had the chance to do the full overnight package. All summer, every day swimming. All night campfire songs and roasting marshmallows: sheer relaxation for children of all ages, watched over by a crack team of experienced counselors forever willing and ready to tend to a child’s every need.

Unless the child is out in the pond by himself and drowning.

Otherwise, every dime spent in the summer getaway adventure for children would be money well spent. The few random failures in the system, as one counselor would put it, you just can’t watch every child every minute of the day.

Something’s just—happen.

So on the day camp counselors Mike and Yvonne finally got a chance to hook up, this was when little Jayson Vorcent, an old family friend of the Kristie’s (owners of the camp grounds), would go out to the pond to put his bravery to the test. The summer bullies had made the rounds, beating up on various kids and today, on his birthday, it was Jayson’s turn to get the wedges’ and the nuggies and all the other taunting routines expected of an under-weight weakling with a speech impediment.

The older boys challenged Jayson to swim out to the deck in the middle of the pond and back. If he was able to do it, they would leave him alone and even let him hang with them. If he didn’t, they’d beat his ass in the middle of the night. Simple as that.

Jayson, in his mind, didn’t have too many choices. If he said no, they’d beat him up. If he ran and told the counselors, they’d sneak up on him later and beat him up. If he told his parents, they would yell at the bullies and, guess what? Beat him up later. The upside? If he swam to the center deck and back, he’d finally get some peace. There was only one problem.

Well, maybe two.

He didn’t swim very well and he had breathing issues. Not necessarily asthmatic, but when he was nervous, he just couldn’t breathe well when he was supposed to. Being that he spent most of his tender years scared of everything, he was always nervous and when he spoke, it just came out poorly and people misunderstood him. He often looked like a shivering Chihuahua.

He only had one choice. Putting his toe in the semi-frigid water, he glanced back at the four boys pounding their fists at him with no camp counselors in sight. Right about now, it would have been a great negative-positive for Jayson. He would have been saved by a vigilant counselor without being deemed a snitch and the bullying would be basic minimal.

He stalled long enough. With no counselors looking to save him and the angry boys getting angrier, Jayson walked into the water bracing himself.

 

 

Meanwhile, behind the bleachers, Counselor Mike was just about to show Yvonne a tongue trick he learned when the wooden frames around them started rattling. Mike ignored it, quite certain it was the entrancing moves he was putting on Yvonne and her tight, yellow Camp Krystal Pond t-shirt.

Just when things were just getting good between the two, Mike looked up to see a billowing smoke brisk past him and Yvonne’s prone position in the dirt. A kind of fog rolled over them and for a second, he swore he thought he saw someone in the mist, kneeling less than a yard from them.

Quickly, Mike pulled up his shorts. “Shit! Who’s there? Can’t you see we’re busy?”

“I see,” Mildred Common stepped from the fog, hooded and cloaked as mysteriously as only she could. “I also see two counselors on the clock, fraternizing when a death is about to occur.”

Mike pulled Yvonne back from Mildred as the smoke dissipated giving them both a clear view of the woman before them. Though she wasn’t clearly seen with her hood over much of her face, Mike could identify her as a Black woman.

He had seen one before, but never this close up. Least of all not at the camp. What he knew of them in 1958 was they were always looking for equal rights and stuff. If they’re not being sprayed down by the cops, they were being riled up by that terrorist Malcolm T? Malcolm X—Whatever. They were a people Mike’s parents didn’t associate with so neither did he.

Checking out Mildred’s plentiful bosom, he started thinking he had to make that change right away! Her skin was a smooth, Hersey complexion and, once he got past his indifference to the things he wasn’t sure of culturally, he even thought she was twice the woman Yvonne could ever be. It’s when he started wondering how she would be in bed when …

“I can read your thoughts, boy!” She proclaimed. “You’re still young to open your mind quite a bit more and while I semi-applaud your crude, yet progressive, steps forward about race, NOW is NOT the time. You both MUST go to the pond and stop Jayson Vorcent from drowning this instant!”

“Why should we listen to you?” Yvonne said indignantly. “Who are you? I should call the cops.”

“Maybe you should. I will only ask you once more to intervene and stop the senseless death of many people while you still can.”

“First you say save one kid. Now you say many people. Which is it?” Yvonne demanded.

“Both! One death will cause others to suffer more.”

“Why don’t you do something if you know so much?”

“I’m doing more than I should already. I cannot directly intervene with this timeline. Not with the keys players of the problem. However, you two are indirect players—indirectly starting the problem, and so I must act indirectly as well.”

Needless to say, both Mike and Yvonne were incredibly confused and stepped back from Mildred, bewildered.

Mildred sighed. “Follow me and just do your jobs.”

Mildred walked away from them in a floating manner that gave them both the heebee-jeebees , regardless of the noon day sun above them.

“You’re not seriously thinking of going are you?” Yvonne asked. “You’re not finished here!”

“She knew Jayson by name and knew where to find us. What do you think?” Mike said, using his brain. Not wholly trusting the mysterious Black woman but also realizing he was getting a whole $7.00 an hour for his work watching the little buggers. “I want to check it out.”

“If you go following her, you’ll never touch this again.” She finalized, putting her hands on short camper shorts.

Mike looked in Mildred’s direction, then at Yvonne’s body, licking his lips.

When he started taking down his shorts again, Yvonne just knew everything was going to be alright.

 

 

Jayson had swum to the deck and it was not an easy feat at all. His success getting there was based on a decent lunch he just ate, having been modestly well rested the night before and having a basic amount of stored energy typical of a boy his age. What wasn’t typical was he lost all that energy on the way there whereas anyone else would have been able to get back with ease.

Jayson was stuck on the deck, alone, many yards from the beach and a bunch of kids waiting for him; laughing at how he could barely catch his breath. Lying out on the recently painted deck, Jayson let the sun bath his body; trying to soak up the power of the sun like he would read in the comic books. He so desperately sought some inner peace, he even considered just staying there. This way, the bullies couldn’t get to him and he would stop being a disappointment to his family.

He would stay at the pond and be stronger than anyone ever with the power of the sun to keep him young and alive forever. No one would ever bother him. Ever.

He liked that fantasy. He had to eventually think about how he was getting back, but not yet. Not now. This moment, he was free. No taunting—or being picked on. He could barely hear those boys on the beach as he let their nasty voices drift away. Jayson’s breathing slowed, and for the first time in years, he dozed off unguarded. Truly relaxed.

 

 

 

Mildred sensed all of what Jayson was feeling and felt a twinge of sorrow for the boy; partially wanting to slash the throats of the boys on the beach, partially wanting to scoop Jayson up and rescue him, partially wanting to get the attention of another counselor. All of which were the ‘wants’ in a timeline she didn’t belong to and bound by laws greater than she to let everything stay the course.

It was a severe and punishable crime to change the past because it tampered with the written and locked history of ALL people in the present. The smallest change to one is a change to multiple timelines—multiple people. While Mildred has been known to hold the law in the highest of regards and meted out punishments on behalf of her order—and has given hour long speeches defining the end of time as they knew it if changing past events wasn’t put in check—unless she was able to break the law and make a necessary nudge in this timeline, she would suffer the greatest sorrow of her existence.

Mildred walked between the boys who were pointing and laughing at Jayson from a distance. She scared them almost out of their skin by her silent approach.

What’s with the Halloween costume lady?

She looks weird?

Are you one of the counselors?

She let them redirect their questions at her while she stared across the pond, thinking of the future. How, in a few short minutes, things would be eternally bad for so many people. Why don’t you do something? was always the question put to her at times like these. Then she would lecture the potential futures for tampering with timelines. A lecture she needed to remind herself, but chose to ignore.

This is exactly why the average human would never ever experience time travel. Mildred snorted at the very thought. They’d screw up everything. All anyone needed to do is think wisely and manage the time they had.

Time Mildred did not have at a later date.

The boys grew tired of throwing questions at a silent Mildred. When they attempted to push each other into her failed miserably—like being pushed into a steel wall—they decided to leave her be and walk off the beach before anyone started asking them questions about Jayson.

 

 

Jayson woke with a start, having dreamt something very disturbing. It started wonderful: he was big as a mountain with big, strong arms and he must have made it to professional ranks in hockey because he wore a goalie mask in most of the dream. The disturbing part was instead of a hockey stick, he had a machete and the things he did at the end of that machete woke him out of a sound sleep.

No, that was not him at all. Jayson wouldn’t … couldn’t … hurt anyone.

He looked to the beach and saw that the kids have left him— finally. The only one there was someone in a weird looking hood and cape. Like the ones he saw in the comics or in Life Magazine about monks and monasteries. She must be part of tonight’s entertainment.

The main part was the kids have gone and he felt some-what rested enough to start making the trip back. Taking in a little bit more of the sun, Jayson slipped into the water with a small splash, going under—not coming back up as soon as expected.

 

 

Later that evening …

Mrs. Vorcent was the cook at Camp Krystal Pond every summer. This gave her a chance to be productive for her family and it also giving Jayson, her son, a chance to have a good summer for free. Mrs. Vorcent liked working for the Kristies and above all, she loved her son more than life itself.

Being somewhat of a country gal, she also loved hunting, fishing, target shooting and knife throwing. She was happy to have a boy like Jayson, regardless of some of his setbacks health-wise; teaching him everything she could as long as his strength held out.

She figured she couldn’t afford to mother the poor boy and with great restraint, had to let her son find his way around the bullies and cruelty of the world.

Time was moving on and dinner approached, followed by the usual nightly clean up. By 7pm, although she was busy guiding the functions of the camp cafeteria, her mind drifted back to her son and she started asking around if anyone saw Jayson. She caught up with Jayson’s direct counselors, Mike and Yvonne, who were getting the nightly campfire prepared for another evening of guitar playing merriment.

“Have you seen Jayson anywhere?” Mrs. Vorcent asked. She wasn’t quite worried. It was a camp after all—and maybe he was just out and about with a friend or two. IF he made any friends.

Mike started getting nervous. “He hasn’t been with you?”

Now, Mrs. Vorcent was worried. “What do you mean with me? I work here just like you. Why would he be with me?”

“Well he’s your son.”

“Well you’re his counselors! I’m the cook! Am I asking you to cook breakfast, lunch and dinner?” She suddenly grabbed Mike by the collar with an unexpected amount of strength. “Where the hell is my son?”

From the distance, though extremely faint, a tiny voice could be heard through the gentle summer breezes.

Help … me … mommy!

Mike and Yvonne heard it, too, and they went cold with fear.

“Dear god! Jayson!” Mrs. Vorcent followed the voice of her son, running directly toward the pond.

 

 

She hit the beach, stumbling past the archery and sports cabin. Running on a beach isn’t easy for anyone and often used as a training method to strengthen the legs and thighs, but she ran with the grace of an Olympian while the younger counselors grew tired a few paces back.

“Jayson!” She called out, splashing into the water. The pond this time of the year, after a good rain season, reached about six-feet deep by the deck floating at the center of the pond.

Mrs. Vorcent, at 5’11 and owning a display of swimming trophies in her parlor wall, thought the pond was a good starter for kids like Jayson … provided they stay within range of their counselors. “Where’s my son?!? You were supposed to be watching him! What were you doing?!”

Yvonne finally felt like she did something wrong. “Well, Mike and I … he … wanted to … well, you know?”

“Me? You wanted it too!”

“You were what? What were you two doing when you were supposed to be watching my boy!”

“We went behind the bleachers to … well … I’m sorry, Mrs. Vorcent. Are you going to tell our folks?”

“Jayson!” She screamed out to the Pond, then turned and pointed at the two counselors, gritting her teeth. “Don’t you two go anywhere! If something happened to my Jayson …”

He … he …help … me …

They fell silent to search for the voice, but Mrs. Vorcent knew exactly where to look, splashing deeper into the waters and diving in. “I’m coming baby!” She said tearfully.

Mike looked at Yvonne, frowning. “Just throw me under the bus, why don’t you?”

“Look, we can blame that Black girl we saw earlier. If something happened, we can say she did it.”

“Are you crazy? What Black girl? Where is she now? I never saw her before and there’s no Black people for miles around here. This is New Jersey, for Christ’s sake!”

“I’m not taking the rap for anything that happened to that kid.”

“You’re a stupid bitch and I’m not listening to you anymore.” Mike ran for help, leaving Yvonne back at the beach wondering how she could avoid the backlash soon to follow. Time will simply write her and Mike from history as indirect catalysts.

The real problem started at the center of the pond.

 

 

Mrs. Vorcent could hold her breath for many minutes and swam unsuccessfully poking around the mire of a pitch dark pond fearlessly. She eventually had to come up for air and clung to the side of the floating deck, heaving—staring up at a woman draped in a cape and face hidden in her hood, staring down at her.

“Mrs. Vorcent.” Mildred greeted solemnly.

“Who are you? Where’s my son?”

He … ki … … ki … help! He … he … help! Ma …ma… ma …Mommy!

“Jayson! Where—? Jayson!? Where are you! Don’t you hear him?” She cried. “Help me find my son! Please!”

“I cannot. If I interfere here and now, I will change time as I know it.”

“Time? What time? What are you talking about?”

“The counselors were negligent and allowed your son to die. He was too weak and he perished hours ago.”

“You LIE!” She screamed. “Jayson! You lying BITCH! I can still hear him.”

“You hear the echoes of his screaming soul. Echoes of a soul unrested. Soon to be compounded and strengthened by a mother’s love … and seething vengeance.”

“Ohhh, you got that right,” Mrs. Vorcent nails scratched at the deck, peeling back wood, splintering it with her vicious anger. “Those bastards let my son go out here. He wasn’t a very good swimmer. I’ll make sure everyone pays for what they did to my son.”

“And so,” Mildred stepped back. “The past is as bent as it ever was—with one minor change. Here, keep this.”

Mildred tossed down a gold chain with a gold, half broken heart pendant at the end that read ‘forever’. Mrs. Vorcent picked it up, staring at the pendant in wonder.

“What is this?”

“I will give you advice and in turn, you will give this to your son, Jayson. You will tell him not to kill the person wearing the other half of this pendant. You will make him swear that to you.”

“So my son is still out there. He’s … he’s … still alive!”

Mildred gazed at her balefully. “In a manner.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“In a manner.” Mildred repeated.

“What advice are you going to give me?”

Mildred took another step back and closed her cape around her. “Don’t wear it around your neck. I’m late—and I have one more stop to make.”

With that, she vanished in an engulfing gust of black and gray smoke. A dazzling and ominous display under the Friday the 13^th full moon.

Ki … ki … ki …