Chapter One
So It Begins
The clock was ticking slowly at the back of a history classroom. It's batteries had not been replaced in far too long, the seconds hand made failing efforts to rise past the 6, before falling back to point at the floor. The students at the back of the class all were whispering to each other, those at the front sat glass-eyed staring into the dark abyss of the blackboard. Those in the middle were lucky enough to have so little attention be placed on them that over half had their heads on their desks. The teacher, Mr Goodwin, sighed, picking up the textbook he was reading from and began to recite what was in front of him. If asked he would state that his life was always focused around teaching, and this was all he ever wanted, however the truth would be that he hated this. He hated children, hated teaching and most of all hated history, why bother with the past when the present happens all around us. He had never really thought about what he wanted from life so decided to stay in school to teach instead of venturing out into the world.
At the back of the class was an anomaly. This was a child who was staring forward intently, her face crossing between looks of awe and annoyance. Every few seconds her hand would rise and immediately Mr Goodwin would ask her to lower it. To him she was a nuisance, extra work to be done. No one could say that she didn't show initiative and just by her turning up the average test results of the class went up nearly two grades. This was a large problem though as when a student's knowledge surpasses that of their teacher an unnecessary conflict arises.
The girl in question was Susan Foreman, a name that would be known in many places across the universe yet remain anonymous (for the most part) on Earth. This would be her last day in Coal Hill school before the events unfolded that would change the course of history. This was her first History class of two. One of these would be with Mr Goodwin, this lesson focussed primarily on English history and the Royal Families of the world (or at least those in Europe). The second class was with Miss Wright, in this class she would learn about the history of the world. However much she would like to enjoy all lessons equally, Susan had to admit that Miss Wright's class was one of her favourites. They were currently studying about the Aztecs and other civilisations of the same type, and this was one of the only lessons where if she raised her hand she would get a response.
No matter how interesting the events occurring around Susan and two of her teachers were, there is a certain amount of events of which you should know. After the disappearance of her and her Science teacher (Mr Chesterton) and History teacher (Miss Wright), multiple things began to change in the school. However they were not seen as important to most student's, and seemed to only be put in place to appease to the Governors of the school.
Terry was a quiet boy. He was the one who could be seen sitting next to Susan in Mr Goodwin's and Miss Wright's classrooms. He was what a good teacher would call a 'passive learner', and what Mr Goodwin would have called 'the perfect student'. On his own he would have learnt nothing that was not told directly to him and would have most likely become a student with such low grades that he was expelled. The reason in which he was still here was Susan; he was not in any way infatuated with her yet the fact that she knew so much (and made notes that were so easy to copy from) made him learn vast amounts of knowledge. In both History classes he sat next to Susan, in Mr Goodwin's he copied her notes, and in Miss Wright's he listened to her questions and the answers that the teacher gave. So, whilst he could do basic maths at the level of a six year old and couldn't read anything even close to old English, he knew all there was to know about history. This was a commodity that would most likely be useful in the future.
He continued on for the next few years, failing in most of his classes. The knowledge that he had gained from Susan's questioning and under-her-breath mumblings had already taught him enough about history to surpass his own meagre expectations of himself. He eventually sat his final exams, not particularly caring whether he passed them or not, knowing that he could always just try at something else if he did end up failing. With this knowledge he went into the exam room not confident, but simply indifferent towards the possible outcome. It was no surprise when he passed his core subjects (of which he needed to in order to leave school without re-taking his exams) but also one other class, History.
His life continued as anyone else's, he got a menial job and rented a flat, life was nice. It was nice. It was about as nice as any else's could be, provided that they hated their job and had a flat the size of a shed, with the same amount of hygiene. He could only now sympathise with Mr Goodwin. He didn't know what state the man was in now, however he knew what it felt like to be in his position. Too afraid to do anything different, doing the easy and the dull instead. If he wasn't so afraid he would most likely have gone back to a school of some sort and done something he hadn't done before, yet he was scared so he accepted this reality.
One cloudy day, a Tuesday, Terry set out for work. On the way he passed many things, a small shop that sold only coffees and teas (with the occasional overpriced cake or two), some construction workers building a small housing estate, and what appeared to be several people stood in a circle holding hands and praying. None of these were particularly odd things so he carried on his way, driving in a small red Beetle along the streets.
He pulled up to park, got out of his car, walked over to where he worked and took a quick look around. Normal. Everything was just as normal, just as routine as he liked it. As he looked down to find the door handle he noticed a flash in the corner of his eye. He turned abruptly to see what it was.
He saw a woman wearing a beige cardigan and a knee-length skirt sprinting down the road. She was holding a large crate in her arms.
There was a twinge of sadness somewhere inside Terry, his normal routine had been impaired. Although, he was not a man to be distracted. He returned to his quest to open the door when, even more distressingly, he heard a loud booming sound. He turned to see several men, all donning dark grey and black suits whilst, more noticeably, holding small pistols out in front of them. He now realised that it was a gunshot he had heard.
He turned quick on his feet and was running towards his car. It did draw attention to him somewhat but he didn't care. He was not having this ruin what he had. He had a place to live, a source of income and a very mediocre suit that he was proud of. What Terry didn't notice was how interested the men had become with him. Within seconds Terry felt air rush past his right ear and the ground in front of him popped as a bullet collided with the pavement.
This was definitely not going to be a normal morning for him.
His car was just metres away when his right calf decided to give up. Within a second his face was scraping the ground and his feet were above his head. Before he could react he felt a hand pull him to his feet. Terrified that he was about to be captured, shot, or worse, he reeled back. This ended up with him falling backwards and wasting a bit too much time, the men were seconds behind him. Now he felt two hands under his arms and has thrown onto his feet. A hand grabbed his arm and he was sprinting full pelt within a second. Well, his upper body was sprinting, the legs attached to it flailed around fantastically in an attempt to keep him upright.
Once his entire body was going at the same pace he looked up to see that it was in-fact the woman from earlier, he presumed that she had dropped the package somewhere, and now she was attempting to save his life. His morning may have been ruined by this woman, yet he was still grateful for the fact that he wasn't dead.
They rounded a corner abruptly and both his feet lifted of the ground. He was swung around with all the grace of an intoxicated giraffe, and by some miracle collided with the ground feet-first. By sheer momentum did he keep his relative uprightness and carry on running. The woman made a few more fast turns through alleyways and once into a field before stopping next to a corner shop. At this point Terry was exhausted. His legs were weak, his heart was racing, his head was spinning like a washing machine and his gut threatened to show his saviour exactly what he had eaten for breakfast. His luck had taken a turn; the woman was also tired, she hunched over and breathed fast, deep breaths in an effort to regain her strength for another sprint. In front of her clouds of water vapour threw themselves out of her mouth. It was actually very cold, something Terry had only just noticed. It felt about 2 degrees Celsius, which was good seeing as if it had been much warmer he would have overheated and not been able to run as far as he did.
He steadied himself against a brick wall and observed his saviour. She appeared to be in her mid twenties, possibly leaning towards thirties, she had blackish hair and a thin figure. When she stood up straight to face him he got one of the biggest shocks he ever had.
Recently he had met a few of his teachers in a local pub. He saw his maths teacher who looked like a light beige raisin, his English teacher who looked like a deflated helium balloon, and then he saw Mr Goodwin. He was a sight for sore eyes. He had lost what little hair he had had, his skin drooped from his face like a melted candle and he was slumped so much so as it made it look like his head was detached and simply bobbing low across his chest. He presumed that in nearly ten years all teachers would look like this. Teaching was a stressful job and most people who had taught him were already looking worse for ware.
When his saviour turned to meet him he was shocked to be looking at such a familiar face. His previous History teacher looked at him, half puzzled at his reaction. As she stood there, her face fresh and with a good posture, he was standing mouth agape in shock. At first a thought crossed his mind that possibly she was just wearing too much make-up. Then plastic surgery. Then maybe that this was her daughter.
But no, here she was. His History teacher, now possibly in her late thirties, looking as young as if she'd just got her teaching job. It was outstanding, he simply couldn't put his finger on it. However, within seconds his sudden passion died down as he remembered how he may be about to be killed and how that his entire morning had been ruined.
"They're not after you. You're safe," she said, in a surprisingly matter-of-fact way, "If they had wanted you dead they wouldn't have missed".
He didn't have a response. It was the truth, he guessed, and he was in no way inclined to argue. He instead let out a small murmur of acknowledgement.
"I'd advise against following me," She spoke calmly, bending down to tie her shoelace. Her shoes, much like most of her clothes, looked worn and tattered. The laces she was doing up looking more like thin hairs than anything that would hold a shoe together, and it seemed they weren't, "Goodbye!". She smiled and gave a small wave before turning. She had managed to walk almost three steps when Terry finally said something.
"Wait, where are you," He stammered and had to start the sentence twice before moving onto, "Where are you going?".
"Oh," she said, "I've got to see a man about a box.".