The XO-76 Mindwarp “Bookmobile” touched down on page 89 of Charles Dickens’s Best Stories (Hanover House, 1959) with its usual finesse, which is to say that all the bit characters who watched it crash into an unluckily placed fruit stand
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Felix counted down the seconds as he adjusted his glasses and glanced at his clipboard.
Sloppy notations filled the margins: Displays bitterness and regret. Reluctant to engage. Replies with Humbug when upset. Bright red letters reading Unchangeable branded the top of the file.
A
“One hundred twenty-one, one hundred twenty-two, one hundred twenty-three…” Scrooge muttered, his thin lips pursed as he stacked the last coin. He paused, squinting at the desk with rheumy eyes. Last time he counted, there had been 124.
“Who stole my sovereign?” he thundered, slamming
The icy air wrapped around Ebenezer in a death grip.
He shivered, watching his warm breath leave his thin lips. The land before him was desolate, with only abandoned buildings to tell of the once lively city.
That’s what scared him.
An idiot! That’s what you are!
I leapt up, the smell of ash coating my nostrils and clogging my throat.
I knew this job would be way too risky!
A memory from the emergency lessons flashed in my mind:
“If you do not know what is happening, always start by remembering things about yourself,” my time traveler mentor’s
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