The Dreadful Future of Blossom Culp by Richard Peck Page B

light. But it was cold. Then I was drawn like an autumn leaf into a funnel of brightness. I swam in this spiral, never trying to breathe. My kinky hair flattened against my skull as I gathered speed. My spelling medal flapped like a loose shutter against my chest.
    I seemed to shriek, though no one heard, not even me. But my thoughts cried out.
Oh, Mama, you were right. I never should have come near this place.
. . .
    But it was too late. Whatever was to befall me now was happening already.
    I traveled in a great void past thunder and beyond lightning. But I wasn’t alone, far from it. Looming up from every side were creatures far worse than any in Alexander’s dungeon or model torture chamber. There were circular monsters that were all mouth. There were creatures with lights for eyes and steel for skin who wielded long glowing tubes of light for swords. Their dreadful jaws snapped at me in passing, and those bright swords of light tried to snag me. But I hurtled on.
    Then, don’t ask me how, I was swimming up through dry waters. Square ahead of me stretched a glassy skin like the ice on a pond as seen by a fish. I rocketed nearer this cruel barrier, expecting to batter out my brains.
    In an explosion of ice or glass, I burst through. Gasping with my first breath, I did a neat somersault in real air and fell flat on my back on a carpeted floor. My eyeteeth were all jarred loose. Though I was as dizzy as a swung cat, I tried to raise up on my elbows.
    Looking toward a door, I saw I was still in the old Leverette place. The bedroom door was painted now, but I knew the knob. Though I saw where I was, I’d fallen out of my time. Or I’d been pushed.
    “Oh, wow,” said a voice quite near me. “I’ve pushed DELETE and RETURN . What more can I do?”

    My beanie was over my ear, but my mind was clearing. Cautiously I scanned the bright room. A bookshelf without books held long rows of narrow boxes in bright colors.
    Beside them was a sight that made me shrink. It was a creature nearly my height. I’d seen it not moments before, or a near cousin to it, hurtling through space. It had a cast-iron face and a long tube of glowing light that it brandished for a sword.
    I chanced another look at this specimen. It was only a large, air-filled doll. The wicked iron face was painted onto a slick skin that may have been rubber. It was a monster-shaped toy or perhaps a work of art. There is no accounting for taste.
    My shifting glance fell upon a wall calendar. It was decorated with more monsters conducting warfare in tin airships. But it was the date on the calendar that burned my brain.
    I raised a trembling hand to count on my fingers. Arithmetic is not my best subject, but from the year on the calendar I saw I’d slipped ahead near enough . . . seventy years.
    My eyes dropped to the floor. There was someone in the room with me. I’d known that right along. I was stretched out beside a table and chair. There were several legs, two of them human.
    Planted on the carpet were two things of white rubber and colored canvas. Figuring they were shoes, I took a closer look. Written on these so-called shoes were little words:
    ADIDAS
    I chanced a look up the legs. They weren’t long and were covered by ordinary blue denim work pants, somewhat farmerish. Well worn, too. I craned my neck to read a small announcement stitched to the seat:
    SEARS TOUGHSKINS
    Still, nothing moved but me. Above the pants was a plain cotton shirt stretched over a boy’s torso. It was short-sleeved of the undershirt variety. I was up on my knees now beside the occupied chair. This undershirt was lettered boldly across the chest:
    PAC-MAN FEVER
    I looked up into the face of a boy.
    He was a kid of thirteen or so—eighth grade, tops. Except he would not be born for many years. I knew that much. His cheeks were freckled, and a shock of red hair hung on his forehead. Propped on his nose were spectacles that gave him a learned look.
    He sat at a desk before the