The Forsaken Village

The atmosphere in Ms. Marlowe’s classroom on a Saturday morning was unlike any other. Maps from bygone eras adorned the walls, and shelves overflowed with ancient artifacts, each whispering secrets of the past. The air held the subtle scent of aged books, creating an aura of timeless knowledge. Dominating the room was a peculiar clock, its hands moving unpredictably, hinting at the extraordinary adventures it could unleash.

On this particular Saturday, Ms. Marlowe was already at her desk, her attention focused on her Journal of Curiosities. The room was quiet except for the scratch of her pen and the soft ticking of the clock. She wore a flowing vintage dress, and a medallion around her neck glowed with a subtle, ethereal light.

Lily was the first to arrive, looking dejected and troubled. She approached Ms. Marlowe with a weary smile. “Ms. Marlowe...I just wanted...to thank you for the other day,” she said quietly, her voice carrying a mixture of gratitude and sadness. “I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't turned up."

"You don't have to thank me for doing what was right," Ms. Marlowe's gaze softened with empathy. She touched the side of her nose, “I am always in the right place at the right time." She placed down her pen giving the girl her full attention, "My dear, it is a heavy burden you carry but it is made so much lighter when you share that burden with others."

Lily smiled, graciously, before taking a seat by the window, staring out with a contemplative look as if the outside world might offer some solace from her internal troubles.

The door creaked open, and Jake, Emma, Sam, and Ben entered, each bringing their own energy and stories.

Jake, wearing his graphic tee and ripped jeans, was looking perplexed, "I just don't get it! Why did he bail like that?" His face furrowing with mortification, "Am I that bad of a kisser?"

Sam rolled his eyes, not the first time he was hearing this, "Oh bro! Your play list is stuck on repeat," He turned Jake to face him, "Now this doesn't mean anything. I am just making a point and hoping it will shut you up." Before he had a chance to ask, Sam kissed him. There was even tongue involved. Sam pulled away, suddenly, wiping his lips, "Interesting...Ahh...I thought you'd be better at it. Bro, you certainly need more practice. A lot actually."

Emma and Ben both snickered as they took their seats. Emma, dressed in her floral dress and denim jacket, nudged Ben's arm, "Hey ducks! I heard about your little stunt."

“Sweet!" Ben beamed with pride. "I got an extra detention for making stink bombs in science. Apparently, the smell was... unforgettable. Just the way I like it."

It had been a week since their last adventure, and Ms. Marlowe had given them nothing but nonsense as an explanation.

Jake decided to ask again, "Ms. Marlowe," he asked, "How exactly does the time traveling work? What’s the secret behind it?"

Ms. Marlowe looked up from her desk, a mysterious smile playing on her lips. “Ah, the portal’s secret,” she began, her eyes twinkling with intrigue. “To find the path where time bends and shifts, you must seek the clock that dances in the mist. Fold the seconds like a sailor’s map and follow where the echoes overlap." She winked, "And somewhere in that lyrical prose is your answer."

Jake groaned, as if in pain, banging his head on the desk. His muffled voice had only one thing to say, "I call bull shit!"

Ms. Marlowe closed her journal and circled the desk to begin the class, “Now, let’s embark on our next adventure. Who’s ready to explore?” They all tuned into her voice even Lily turned from the window to engage with her, "There is a village in the English countryside of 1587-a close knit community engaging in daily routines of farming, trade, and communal gatherings typical of life during the Elizabethan era. Nothing out of ordinary until every single soul in that village disappeared without any trace." She clapped her hands together with anticipation, "Well today, Time Sleuths, we get to find out exactly what happened to those villagers."

At that moment, the hands of the peculiar clock began to spin wildly, casting a soft, ethereal glow across the room. A strange humming filled the air as Ms. Marlowe, unfazed, calmly instructed the students to gather around. With a deft flick of her wrist, the clock’s hands came to a halt, and a swirling vortex materialized in the center of the room, ready to whisk them away on their next adventure.

Ms. Marlowe and her students stepped out of the vortex into the middle of an eerie, abandoned village.

The night was thick with mist, shrouding the village in an unsettling gloom. Dim moonlight flickered across deserted streets where every house stood frozen in time. Wooden shutters were left ajar, and doors hung slightly open, as though the villagers had abruptly fled, leaving their lives behind.

The air was unnervingly silent except for the distant rustle of leaves and the occasional creak of old, abandoned structures. In the stillness, the remnants of daily life—unattended market stalls, empty tables set for meals that would never be eaten—added to the village’s spectral quality.

Ms. Marlowe led the way with a purposeful stride, her vintage dress fluttering in the chilly night air. The students followed, their eyes wide with a mix of wonder and apprehension. Jake shivered as he glanced around, noting the eerie stillness.

Emma clutched her jacket tighter, her eyes darting nervously from one abandoned building to another. Sam and Ben exchanged uneasy looks, their footsteps echoing in the emptiness. Lily, though still troubled, looked determined as she surveyed the ghostly scene.

“This place feels like it’s holding its breath,” Ms. Marlowe remarked softly, her voice barely more than a whisper. “We need to find out what happened here and why the villagers vanished.” The group pressed forward into the eerie silence, ready to unravel the mystery of the forsaken village.

They came to a stop beside a stone well in the centre of the village. Ms. Marlowe briefly looking into its depths before suggesting that they split up to search for clues in the village. Jake, Sam and Ben took one end of the village while the girls took the other end.

Ms. Marlowe quietly slipped away from them, her movements deliberate and purposeful. She had chosen to visit the grand manor house that loomed at the edge of the village, its dark silhouette partially obscured by the thickening fog.

Ms. Marlowe thought she would pay a visit since it was almost time for tea. Her students weren't likely to come across too much danger in an abandoned village.

Jake and the boys encountered a grim sight as they walked through the village. They found a table set. The food long since gone bad. Maggots squirmed through the remnants of a meal, adding an unsettling touch to the otherwise eerie stillness. The sight made their stomachs churn as they continued their search, their footsteps echoing in the silent streets.

Meanwhile, Lily and Emma reached the end of their section coming across overgrown fields that bordered the village. The moonlight barely penetrated the thick foliage, casting long shadows across their path. Lily’s sharp eyes picked something familiar amongst the under growth. She drew Emma's torch closer for a better look.

Lily was guided by the knowledge passed down from her grandmother. She had often helped her grandmother, an amateur botanist, identify rare and unusual plants. Her attention was drawn to a peculiar plant growing among the brambles. Its vibrant, iridescent leaves glowed faintly in the dim light.

Lily knelt beside it, her face reflecting a mixture of awe and determination. “Oh lovely! This might be the answer,” she said softly, her voice steady with confidence. "But it couldn't possibly be? It is too rare to be found in such abundance."

"What is so rare?"

“If I am right, this is a rare and dangerous hallucinogenic plant in the night shade family," Lily broke off a piece of the plant and popped it into her pocket, "If ingested this could cause all manner of psychotic behaviour. Maybe everyone went mad?"

"So how do you know all this?"

“My gran is an amateur botanist."

Lily's grandmother had always been her greatest source of comfort and wisdom. As an amateur botanist, her grandmother had spent countless hours teaching Lily about the mysteries and wonders of the natural world. The woods, meadows, and gardens they explored were not just places of learning but sanctuaries where Lily could be herself. It was during one of these cherished walks that Lily had found the courage to tell her grandmother about being transgender.

Lily nodded, her expression softening, "When I told her about me, she said, 'Just as every plant has its unique way of blooming, so do you.' She told me to embrace who I am. I was beautiful as any flower in her garden."

Meanwhile, Jake, Ben, and Sam made their way to the local inn, a once-cozy establishment now shrouded in dust and darkness. The inn’s sign creaked on its hinges, and the windows were grimy with years of neglect. As they entered, the musty smell of mildew mixed with the faint scent of stale ale, evoking a sense of long-abandoned comfort.

"Sweet!" Ben bounded toward the bar, his eyes alight, "Who's for a bevy?"

"I suspect the keg has long died an awful death," put in Jake. "If that pong is anything to go by."

The main room was scattered with overturned chairs and broken furniture, but amidst the chaos, the boys noticed something out of place. In a corner near the fireplace, a rusted iron chest had been partly exposed from beneath a fallen beam. Jake approached it with curiosity, his flashlight flickering over the old, cobweb-covered surface.

With a bit of effort, Jake pried the chest open. Inside, he found an assortment of old items—dust-covered mugs, faded linens, and a small, leather-bound journal wedged between two cracked bottles.

Ben nudged him out of the way to examine the treasure. He sorted through the odds and ends before picking up the journal. He was always on the lookout for something he could get a few dollars out of. He picked up the journal, brushing off the layer of grime that had settled on it.

“Hey, check this out,” Ben said, flipping open the journal. The pages were worn and yellowed, but the writing was still legible. The boys gathered around; their breaths visible in the chill of the inn’s interior.

Ben read aloud, as if giving a monologue during drama class, his voice reverberating through the silent room. “The village of Elmsworth grows ever more haunted with each passing night. Shadows do lengthen across the streets, and spectral wails rend the air.”

“Bro! Sounds like the villagers were really spooked by something."

Ben flicked to a different page, his voice lowering to a whisper. “Yesternight, the ghouls did roam the streets anew, their eyes aglow with an unearthly light. I fear we shall soon become their next prey if we do not flee this place.” The boys exchanged uneasy glances; their earlier curiosity now overshadowed by a growing sense of dread, until Ben piped up, "Can you believe Miss Morton only gave me a C- for that King Arthur monologue?" He exclaimed, "You are both proof I can indeed create gravitas with my dulcet tones."

"Well, in fairness to Miss Morton, you were supposed to be performing King Lear." Jake smirked, "Not as if you were in an episode of Merlin."

The students reunited at the stone well in the center of town; their breath visible in the chilly night air as they pieced together their findings. The glow from their flashlights illuminated their faces, casting long shadows on the cobblestones. Lily had placed a sprig of the plant on the edge of the well next to the journal.

Jake, his face pale in the dim light, broke the silence. “So, if the villagers were seeing ghosts and ghouls, this plant may be responsible."

“My gran said that plants like this can manipulate people’s senses, making them see and hear things that aren’t real."

Emma looked about them, "So where do you suppose, Ms. Marlowe, has gone?"

Sam pointed towards the looming silhouette of the manor in the distance. There was smoke circling from the chimney, "No doubt she was drawn to the only other signs of life around here."

Sam led the way forward towards the manor house. The others followed behind continuing their speculative discussions.

They approached the manor house with a mix of apprehension and awe. Standing in stark contrast to the dilapidated village, the manor house was built in typical Tudor style, characterized by its half-timbered construction, large, rectangular windows with small panes, and steeply pitched gable roof. The walls were a mix of brick, stone, and timber, with the timber painted in contrasting colours. The pale moonlight silhouetting the formal gardens of neatly trimmed hedges and flower beds.

As the students neared the entrance, their approach was interrupted by a sudden, harsh shout. A gang of local ruffians emerged from the shadows, their rough, disheveled appearance starkly contrasting with the manor’s grandeur. They brandished crude weapons—swords, pitch forks and heavy lumps of wood—and their faces were hidden behind scarves, their eyes gleaming with a menacing gleam.

“Look here! We’ve got more strange folks,” one of the ruffians sneered, stepping forward. “Our lord don’t take kindly to trespassers.”

Despite their best efforts to defend themselves, the students were quickly overpowered. Jake swung a branch he had picked up, but it was knocked away with a swift blow. Ben tried to fend off the attackers with a flashlight, but it was swiftly snatched away. Emma and Lily struggled together, but the ruffians' strength and numbers proved too great. Sam was shoved forcefully, hitting the ground with a painful thud.

Breathless and disheveled, the group were roughly restrained and marched toward the manor. They were led to the entrance, that was flanked by stone steps, meeting a large wooden door with ironwork details. The door creaked opened. The students were roughly pushed inside.

Inside, the walls were lined with luxurious tapestries and the stone floor was covered with simple rugs. The oppressive silence of the manor seemed to magnify their anxiety as they were pushed forward, realizing they were about to face the figure responsible for the village’s haunting disappearance.

The students were ushered into a magnificent great hall, where the manor’s splendor was on full display. Rich velvet drapes framed the windows, and opulent furnishings, including intricately carved chairs and a grand, polished mahogany table, filled the space.

An elaborate fireplace crackled merrily, its flames casting a warm, flickering glow over the room. A large iron chandelier illuminated by a mass of candles hung from the high ceiling. There were iron candelabras at different points on the long table. All to provide light to the large room.

At the center of this luxurious setting, Ms. Marlowe was seated, exuding an air of serene composure, though a hint of mischief danced in her eyes. Her medallion gleamed softly as she sipped from a pewter goblet, clearly enjoying the chaos unfolding around her.

Next to her, Lord Reginald Blackwood, the landowner, appeared to be in an increasingly tipsy state. His posture was slightly slouched. His silver hair was parted neatly in the center and fell to his shoulders in gentle waves, reflecting both care and grooming, that was now slightly disheveled. His hairline was well-defined, framing his strong, weathered face, which was adorned with a short, well-groomed beard and mustache. His sharp eyes had a glazed look to them. He laughed too loudly and slurred his words as his guzzled mead from his golden goblet.

The man was dressed in a rich, velvet doublet of deep burgundy, embroidered with intricate gold thread. The doublet was fitted over a fine linen shirt with ruffled cuffs, peeking out from beneath the sleeves. A heavy, fur-lined cloak drapes over his broad shoulders, fastened with a gold brooch bearing the Blackwood family crest. His hose was made of fine wool, dyed a dark hue, and his polished leather boots reach just below the knee, reflecting the light of the flickering candles in the drawing room. He exuded opulence and power.

Ms. Marlowe was too early for a cup of tea, time wise, so had agreed to a goblet of mead. Her host failed to notice, due to his drinking, that the teacher was no closer to the bottom of her goblet than when he first poured her drink.

At the far end of the room, bound to a sturdy chair, was Sheriff Arthur Collins. He was an imposing presence with a sharp intellect. His hair, a dark brown laced with silver, was cut short and neatly styled, framing a face etched with the lines of duty and determination. And some unsightly bruising. He was dispatched by the king to address the troubling matters plaguing the village.

He wore a well-fitted doublet of royal blue, adorned with silver embroidery, indicating his official status. Over his doublet, a heavy, dark cloak is fastened with a brooch bearing the king’s seal, symbolizing his authority. His breeches are of fine leather, and his tall boots are polished to a shine, reflecting his meticulous nature. Around his waist was usually a broad belt holding a sword, that now lay beside him on the ground.

The sheriff looked on with disdain and frustrated, his uniform in disarray and his face mottled with bruising and dried blood about his nose. The rough rope binding his hands was highlighting his helpless predicament.

As the students took in the scene, they were struck by the contrast between Ms. Marlowe’s calm, almost amused demeanor and Lord Blackwood’s increasingly inebriated state. The presence of the subdued sheriff added a layer of tension, underscoring the seriousness of their situation amidst the surreal, almost theatrical setting.

Ms. Marlowe raised her goblet with a languid grace, her eyes twinkling with a blend of amusement and gravity. She motioned for the students to take a seat in the opulent room, gesturing toward a set of elegant chairs. The students, still processing the bizarre turn of events, hesitated before sitting down, their eyes flickering between the tipsy Lord Blackwood and the restrained Sheriff Arthur Collins.

As they settled, Ms. Marlowe began, her voice calm and measured. “Now that we’re all gathered, it’s time for a bit of clarity.” She glanced over at Lord Blackwood, who was attempting to pour more mead into her goblet, from an earthenware jug, that seemed almost too heavy for his unsteady hands. Most of the mead went onto the table. “Lord Blackwood has been rather troubled lately. The disappearance of the villagers has raised quite a bit of unwanted attention from some rather nosy neighbors and local authorities.”

Lord Blackwood attempted to interject, his words slurring. “They dared to pry where they were not bidden. Thought to cause mischief and... and bring dishonor upon me.”

Ms. Marlowe continued smoothly, ignoring his ramblings. “To handle these intrusions and ensure that his plans remained uninterrupted, Lord Blackwood hired these ruffians." She eyed the men standing by the doors. She stopped for a moment noticing that one of the men had a torch.

The sheriff seethed with indignation at Lord Blackwood's audacity. “To treat the king's emissaries with such disdain and contempt,” he mused, “betokens Blackwood's arrogance and treachery. His greed hath blinded him to the gravity of his actions, and he shall answer for this insolence.”

"That he shall, my good man," Ms. Marlowe. "We must make things right."

The teacher turned her attention back to her students, still eyeing the torch, as they shared their discoveries. Lord Blackwood was slumped in his chair snoring. The sheriff listened intently trying to understand their strange tongues.

Ms. Marlowe's expression was thoughtful. She set the goblet down and leaned forward slightly. “Excellent work, Lily." She gave a round of applause startling the ruffians momentarily. "You’re correct in thinking the plant is the key to the hallucinations, but there’s more to the story.” She paused, her eyes meeting those of her students. "The village was built on land rich in valuable ores like iron and tin that he intended to exploit. The villagers were obstructing his plans, so he needed them gone, and the best way to ensure that was to make it seem as if their village had become haunted.”

"Ms. Marlowe," Ben had quizzical look on his face. "Why did he go to so much trouble? Wouldn't it have been better for these knuckle brains to take out the whole village? You know, do them all in."

"You make a valid point, Benjamin," Ms. Marlowe smiled encouragingly. She loved it when students questioned. "While the thought is distasteful, and not beyond Lord Blackwood, dead villagers are a bigger mess to clean up than just scaring them away."

Sam, looking incredulous, spoke up. “So, the villagers are still alive?”

“Not so, Samuel! His plans worked a little too well for some of the villagers with bad hearts and weak constitutions. Their burnt bodies litter his garden beds." Ms. Marlowe clarified, "Though most did escape unharmed but certainly displaced.” She sat back in her chair with a sigh, "Our priority now is to expose his scheme and find a way to return the villagers to their home.” The teacher winked at her students, "Get ready!'

Ms. Marlowe took a deep breath then with a swift, decisive move, she grabbed her goblet and flung its content at one of the ruffians closest to her, in order to snatch back the torch. The mead splashed in the thug’s face, temporarily blinding him. She followed up by giving him an upper cut with the goblet that floored the man.

“Now!” Ms. Marlowe shouted, her voice cutting through the commotion.

Jake and Ben sprang into action. Jake grabbed a nearby candlestick, wick alight, wielding it like a flaming club as he swung it at one of the startled goons. The goon stumbled back ward and slipped on the rug falling heavily.

Ben smiling, excitedly, lifting a heavy chair and swinging it with precision, sending another thug sprawling to the floor.

Emma and Lily, quick on their feet, took advantage of the chaos. Emma grabbed a loose tapestry from the wall and used it to entangle one of the goons while Lily seized a brass poker from the hearth and began to beat the goon. If only he was one of her bullies.

Sam snatched the golden goblet from the table and threw it at a thug before he could reach for his sword. The cup smacked against the thug’s face, blood spurted from his nose, disorienting him.

In the midst of the melee, Ms. Marlowe made her way over to the sheriff and used his discarded sword to sever his bonds. She was just in time for the sheriff to defend her by taking his sword to one of the ruffians.

Eventually, the ruffians were overwhelmed by the effective improvisation tactics. Most lay sprawled on the floor, twisted up in tapestries and rugs, while a couple of them had blood trickling out from sword wounds, their attempts to fight back thwarted by the determined sheriff.

Ms. Marlowe turned to her students, her expression one of quiet determination. "We've done what we needed to," she said, her voice low. "Sheriff Collins can handle the rest. He'll be able to release his men to help out. It is time we left."

"There is one thing that still puzzles me," Lily replied. "How did all those people ingest the hallucinogen?"

The young Time Sleuths followed Ms. Marlowe out of the room, their steps light and purposeful. She switched on the torch, "The village uses a communal well. Once Lord Blackwood has worked out the bewitching qualities of the strange plants, all they had to do was ground up the leaves and add it to the water supply."

"Students," Ms. Marlowe navigated them through the opulent corridors of the manor, "May I remind you to be more vigilant of items you bring to the past from the future. This torch could have caused all manner of anomalies."

Ms. Marlowe led them to a secluded corner of the manor. She touched her watch and a swirling vortex materialized before them, its edges shimmering and shifting like a living tapestry of colors. They passed through returning to the classroom.

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