Whitby’s salty sea air swirled around Richard and Grace Walker as they gazed at the time machine humming softly in the attic. It had become their getaway, their passport to the extraordinary. Today was no different, and their grandparents were none the wiser that their summer afternoons were spent hurtling through history.
“I can’t believe we’re actually gonna do this,” Grace whispered, her eyes as wide as saucers. “The Great Fire of London?”
Richard shrugged, a grin splitting his face. “C’mon, Grace, it’s like GCSE History come to life. Besides, wasn’t it you complaining that textbooks are so boring?”
“Okay, fair, enough” Grace conceded, but the tremor in her voice gave her away. This wasn’t just reading about King Charles II and some dodgy bakery in Pudding Lane. This was real. Dangerous.
“Rules,” Richard said, holding up a hand. “Remember? Observe, don’t interfere. No changing history, no souvenirs. We’re ghosts, got it?”
Grace nodded, the seriousness sinking in. They’d already had a near-miss with the Titanic, nearly setting off a panic when Grace almost knocked over a lifeboat in her excitement.
With a deep breath, they set the dials. 1666. London. Pudding Lane.
Light exploded, and the attic faded. When their vision cleared, the scent of soot and burning wood choked the air. They were perched on a rooftop overlooking a narrow street, flames already licking at the timber houses.
“Holy moly,” Richard breathed, “Look at it spread!”
“It’s so fast,” Grace said, her voice hushed, “We read about the wind, but this is… terrifying.”
Below, the street teemed with panic. People dragged what belongings they could salvage, buckets passed from hand to hand in desperate attempts to quench the inferno.
“We should help,” Grace said impulsively, already scrambling toward the edge of the roof.
Richard grabbed her. “No! Remember the rules! And besides, look!” He pointed to a figure weaving through the chaos – a man in rich clothes, shouting orders and seeming far less terrified than everyone around him.
“Who’s that?” Grace asked.
“Samuel Pepys, I think,” said Richard, squinting. “The famous diarist. We read his eyewitness account in class.”
Pepys was frantically directing men toward the river. “Use the water pumps! Tear down houses, create a firebreak before the whole city burns!”
Curiosity outweighed Grace’s fear. “Let’s go a bit closer, try to hear, maybe?”
They clambered down, blending into the crowd. The heat was unbearable, the roar of the flames deafening. A woman sobbed near them, clutching a singed portrait. “Everything’s gone,” she wailed, “Everything!”
Grace hesitated, then knelt beside her. “My name’s Grace,” she said softly, “Are you hurt?”
The woman shook her head, eyes wild. “M-Mary…homeless now. What will become of me?”
“I wish I could help,” Grace said, the words feeling hollow. Mary wouldn’t care about some random girl from the future.
“Look!” Richard said, tugging her sleeve, “Over there!” A group of men had surrounded a rough-looking fellow and were shaking their fists.
“Thief!” someone yelled, “Using the fire to steal!”
Pepys strode over, his face set. “Stop! What proof do you have? This is no time for mob justice.”
“He had my purse, sir!” a well-dressed woman insisted, face blotched with soot and tears.
“It’s a lie!” the accused man shouted back, “I found it in the street, I swear!”
Pepys sighed. “We need order, not more chaos. Let me see the purse.”
Examining it, he turned to the woman. “Describe what was inside.”
As the woman listed her valuables, the accused man grew paler. Pepys fixed his gaze on him. “Is this true?”
The man’s shoulders slumped. “Yes, it is. I was desperate…”
Pepys nodded, a flicker of something like pity in his eyes. “Take him away. Make sure he stands trial, but fairly.” He looked out across the devastated city. “London will need honest men to rebuild.”
Richard nudged Grace. “Time to go. I’d rather not end up accused of witchcraft.”
They scrambled back to their rooftop perch. As they set the time machine in motion, the crackle of the flames and the cries of the people echoed in their ears.
The attic materialized around them, quiet and dusty.
“That was…” Grace trailed off, shaking her head. “Brutal. I don’t think the textbooks do it justice.”
“History’s a messy business,” Richard agreed. “People suffer, but they also…keep going. That Pepys guy, trying to bring order, the men fighting the fire…”
“There are heroes even in the worst of times.” Grace finished, a new note in her voice.
The time machine hummed in the corner, full of new possibilities, a thousand ‘what ifs’ whispering alongside the history lessons.
