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Chester was not used to this new life.
Chester did not like this new life.
Chester preferred his old life.
Before July 20th, he would describe his social life as… absurdly empty. Non-existent. Lonely. Dry, if you will. He liked it that way as Chester thrived on his own and didn’t crave social attention. He lived day to day without a best friend, a significant other, or even a sibling. School was a chore that took his time away from what he truly adored.
Chester had a strange obsession with history. He would even admit it’s strange. Most kids have a phase where they are obsessed with different things in history and research the hell out of it until they get bored and move on. Chester, however, never grew out of his obsession for the Medieval Period in Europe.
His parents tried their best to make him move on, but alas, he never did. Senior year of high school rolled around, and his room was a medieval village. Plastered on his wall was an original mural of a castle, which he painted himself. Swords lay forgotten on the floor, robes on the wall. His bookshelf was full of medieval literature, and each book had Post-It notes sticking out the side. A couple lay open on his desk, which also had stacks of Post-Its sprawled over it. A quill and ink were in the corner, but there were no pens in sight. Ink blots were all over the carpet, the desk, and the sheets of his bed. His pillows were exclusively feather pillows, and the sheets were silk. The modern things were hidden from sight in the closet, which he had been trying to convince his parents he didn’t need.
Chester knew his parents were embarrassed by their strange son, so he made it very clear to them he didn’t expect them to put much effort into him. He even took down all the photos including him from the house so they would be reminded of him as little as possible and hid them in his closet. He replaced them all with generic paintings he found at the flea market or photos of his parents. He only asked that his parents fed him, bought him clothes, and let him sleep there, but he didn’t expect them to show him any affection. They wouldn’t even drive him to school, not that he would get in the car anyway. Too modern for him. They both left for work an hour before he needed to go to school, but he assumed that was to make sure he couldn’t ask for a ride.
So, Chester was used to being alone. He was free to study medieval times, to readjust his room, and write his own stories.
That’s why he didn’t expect his senior year of high school to be interrupted so suddenly, by something so out of this world. His life was spiraling into chaos, like he was living a real life sharknado. --
Chester rolls over in bed, groaning at the light blinding him. He sniffles and tries to sit up, but just falls right back down onto the mattress. Which… hurt?
He opens his eyes to see his room, but slightly modified. He doesn’t think much of it, assuming it was his parents changing things around yet again. He prepares himself to sit up again, which is when he notices that he isn’t on his mattress. The cover on top of him also isn’t his, and he notices that he isn’t in his room at all.
The room he was in was like his, but much cleaner. There was no closet, and there were only scrolls on the uneven desk. The cover on top of him was a (badly) hand-sewn quilt with holes littered throughout, and under him was just a wooden bed. His back ached, so he knew he had been on it all night, even though he very clearly remembered laying down on his mattress. Running a hand through his hair, he swung his legs off the bed and forced himself to stand.
The rest of the room was like his when it came to the contents. His desk, a downgraded version at least, was still crowded, but instead of Post-It notes there were rolls of parchment and thick looking paper. His bookshelf was tilted and looked very poorly made, and the books on it were barely really books in modern standards. The pages were bonded together with string and had no front cover (paper or hardback).
The walls looked like he was in one of those exhibits that showed off a “vintage” home, and the roof looked like it would simply collapse if it began to rain. The walls had wood bars that were obviously holding them up, and then stone that he could see holes in immediately. He could see the light shining through the walls, and the sunlight danced on the cracked floors.
The window wasn’t glass, either – it had shutters that covered the entire window. The shutters were pretty, but one was falling off. He slowly moved to the window and took a shaky hand to open the shutter. Looking through the window, he almost fainted.
Chester rubs his eyes and opens them wider to make sure he wasn’t going crazy. He even pinches himself, which hurt, so he rubs it better as he swallowed nervously.
He was looking directly at the medieval village he had painted on the mural, but it was real. People were walking through the streets, and everything was so clear. Everyone was wearing medieval clothes, and when Chester checked to see what he was wearing, he wasn’t very surprised to see he was dressed in a men’s nightgown.
The castle he had spent so much time painting was towering over the village. Every detail Chester had devoted to the mural was in the castle, including the different sized towers because he was bad with depth perception. The castle was the exact same size as the painting, which was scary if this was real.
The streets of the village were stone, and there were homes similar to his lining the streets. As he looked further down the street, the houses seemed to get nicer, and he could tell he was probably in one of the poorest parts of the village. He could also tell he was is a wealthier village, however, because the paths were stone and not just dirt. There was plenty of greenery around to prove there were farmers, but he could also tell some of the buildings doubled as homes and a store. He couldn’t see everything, but everything he could see was terrifying. He couldn’t see the farms, so he knew he wasn’t that far out, but he also couldn’t see any knights, so he wasn’t that far in.
His neighbors had their windows open, and their doors were open too. They were all chatting, and one spotted Chester and waved.
Chester was frozen on the spot. He was in a medieval village. When? He didn’t know. But he knew what he was seeing with own two eyes. It could be fake, of course, but it looked so real. So authentic.
If it were fake, it would have all those bad stereotypes. He thought. He was slowly getting more and more nervous. Unless someone did their research, as deep as I have, then this has to be real.
He was more concerned with how he got here than how he was going to get back.
Did someone change me? His face grew hot and red at the thought of someone undressing or redressing him. He didn’t enjoy it and tried to think of something else. How did they move me without me waking up? Where am I?
Question after question ran through his mind as he stayed glued to the floor. His legs felt heavy, and his body felt weak from fear. He closed his eyes, and finally spoke out loud.
“Come on, Chester. This is what you’ve always wanted. To be away from modern things. To live in the medieval period. To…” He gulped. He opened his mouth to finish his statement, but nothing came out. He sits back on the bed, and puts his head in his hands, and let out the first sob of the day.
As much as Chester liked being alone, he secretly craved his mother’s hug as he cried into his arms. --
That was a month ago. None of his questions had been answered, but he had found out that this town was the real deal. Like, he was living in the 6th century. The Western Roman Empire had recently fallen, but he had no idea how he had gotten here.
He had met some other people his age, but most of them were married with kids. He felt was less mature than them, but he also didn’t feel the need to fit in with them. They, however, would not leave him alone.
They seemed to think Chester was their best friend. They would make sure he was up early enough in the morning to get everything for the day done and have time to “relax.” There were 4 of them, two couples.
One of the couples lived right next door, Rowan, and Ellyn, and they were the more… tolerable couple. They gave Chester more space, but still tried to help him when it came to making dinner or shopping with the merchants (he had no idea how the money worked, or how to bargain to a reasonable price). Rowan was a merchant himself and explained to Chester that the merchants set the price way higher than they expect the person to pay so they will bargain down to the actual price he wants the object to sell for. They were apparently not surprised Chester was bad at bargaining, because he always had been. He was lucky that didn’t blow his cover.
The other couple lived further out because the man was a farmer. Robin was lucky he owned the land he did, but always made sure to come visit Rowan, Ellyn, and Chester as much as he could. He loved being in other people’s business, knowing what was going on in their life and why it was going on. His wife, Mirabelle, was the same way. She was the town gossip and wasn’t embarrassed by it at all. They both knew their limits but were not shy to share every rumor they heard about the other people in town with Chester.
The worst part was Chester already knew them. They were the 2 couples from his English class who always offered for him to be in their group. They always invited him places, despite him consistently turning them down.
They tried the hardest to be his friend, and he was just a jerk in response. At least, in the modern world he was. In the medieval world, he quickly accepted their friendships, but told himself it was just for survival. He didn’t want to be their friends, absolutely not. Survival purposes only.
He secretly didn’t hate his new friends. It was almost relieving to have someone to confide in, and not always have to find things to do to fill the day. He would help Rowan with different merchant tasks on some days and help Robin in the fields on others. He would also do his own job – a carpenter – on most days, so he kept very busy.
He was also constantly cleaning, which Ellyn and Mirabelle were happy to help with. It seemed impossible to keep his house (or, room) clean with no glass on the windows and holes in the walls. He didn’t really mind. He just made sure his books and papers were safe, as they were his most prized possession here. His only possessions, to be more exact.
They were trying to find him a wife, but he was completely opposed to the idea. Having someone live with him? In the same BED? Not his style. He also had to remind himself of the sexism in marriages during this time and knew there was no way he could treat a woman like that, even if he tried. Also, he swings the other way, so being married to a woman just… isn’t his style.
The past month has been hell trying to fit in. Of course, everyone speaks English, but it’s an older English. Different words have different meanings, and the sentence structure is different. Chester is seen as the strange member of town, but somehow everyone knows him. He didn’t have to introduce himself to anyone, as within an hour of waking up in this weird alternate universe his “friends” had come over to make sure he was going to work, because he apparently hadn’t worked in a couple days. They were worried about him. He has just been playing along with everyone and acting like he’s dumb. Everyone knows him, though. They know his parents’ names, his name, his birthday, everything. Some people are talking to him like they raised him, and others talk to him like they were raised with him.
The way a lot of the villagers reminded him of how his parents treated him, actually. It made his feel guilty about the way he pushed his parents away, but he assured himself that’s what his parents wanted.
In the back of his mind, though, he thought about the way his mom always made an extra plate of breakfast in the mornings in case Chester wanted some, the way his father always popped his head into Chester’s room before bed to say goodnight, the way they both went out of their way to buy him things that were from the medieval times.
As much as he refused to admit it, he missed both his parents dearly. He was slowly starting to regret how he treated his parents, and slowly starting to realize how wrong he was when it came to his parents. Maybe they weren’t embarrassed of him. Maybe he was the one embarrassed, and he made it all up in his head.
He pushed the thoughts from his mind, knowing if he thought too much about it than he could send himself into a downward spiral. He needed to focus on surviving right now. --
A couple more months passed, and Chester’s daily routine had changed tremendously since he was brought to this new world.
In the old days, he would wake up at a time he considered early to be productive. The sun would be up, shining through his window, and he would slowly make his way out of bed.
He’d change out of his pj’s (maybe, depends on what he had planned throughout the day) and then would go to brush his teeth.
This is where Chester is kind of exposed. He claimed he hated all these modern inventions, and how life was simpler in medieval times, but always brushed his teeth, took a shower, washed his face… He took running water for granted. If he was thirsty? He would grab a glass of water. Had a breakout? He wouldn’t hesitate to wash his face with some product that had been bought from the store.
Of course, not everyone is perfect when it comes to these things. Environmentalists will even admit that they may not always turn out the lights when they leave the room, dieters will have cheat days. It’s hard to practice everything you preach to a T when sometimes it’s easier to just let a few things slide.
Because of this, when Chester woke up freezing at the butt-crack of dawn, with a backache, and nasty feeling mouth, he began to question why he ever thought this life would be better.
He had to get up with the sun, because there were no clocks to let them know the time. There was its too early and dark; now it’s too early and the sun is out; the sun is out and it’s way too hot to be wearing these damn clothes; its finally getting cooler but now I’m exhausted; and sleepy time.
Chester had no idea why he had to wake up that early, but without glass on his windows he could hear everything in the small town. Children running around outside, his new neighbors going to the market, everything.
Now, he must get ready faster but without the running water he now craved. He hadn’t brushed his teeth properly since he moved there, and even when he did bathe, he felt disgusting after. He had always hated baths because it felt like he was sitting in his own filth, and now it was the only way to get clean? And it was all PUBLIC? It took almost two months for him to finally convince himself to bathe, and when he found out he would have to use the same water someone else cleaned themselves in, he almost fainted. After that, it took another two months for him to clean his filth. He just missed showering every day.
He also took plumbing for granted. He missed flushing his waste down the toilet, and never worrying about it again. Now, he had to use chamber pots, and had to empty them himself. The streets also were disgusting, reminding him constantly where he was expected empty his business.
He missed modern inventions more than he would like to admit. --
One particular morning, Chester slid out of bed at dawn and cracked his back as normal. He rubbed his eyes and ran a hand through his obnoxiously long hair, which had not been cut in almost 6 months. It was normal for his hair to be this long, but he hated it.
Not only was it impossible to control, but he also had no way of keep it clean, so it was constantly greasy and nasty. That morning, he couldn’t stand it anymore as it continued to fall in his eyes and get in his way of doing literally anything.
He knew his mom would also prefer for his hair to be shorter. Long hair just covers your cute face! She would say, and the thought made Chester smile. He thought of his bald father and how ridiculous he would look next to him.
He got dressed as fast as he could and quickly emptied the chamber pot from the night before and left his home and made his way to Mirabelle and Robins home. He knew they would be up and when he arrived, he greeted Robin before finding Mirabelle outside, washing their clothes.
“I want you to cut my hair.” He said before even greeting her, and she laughed at him.
“I thought you would never ask.” She replies and hangs up the piece of clothing she was holding. He follows her inside and she grabs a rusty pair of scissors, and then gets to work.
Chester didn’t give any pointers, as all he wanted was to fit in but also be able to see. He also never gave pointers when his mom cut his hair but pretended like that wasn’t an influence. She cut the front pieces shorter, before working her way around his head and cutting the rest to be shorter. When she was done, he could tell it was still longer than he preferred, but he knew that it was normal for men to have longer hair in this time, and let it be.
Surprisingly, he didn’t hate the interaction. The two laughed together, and Robin even joined to watch in amusement for a bit. He told stories of him and his parents, and his friends told stories of them. He had to modify his stories a bit, of course, but the just of them all was that he really loved his parents and missed them. In this alternate reality, his parents were dead, so the tears he shed when talking about missing them made sense and his friends comforted him.
He could feel himself smiling, genuinely, as he made his way back to his home. Once he made it back, he almost missed having the presence of someone else.
Weird, was his only thought before he continued his tasks for the day.
He didn’t know it, but he was changing – for the better. --
Chester yawns as he rolls over on his mattress-
MATTRESS???? Chester’s brain screams at him.
He shoots out of bed and almost runs into his wall. His room is back to normal, and when he looks outside, he sees his old neighbors’ houses. He can hear cars driving by and the pace of his breathing increases.
It had been two years since he had seen this room. Two years since he had seen his neighbors walking their dog and letting it poop in his front lawn, so he would accidentally step in it while going to get the mail. Two years since he had seen his parents. Two years, but not even the season outside had changed. His calendar on the wall showed that it was just July 20th, the day he had thought he was waking up to two years ago.
In shock, Chester starts to slowly examine his beloved room. He ignored the mural on the wall and vowed to paint over it as soon as possible – he had seen enough of it for a lifetime. The Post-It notes sticking out of the nicely bounded books on his very structured bookshelf reminded him of how much he missed books not falling apart at the seams. The swords on the floor almost seemed like a joke, as did the nice robes on his wall. He wished he had such a luxury to own a robe, but then he remembered this was all his. His desk littered with quills and open books made him walk over and sit in his chair and groan at the comfort it gave him. He had almost forgotten what it was like to have something soft support his back in all the right places. One book stood out to him as it had a stamp from his high school – the book they were reading in English. Frankenstein by Mary Shelley.
He smiled at the thought of having the confidence to befriend Rowan, Mirabelle, Ellyn, and Robin finally, when he got back to school at least. He noticed the first ink stain on his desk and ran his fingers across it, before spinning around in the chair and finally focusing his attention back on the bed.
His feather pillows and silk sheets called to him as he sat back on the bed. He softly ran his hand across the soft sheets, before taking a handful of them and laying back down. His mattress sunk around him to cradle him in all the right spots, and he felt like he was laying on a cloud. A cloud made of Tempur-Pedic material, but nevertheless a cloud. He closed his eyes to take in the moment but opened them a moment later to continue exploring his room.
Immediately, his eyes landed on a face-down photo frame in the corner. He swung his legs off his bed and placed his feet on the soft carpet (which he would appreciate more later by simply laying on the floor and laughing as his dog licked his face). The textured carpet pressed into the soles of his feet as he made his way to the picture frame and shakily picked it up.
The smiling faces of his parents and a young him stared back at him. Young Chester was smiling bigger than he ever imagined and was dressed in a very silly medieval outfit. It was very obviously the beginning of his obsession, and the costume was a cheap, store-bought Halloween costume, but young Chester was the happiest boy on the planet. His father was holding him up for the camera and had on a poorly made Halloween costume to match Chester’s. He had crinkles by his eyes from how wide he was smiling. His mother was standing next to them, also dressed up, and had a hand on Chester’s back with the same goofy grin on her face. Chester slowly began to remember this, and realized they weren’t just smiling – they were laughing.
The memory became clearer in Chester’s mind as he stared at the photo. His parents surprising him with the costumes for his birthday, and surprising him with tickets to a Medieval Fair 2 hours away. He chuckled at the memory and realized how stupid he had been to assume his parents weren’t supportive of his interests. He sets the picture frame upright on his desk and smiles at the way it complements the rest of the items.
Still in his (regular, not medieval) pajama’s, he basically sprints to the kitchen, and suddenly freezes in the door frame. Tears well up in his eyes.
His dad is at the island, sitting on a stool, scrolling on his laptop. His mom is standing at the oven (which he appreciates so much more now) and she is whistling her favorite tune – You Are My Sunshine. His dad has his chin resting in his hand, and he looks bored.
“What are you looking at?” His dad breaks him out of his trance, and Chester wipes his tears away. He doesn’t answer but walks over to his father and embraces him. He squeezes his father, and…
“I love you, Dad,” It was the first time Chester had ever said this to his dad, and he felt him freeze. His mother gasps from the other side of the kitchen, and his father returns the hug, even tighter.
“I love you too, son.” His dad sounded on the verge of tears. After a moment, Chester breaks away and goes to his mother, who has her arms out ready for a hug as well. He hugs her just as tight as he did his father.
“I love you, mom,” His voice was shaky, and he was crying now. His mom let out a sob and squeezed him back.
“I love you so much Chester.”