One World Away

People. There were so many people whirling around, hustling to speak or dance with one another. They'd grab hands and grin from ear to ear, though half of their faces were covered by fancy masks that were dazzled with jewels and feathers ranging from all different shapes and sizes. Classical music was being played by the small orchestra in the front of the room, and quite frankly, it bored my eight- year- old mind.

Both of my parents were away on the dance floor, entertaining their guests and sipping glasses of red wine. I sat alone at a table that used to be filled with other children my age, but was soon vacated as they preferred to play games of catch and tag in the courtyard. Having never really been interested in spending time with my peers, I had decided to stay seated, stirring my tea and nibbling on dinner rolls.

I was uncomfortable, to say the least. Not only did I not enjoy being around large amounts of people, but the dress I was in was squeezing the life out of me, and my hair was pulled back so tightly that I could almost feel my face being ripped from my skull. On a normal evening, I would have taken it down, but this was not a normal evening.

This was the annual Strutford Masque Ball. In our modern day, it was more of a party than anything else, but it had been created centuries before as a legitimate ball, Masters, Lords, and even some royalty arriving in horse drawn carriages. Now, it was just a bunch of rich snobs showing up in top hats and white gloves, overtaking what was usually my dining room and getting more and more obnoxious as the night wore on.

It was to the point where I was praying for at least some form of amusement, the patterns of the table cloth entertaining me no more, and I had finished counting how many of each color mask there was long ago. To say that I was excited when I heard someone behind me call my name would be an understatement. To say that I was extremely confused as soon as it reached my ears would also be and understatement.

"Miss Leigha Girard," It was an unfamiliar voice. "That is your name, is it not?"

Turning in my chair, I was faced with a young man with dark hair and light brown eyes. He was dressed as everybody else was, only for some reason, it looked right on him. His gloved fingers were long, and they clutched a black, velvet top hat that shook slightly in his grasp.

"Yes sir," I answered him, "but, who are you?"

"Oh," his cheeks reddened just a bit before he bowed. "Excuse me, I am Brian Haner, Junior, ehem, Lord Brian Haner, Junior."

I frowned and examined him for a bit. He had a strange accent, a certain drawl that wasn't from around the area, and the actual way that he spoke was rather interesting as well.

"What is it, exactly, that you're a Lord of, Mr. Haner?" My parents had always taught me to address adults in the most polite of ways. They had also taught me to never talk to strangers. I figured that if I was doing at least on thing that they told me, I was still minding them for the most part.

The man in front of me cracked a smile and showed rows of straight, bright teeth. "Why, of the house, of course."

Again, I furrowed my brow and eyed him. My parents didn't normally invite crazies to the party.

"Well, can I help you with something, then?"

He nodded his head and flipped his hat in his hands. "Yes, um, I just have one, simple favor to ask you, darling." My eyes shifted from side to side, but quickly returned to his angular face. "Could you tell me," he paused for a moment and glanced around before continuing, "What year it is?"

I was a little surprised. It was such a simple question, but it spoke volumes. How could someone not know what year they were living in? I could understand the time, or the specific date, but the year?"

"Um, it's 1998, November 1st, 1998."

His eyes widened a considerable amount, but he just cleared his throat and placed his hat on top of his head. "Th- thank you."

I shrugged my shoulders and shook my head. "No problem."

He forced a smile and took hold of the lapels of his suit jacket just as soon as I felt a cold hand come in contact with my shoulder. I jumped and turned to see both my mother and stepfather standing in their formal- wear, glasses of alcohol in their hands as expressions of confusion swept over their features.

"Who are you talking to, sweetie?" My mom asked, causing me to glance back in the direction of the mysterious stranger. To my disbelief, he was no longer standing there, and for the third time in a span of about two minutes, a frown unfolded on my face.

"I was just- He was there a minute ago," I sputtered, looking up at my parents as they peered down at me. That was impossible. He was there just seconds ago.

"Who was?" My dad asked, crouching down next to me and putting a reassuring hand on my back.

I looked at him with big eyes and told them, "Brian Haner, that's what he said his name was. Brian Haner, Junior."

My father simply stared at me for a few solid seconds until a loud laugh bubbled out of his wife's chest. "That's not possible, honey."

"But, it is!" I protested. "He was right there, standing with a top hat! He asked me what year it was."

The man beside me shushed me and patted my cheek before repeating almost exactly what my mother had previously said. "No, it's not possible, Leigha." I regarded him skeptically, waiting for him to elaborate, and when he did, I was still entirely unsatisfied. "Brian Haner, Junior lived in this house when it was first built. He died centuries ago, back in the 1800's."