"What the heck was that?" I shouted.  "Dr. K?"

No answer.  In fact, no sound whatsoever.  Utter silence.

I fumbled around blindly for the red button, the white light having borrowed my sight.  But the comm link at my side was no longer there. 

It took a moment for the spots to fade from my eyes. Once they did, I saw the screens still were black, and T-Rod apparently was down for the count.  I was engulfed in darkness.

I wasn't even sitting in the chair anymore.  I felt around to find I was kneeling against the floor and the walls had closed in tighter. 

"Dr. K?" my voice quivered.  "Anyone?"

My numb fingers slowly regained their touch (why were my senses so late in reacting?).  I was kneeling against carpeting.  There were fabrics hanging low over my head which I discovered when I tried standing up.  My heart skipped a beat.  Since when was there anything soft inside T-Rod?  I ran my hands against the walls.  The screens, too, had vanished, and the sterile cold chrome had roughened, so I seemed to be touching ordinary walls like those within a house.

To no one in particular, I whispered, "Where am I?"

I looked at my necklace, which was glowing red.

Oh. Crap. 

T-Rod worked.

But they were trying to get me out!  They said it had a few bugs to work out!  What happened?  Is this what would transpire if T-Rod malfunctioned? 

And a little more importantly, WHERE WAS I?

I tried to calm myself down before I full-blown panicked.  And at this rate, a meltdown wasn't too far away.  Okay, think, Julia.  Think.  Use that noggin you're so proud of.  You're obviously in a traditional building with traditional doors.  Look for a knob!

"I'm going crazy.  I swear I'm losing my mind," I muttered as first I felt around for cracks along the bottom.  I found one and had to swallow my joyous cry.  A few feet up was the brass knob.  I turned it in triumph.

Something was pushed up against it- something heavy, like a trunk.  Frustrated and confused, I threw my weight upon the door, forced it open, and fell out face forward in the process.

I got up and looked about.  I was in a nicely decorated bedroom, the walls a soft jade green.  The room was dim, the curtains drawn, a four-post bed standing beneath the window. 

"I don't like this," I said aloud. "Not one bit.  Dr. K, turn that light blue soon.  Better yet, let's go green and get me out of here."

I took a step back and nearly tripped over the trunk again.  Angrily, I drew my foot back to kick it. 

And a split second before my foot connected with the case, three things occurred to me.

First, that I was not alone in the house, or apartment, or whatever the heck this was; as if from below I heard voices, male voices, speaking to one another in an unmistakable British lilt.  Strange male voices, and I a strange young girl. 

Second, that there was a little orange tabby cat sitting in the doorway, watching me with an expression that seemed to ask "What do you think you're doing?"

Third, that I saw the writing, the names, upon the trunk.  The word itself, which began with a Q, would have been shock-inducing enough, if not for that instantly recognizable crest emblazoned on the trunk's front.

Too late I tried to stop my foot's collision with the trunk.

BAM!

The voices halted a moment.

I dove back into the closet.  DR. K, HELP ME!

But the Nokia in my backpack (Thank God I still had my backpack with all my stuff) remained silent.  I strained to make out the words the men now spoke.

"You hear something?" a low, calm voice said.

"No," responded a much higher, raspier voice.  "Did you?"

"Thought I did.  Like a thud.  Came from upstairs."

"It's just your nerves, dear," said a posh third voice- one which chilled my body to the bone. 

"Now I know I'm crazy," I tried to tell myself, but I was weak with confusion and hunger (it's true, if I go too long without food, I become dizzy and downright stupid, and too long for me often is only four hours- and it had been ten hours since breakfast), and wild with fear. God, this couldn't be real.

It was at this moment the throbbing red dot against my chest turned blue.  I nearly fainted from relief.  Clumsily I rooted about again for the Relic, and sure enough, it was ringing.

Bip-bip-bip-bip BEEP Bip-Bip-Bip BEEP Bip BEEP-

I pressed the green button on the phone (cutting short a poorly executed, bare-bones rendition of "In the Air Tonight"- no joke) and gasped, "Dr. K?"

I've never been happier to hear anything than I was when his quivery, slow voice answered, "Julia!  You're okay!"

"Yes!  Oh, yes!" I whispered.  "Where am I?"

"I should think you'd know, you apparently sent yourself there," he replied.  "Where you are, it's July 1, 1977 at about 11 at night, London time."

My mouth went dry.  "You mean to say that-"

"Congratulations, Julia Samuels, you are the first human time traveler," he announced.

Dr. C didn't give me time to let that sink in.  "But you didn't quite end up where we wanted, so you kinda botched it."

"What?  But you guys were running the show back there!"

"Something went wrong, and you somehow got into the controls," he said.  "Did you happen to be messing with your phone?"

"Yes.  I did.  I won't do it ever again as long as I live.  Now please get me out of here!"

"That probably explains it.  Signals crossed!"

"Again, I'm sorry.  Bring me back!"

"We can't right now."

"Why not?  We're talking, aren't we?  Lock onto my signal!"

"You're slipping out of range, Julia," cried Dr. K, who did indeed sound to be shorting out.  He said something else, but I couldn't hear it.

The door to the closet opened wider, and a young man peered in at me.

I snapped, "Do you mind?"

He stood there a second, then just like that he disappeared again, and I turned back to the phone.  "What was that you said?"

"Bring...home yet... T-Rod... problem..."

"Well, then what am I supposed to do now?"

"...Stay hidden... take care till next-"

Then the Relic died, and told me I'd spent sixty seconds in the phone call.  Stay hidden.  Okay.  I could do that.  Easy.

Except I'd already blown my cover.

The young man had seen me!  What an idiot I was!  There was no question about me, the intruder, now!

I listened with baited breath, tried to ignore the cat now sitting on top of the trunk and staring at me through the closet doorway ("Scat!" I told it, knowing what cat dander does to my nose).

The high voice spoke.  "What gives, John?  You look like you've seen the dead."

The young man replied, in squeaky, nasal tones, "No, not quite."

"Not quite, eh?"  That frightening third voice again.  "Well, then, what did you see?"

A sigh.  "Oh, nothing.  I just wasn't expecting to see her, is all.  Just startled me a bit."

"Yeah, Tiff does that, she'll just jump out of nowhere, sorry.  I have cat acrobats."

"No, no, not the cat.  The girl."

"The girl?"

"There's a girl upstairs in your closet."

Oh, God.  I was dead.  Loony and dead. 

A long pause from the third voice.  "What?"

"There's a girl up there.  Didn't you know?"

Another long pause.  Then, sudden thunder as four men ran up the stairs heading my way.  I acted quickly.  In five seconds I'd slid myself under the bed, becoming completely invisible by the time I saw the first foot come into view.

"In there," John (no, not Deacon, I refused to even entertain the idea that it could be John Deacon) said, as calmly as if he was reporting the weather.

A pair of white shoes picked their way daintily across the carpet and stood before the open closet.  Their owner pushed some clothes around.  Two other pairs of feet -one in clogs, the other in sneakers- followed into the bedroom.

"There's no one here, Deacy," said the third voice in its singsong style. 

I shut my eyes.  Deacy?  Really?  This was not happening.  Except it was.

"What was that all about?" asked Mr. Clogs.

"John here saw a mirage, I think," he answered. 

"I dunno, maybe I did," John conceded.  "But no mirage I've ever seen looked up at me and said 'Do you mind?' before."

"There's a first time for everything," the high voice in sneakers teased. 

I was holding my breath, partly so they wouldn't hear me, but also because the orange cat had slid under the bed and sidled right up to my face.  That's the best thing about cats.  They know instinctively who's allergic to them and proceed to make their lives miserable by coming close enough to get the eyes watering and the throat itching.  So it was now. 

"Shoo, shoo!" I mouthed at it, but all it did was meow contentedly.  The men, however, didn't seem to notice and they walked back out laughing at poor John's expense.  The last pair of feet to vanish were the white ones; they stood quietly facing the bed a couple of minutes, before slowly waltzing back to the lower floor.

I took a deep breath.  That was close.

I listened in again, and frowned as I heard them all decide to call it a night, each of them tell the others "We'll work it all out at Wessex," before slipping out the door.  Now there were only three voices.  And now, just two.  John and the posh fellow.

"Sorry about that back there," John was saying.  "I just know I saw somebody.  Heard someone talking.  I dunno."

"Don't worry about it, dear," he replied.  "Sometimes our heads play tricks.  My God, that happens to me all the time.  You're not crazy, don't worry.  Now, me?  That's another story.  Say hi to Veronica for me."

"I will.  See you tomorrow."

"Goodnight, John."

The door closed.

The world was quiet.  Far too quiet.  And the cat was still staring at me.

And in this weak moment of deafening silence, when so much as a foot falling upon a rug could be heard from any part of the flat, I half-sneezed before catching myself.  But at first it seemed no use.

For here came the footsteps.  Up, up, up they went.  My heart pounded in my ears.  I was too hungry to fear anymore, and too tired to scream.  I just waited for him to lower the boom.

Before too long, the white shoes returned.  The air thickened with anticipation.  One foot tapped impatiently.

"Come on out, darling, I know you're here," he sang. 

I didn't move. My throat was itching like crazy, but I stayed under.

"John saw you himself, you think you can hide from me?" he said wryly. "I'll find you, I will. Might as well turn yourself over now!"

At Daddy's command, the cat wormed its way back into the light and rubbed up against his legs.

"Not you, Oscar, the phantom!" He laughed. "A year I've lived here, I didn't know this flat was haunted."

He had a laugh that just rolled out effortlessly. He was just joking around now, laughing to himself. He didn't think there was anyone here, certainly no one hiding.  Somehow it relaxed me, but I still couldn't move. What if he should find out the phantom actually lurked under the bed?

"Hello! What's all in this bag?" He bent down into the closet, reached for my backpack. "Let's have a lo-"

"DON'T TOUCH THAT!" I cried, before I could stop myself.

He whirled. "What the f---?"

"Sorry," I corrected myself. "Don't touch that, please."

In one smooth motion he dropped to his knees and lifted the bed skirt.

Said it wouldn't be long, and here he is!  Don't worry, it gets better.  Please don't forget to leave a little feedback if you wish! :)