A Time Traveller's Nine Lives

Edwin knew something was off when the cat spoke.

At first, he thought he’d misheard. The workshop was filled with the hum of machinery, the crackle of electricity, and the rhythmic ticking of a dozen mismatched clocks. It had been years since he'd first tinkered with the idea of travelling through time, but this was the first time something unexpected had happened—unexpected even by his standards.

The cat, a massive ginger tom named Bellamy, sat on the workbench, tail wrapped around his feet, green eyes unblinking. "You set it wrong," he said, his voice smooth, almost bored.

Edwin blinked. “I… I set what wrong?”

“The coordinates.” Bellamy stretched lazily. “You always do this. Twenty minutes off. Twenty years off. Sometimes both.”

Edwin took a slow step backwards. The machine hummed behind him, a faint blue light pulsing from its core. He hadn't activated it yet, had he?

“I don’t remember you talking,” he said carefully.

“You wouldn’t.” Bellamy flicked an ear. “Not yet.”

A chill crept down Edwin’s spine. The cat was right—his calculations had been imprecise before. His first test run had landed him in his own kitchen an hour earlier, where he watched himself burn toast. The second, a month in the past, where he discovered his landlord had lied about losing his rent cheque. But twenty years?

He turned to check the machine’s settings. Bellamy yawned. “Too late.”

The light flared. Edwin stumbled back. The air shimmered, thick like molasses, pressing in on him. The clocks in the room slowed, their ticking stretching into deep, unnatural groans.

Then silence.

Edwin opened his eyes. The workshop looked the same. The air smelled faintly of ozone. His heart pounded.

Bellamy sat on the workbench, grooming his paw. “I’d say ‘I told you so,’ but it seems redundant.”

Edwin frowned. Something was wrong. The tools on his desk were neatly arranged, something he never did. The calendar pinned to the wall had different handwriting than his. He stepped toward the machine, but before he could check the settings, the door creaked open.

A man stood in the doorway.

Edwin froze.

The man looked familiar. Too familiar. Same unruly dark hair, same slightly crooked nose from an old childhood accident. The only difference was the grey at his temples, the lines around his mouth. He was older. Twenty years older.

“Ah,” the older Edwin said. “So, it’s this day.”

Younger Edwin opened his mouth, then closed it.

Older Edwin sighed. “I was hoping Bellamy would stop you this time.”

“I did,” the cat said. “He didn’t listen.”

Edwin’s mind reeled. “You knew? You knew I’d—”

“Of course I knew.” Older Edwin ran a hand through his greying hair. “I was you. I remember standing right where you are. Confused. Thinking I’d made a mistake.” He exhaled. “But you didn’t.”

Younger Edwin swallowed. “Then why are you here?”

Older Edwin walked to the workbench, reaching for the notes Edwin had scribbled earlier that day. “Because this is where it starts. Every time. You try to fix it. You always do.”

Younger Edwin glanced at the machine. “Fix what?”

Older Edwin hesitated. His gaze flickered to Bellamy, then back to his younger self. “Time is stubborn,” he said finally. “Some things don’t change, no matter how much you try. You’ll spend years looking for a way around it, thinking you’re different. But you’re not.”

A deep unease settled in Edwin’s chest. “What happens to me?”

Older Edwin didn’t answer right away. He gave Bellamy a look, something like resignation. The cat stretched and leaped off the workbench. “Well,” the older man finally said. “You’ll see.”

Then, before Edwin could react, Older Edwin stepped forward and flicked the switch.

The machine roared to life.

Light exploded outward.

Edwin gasped.

And then he was gone.

Bellamy sat on the workbench, tail twitching. Older Edwin rubbed his temples. “You could’ve stopped him.”

Bellamy blinked. “Could I?”

The clocks ticked. The machine hummed. The older man sighed. He had twenty years before he’d be standing in the same spot again, watching himself make the same mistake.

Bellamy hopped down and rubbed against his leg. “Hungry,” he announced. “Feed me.”

Older Edwin shook his head. “I should’ve gotten a dog.”

Bellamy flicked his tail. “Wouldn’t have helped.”