Wyatt's Magical Wardrobe || ONC 2024

[Fifteen]

It's six in the morning and I'm knocking like a crazy lady on Matt's room door. I'm probably waking up the whole place, but I don't bloody care. I've been sitting on this bombshell all night, and I feel like I'm about to explode.

"What's going on?" Matt asks as he pulls the door open. He's half asleep, looking totally dishevelled, and he's only wearing boxer shorts—drool. Damn it, Wyatt, focus!

"You will not believe what I just found out. Get dressed, we have an Aunty to ambush," I say.

Matt rubs his eyes, clearly not listening to a single word I'm saying.

"Who?" He asks.

"I've found Aunty Char, or as I recently discovered, Aunty Lottie."

His eyes pop at that little revelation. He moves aside and motions for me to come in.

"Tell me everything while I get dressed," he says.

As he shimmys into his jeans, I tell him about the painting, then he pulls a t-shirt over his head, and I reveal she prefers to go by Lottie these days. And we both say, "I wonder why?" At the same time. Man, we're cute.

"So she has been right under our noses this whole time?"

"Yep, and now we know how Becks got trapped."

"Of course," he says. "She was visiting the house with Frank.”

"Yep. I don't think she knew Becks was on the other side, but it's still a crappy thing to do," I say.

He finishes tying his boots and zips up his jacket. "Okay, now what?"

I casually asked Frank last night if Lottie was working today. Apparently she's doing a late shift, so she'll be at home painting this morning. He told me she had almost finished a really nice one of Summerfield cottage in its heyday. And that I should take a look in case I was interested in buying it.

I kinda want to tell her she could shove it. But to be honest, I think it'd probably look really nice by the front door when I turn this place into a B&B.

"Welp, Frank should be just about to leave for my place. I thought we could collect Becks on the way too."

He nods, then he grabs his phone and checks his hair in the mirror. If I didn't know any better, I'd have no clue he wasn't born in this century.

Ten minutes later we're at Becks’s and she insists on a shower. Man, she's annoying. As we wait, I make coffee and Matt googles Lottie to see if she's on Facebook or anything else, but we can't find her anywhere. Charlotte Summerfield pops up in the history books, but Charlotte—or even Lottie Butler is a ghost. Not even a single picture.

We're quietly sipping our drinks when Becks enters holding a pitchfork.

"Do you think I'll need this?" She asks.

"We're not a mob coming to burn her at the stake, you muppet," I say, shaking my head.

"Are we though?"

"You were trapped in the nineteenth century for one night. Stop being such a big baby."

"Ah, excuse me, but if your crazy OCD hadn't kicked in, I could've been there for a lot longer," she says, pitchfork in one hand, the other on her hip.

So bloody dramatic.

"Hey, you're right. My cute quirk saved everyone. Go me," I say.

"Can we please hurry up and get over there, like, now?" Matt says from the sink where he just placed his cup.

Both Becks and I clap in appreciation at his correct modern use of like.

"Well done, Matt, you'll be a bona fide millennial in no time," Becks says, placing the large fork against the wall.