A musky scent hung thick in the air. There was a thin veil of fog slowly descending upon the ground, plunging the forest into an eerie mist. The woods were deathly quiet, except for a distant tapping sound.

I strained my ears to listen. Like a whisper, the drumming was faint. As I leaned towards the noise, someone jumped on top of me, knocking me onto my back. Groaning, I pushed my best friend off me.

Mace Brown was a dark-haired kid who had a tendency to get himself into trouble. Just as I was about to chew Mace out, I heard the knocking again.

"Mason?" my friend questioned. "You're spacing out again." Mace squeezed my shoulder. His eyes, a same dull green as mine, were full of concern. Shaking his hand off, I followed the sound deeper into the woods. "Today is not a good day for a hike, man!"

We walked for a couple of minutes, straying off the path and down a hill. I stopped and listened for the sound again. We were standing near a creek, our feet buried in dead leaves and other debris. "I hear something," I mumbled.

I spun around and then saw it. A box, the size of a book, was half buried near the base of a tree. Years of erosion had caused the paint to peel away, revealing the wood underneath.

Inside the box was a glowing globe. It was almost as if someone plucked the moon from the sky, shrunk it down and tucked it in a box. "What is that?" Mace whispered.

Mace reached out a hand towards the pulsing sphere. I pushed his hand away, hoping to keep him from touching the object. I ended up brushing my wrist against it and then I was hurdling through darkness, my stomach coming up to my throat. My brain was being pulled apart piece by piece. I screamed in agony and prayed for it to end.

And then it did.

I was lying on my back, staring up at a clear sky. A girl hovered over me, her braids brushing against my nose. She helped me up. The trees around me looked shorter and the ground was clear of detritus.

The girl sat on her knees and held a hand to my forehand. She wore an Edwardian style blue dress and matching gloves. There was something vaguely familiar about her.

A wave of dizziness passed over me as I stood up. "Who are you?" I croaked.

"Eloise Brown," she responded proudly. Brown. It had to be a coincidence. Either that or I was standing face-to-face with one of Mace's ancestor.

Then I remembered that Mace was short for Mason, my best friend's middle name and my first name. "What year is it?"

Eloise tilted her head and pursed her lips. "That's a peculiar question to ask. How can one forget the year?" She reached out her arm. "The year is 1912."

Dread seeped through me, turning me into stone.