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Monday, September 17, 1894
11:16 AM
Marty woke feeling extremely disoriented. Lost. There was a crick in his neck.
“Mom?” he asked.
“Huh?” came Jennifer’s voice from nearby.
At that moment, it came rushing back to him as he returned to full consciousness. He was at Doc’s place, his place in the 1800s.
“Boy, did I sleep,” he muttered, slowly sitting up. He rubbed his neck. “Jen? Why are we down here?”
She yawned. “I don’t know. I guess we were so tired we couldn’t make it to our room.”
“We had a room?”
“Apparently.”
Marty shook his head to clear it. “Where is everybody?”
Jennifer stood up and stretched. “Look at the clocks. It’s 11:15. Probably working, or something.”
“Doc probably left a note if he went back to his blacksmith shop,” Marty said.
“I’ll look for one,” Jennifer said, walking into the kitchen. There wasn’t a note evident anywhere.
“Damn, I’m hungry,” she said as Marty walked into the room. “Where do they keep food in 1894?”
“Don’t know,” Marty said, opening a cupboard. It was filled with thick glassware. He closed it.
“Here,” Jennifer said, opening a long, rectangular box on the floor. “It’s an icebox.”
As they rooted through the icebox, the door opened, and Doc strode in.
“You’re awake, excellent,” he said. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to eat,” Marty said. “You got any kind of stew or something, Doc?”
Doc leaned over the icebox. “Eggs and sausage, if that’s sufficient.”
“Please,” Jennifer said. “I swear, I can taste it already.”
“We probably won’t taste it for a half hour,” Marty said, and she groaned. “Sorry, Jen, no microwaves. It was like this in ’55.”
Jennifer sat down at the kitchen table. “Fine, then. Where is everybody?”
“Clara took the boys into town for school,” Doc said, putting wood into the stove.
“They’re not homeschooled?” Jennifer asked.
He looked up at her. “Why would we do that?”
“There is a schoolhouse, Jen,” Marty said, sitting down next to her. “But isn’t it far from town?”
“That one burned down in a wildfire in ’90,” Doc said, lighting the fire. “Came precariously close to town. Hill Valley’s a lot bigger than it was in ’85.”
“Do you think we could see it?” Jennifer asked.
Doc grimaced. “Might not be a good idea. Marty could be recognized.”
“It’s been ten years, hasn’t it?” Marty said. “Couldn’t I be Clint’s brother or something?”
Doc sighed. “I suppose. But you’ll need proper clothing. I don’t really have anything in your size, Marty; I’ll have to go into town to get some. You too, Jennifer.”
“Great, corsets,” she said. She rolled her eyes. “I can hardly wait.”
“Clara will probably have to help you there,” Doc said, cracking an egg on the skillet.
“Can’t you call Clara and tell her to pick something up?” Marty asks. “Aren’t phones around yet?”
“Not out here,” Doc said. “Not until 1920 or so, I imagine. No, to contact someone in Hill Valley these days you have to go out and talk to them.”
At that moment, there was a knock at the door.
“Doc?” Marty asked.
“Watch the skillet,” Doc said, immediately heading for the door.
“What’s going on?” Jennifer asked.
“I don’t know,” Marty said. He leaned against the door to the living room. “He’s letting them in, whoever they are.”
He peered through the crack. “One of them is the deputy I think, but I don’t recognize the others.”
“Why’d the deputy be here,” Jennifer wondered.
“Let me listen,” Marty said.
“I appreciate the visit, gentlemen,” Doc said, “though I’m rather confused as to its purpose.”
“There have been some… strange occurrences,” Sheriff Jennings, the former deputy, said.
“Strange occurrences?” Doc asked.
“Loud explosions,” said one of the men. He had short black hair and circular frame glasses.
“Strange lights in the sky,” said another.
“Lights?” Doc asked. “What do you mean, General Tannen?”
Marty gasped behind the door.
“Lights,” Beauregard Tannen said. “You know, like electric lights? They had them at the town fair last year.”
“We’re thinking of having them installed in town,” said another, mousy-faced man with no hair.
“Quiet, Wendell,” the Sheriff said.
“This all sounds quite fascinating,” Doc said, “but I fail to see why you are visiting me.”
“These occurrences are happening in the general vicinity of this ranch,” the Sheriff said, tapping the floor with his foot. “We were wondering if you’ve seen anything.”
“Loud explosions?” Doc said. He appeared to consider. “I suppose the local residents could be hearing echoes from my boiler.”
“In the middle of the night?” Wendell asked.
Doc shrugged. “It runs late, Mr. Parker. It moves the armature in Clara’s observatory.”
Sheriff Jennings nodded. “Perhaps it is you, then.”
“That doesn’t explain the lights in the sky,” the man with the glasses said.
“I certainly can’t explain that, Mr. Gale,” Doc said. He sighed. “I’m afraid it sounds like I can’t help you. I certainly haven’t seen lights in the sky. I imagine Clara would notice; it would disrupt her observations.”
“Do I smell smoke?” Beauregard asked.
Doc looked over to the kitchen door. “Great Scott!”
Doc slammed open the kitchen door, hitting Marty in the face and knocking him over. Jennifer gasped.
“I told you to watch the skillet!” Doc shouted.
“Sorry, sorry!” Jennifer said. Doc grabbed the skillet and shoved it into the icebox, closing the door.
He shook his head. “Closing the door will cut off oxygen and smother the fire.”
“What in tarnation is going on in here?” the Sheriff asked.
“Nothing important,” Doc said. “My guests appear to have been distracted from their cooking.”
“I think you broke my nose!” Marty said.
“Let me look,” Doc said, examining it. “You’re fine. It’ll just hurt for a while.”
He turned to the four men. “Gentleman, if you’ll excuse us for a moment.”
The Sheriff nodded, gesturing the others out of the kitchen.
“You were eavesdropping, weren’t you?” Doc asked.
“Sorry,” Marty said. “But you said one of them was a Tannen?!”
Doc rolled his eyes. “General Tannen, late of the rebel army. You’ve met him before, remember? Edna tried to burn down his saloon in 1876.”
“Right,” Marty said.
“Is it safe?” Jennifer asked. “I doubt there’s a fire department here.”
“There isn’t,” Doc said. He opened the icebox. “I think I may have panicked unnecessarily. The skillet looks fine. Jennifer, if you could watch it this time?”
“Why does it have to be me?” she asked, folding her arms.
“I expect Marty to continue eavesdropping,” Doc said. “I can fill you in later.”
Without another word, Doc returned to the living room.
“Sorry, gentlemen,” Doc said. “My guests aren’t the best of cooks.”
“As long as your house doesn’t burn down,” the Sheriff said. He frowned. “Who are they?”
“Uh,” Doc said. “That’d be Martin and… Gwendolyn Eastwood.”
“As in Clinton Eastwood?” Tannen asked.
“Yes,” Doc said. “They’re planning to visit his brother’s memorial at the ravine. Now, gentlemen—.”
“We should have him come into town,” Gale said.
“Perhaps later,” Doc said. “Now, gentlemen, if that is all?”
“That will be all for now,” the Sheriff said. “Though we’re a little concerned about the situation here. If you could keep an eye out for anything strange—.”
“Of course, Sheriff,” Doc said, gesturing towards the door. “If that’ll be all?”
“Of course.”
Moments later, Doc returned to the kitchen. Marty was manning the skillet
“All clear now,” Doc said.
“Who were those guys?” Marty asked.
Doc sighed. “The Sheriff and part of the town council.”
“Beauregard Tannen is part of the town council?” Marty asked.
“For several years now,” Doc said.
“Perfect,” Marty said.
“What did you say about us?” Jennifer asked.
“Well, I went with Marty’s suggestion from earlier,” Doc said. “Martin and Gwendolyn Eastwood.”
“Gwendolyn?!” Jennifer said.
“Sorry, but I don’t think the name ‘Jennifer’ even exists at this point in time,” Doc said.
“I guess it’ll be okay,” Jennifer said. “Are we seeing them again?”
“I imagine it won’t be necessary,” Doc said as Marty flipped the eggs over. “I told them you were visiting Mart—Clint’s memorial.”
“There’s a memorial?” Marty asked.
“A small one,” Doc said. “Right by the bridge.”
“Huh,” Marty said.
“But again, I imagine it won’t be necessary,” Doc said. “I’m sure we’ll be fine.”