Blast to the Past Read online

  But that would mean . . . Shaun’s mouth dropped open. No, he told himself. It wasn’t possible. He had done the math and everything.

  Bitzer woofed again. This time his paw pointed to an unexpected sight. Around the corner of the farmhouse walked two farmers: one young with a beard and long hair and an earring, the other older, balder, and clean-shaven. The second Farmer was wearing an old-fashioned striped blazer and a straw hat. In his hand was a suitcase that had been covered in stickers. The biggest read: THE LOWER PIDDLINGTON HISTORY FAIR! Under one arm, the Farmer was carrying a small tin cup onto which had been engraved the words EIGHTH PRIZE IN THE OLDEN DAYS COSTUME COMPETITION. For once, he wasn’t clutching his aching back. He looked happy and well rested. Leaning over the gate, he grinned and stretched over to tickle Shaun.

  Shaun could only stare back. He tried to bleat but nothing came out. If both Farmers were there, then that meant . . .

  At the sound of a small scuffle, his head swung around. On the gatepost, the rooster pushed his grandson aside, coughed, filled his chest, and began to crow. At the end, he gave the chick a wink. That was how you did it!

  Shaun looked back to see the entire Flock and Bitzer glaring at him. Timmy’s Mum crossed her arms. She bleated: it had taken her three whole nights to weed the vegetables. Her hooves were killing her. Hazel tutted. She’d almost put her back out baling hay. A grumble went around the Flock, getting louder as each sheep added new complaints.

  Nuts bleated. He didn’t know what everyone was moaning about. He’d really enjoyed traveling back in time. Everything had been better back then. Even the air smelled fresher in the past.

  Angry bleats filled the air. They hadn’t been to the past! The Farmer had just gone on vacation to a history fair for a week. He and his friend from the village had dressed up in old-fashioned clothes and driven there on an old horse-drawn cart. The tractor wasn’t new, the young Farmer had just polished it.

  Shaun and his silly equations had gotten everything wrong!

  Bitzer growled. He had wondered why the young Farmer hadn’t been surprised when a flock of sheep and a sheepdog had appeared out of nowhere. Hazel made an annoyed face. She had wondered why the bull and Mower Mouth the goat had come back to the olden days when they hadn’t been on the MOSSY BOTTOM FLYER.

  Shaun tried a sheepish grin. Bitzer and the Flock still glared at him. He shuffled his feet and bleated. It wasn’t his fault. Everyone knew how easy it was to fall into a space-time vortex.

  In the yard, the old Farmer had put his arm around the young Farmer’s shoulder as he looked around the neat and tidy farm. With a chuckle, he slapped the younger version of himself on the back. Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out his wallet and counted out some money, then changed his mind and shoved most of it back. He held out the remaining bills to his nephew.

  The nephew’s tummy gurgled. He hadn’t eaten anything for a week other than wild garlic surprise, foraged acorns, and leaves and wild mushrooms still covered in cow pies. He took COUNTRY LIFE from his pocket, tossed it over his shoulder, and tapped a number into his cell phone.

  Mower Mouth the goat sniffed at the book, then ate it in two bites.

  Leaving the Farmer’s nephew gabbing into the phone at top speed, Bitzer and the Flock turned their backs on Shaun and stalked off with their noses in the air. On the other side of the wall, the pigs were still laughing hysterically. Bitzer woofed angrily under his breath. Shaun and his stupid space-time vortex had cost everyone a week’s sleep!

  With a sigh, Shaun stared through the bars of the gate, just as the Farmer shot out of the kitchen door. The Farmer’s happy smile had vanished. Now, his face was as red as a tomato. He looked as if he was about to explode. Maybe he had tried some wild garlic surprise, Shaun thought to himself glumly.

  “Oiwarraoodunmekishen?” the Farmer roared.

  Shaun’s mouth made an O shape. He had forgotten about the mess in the kitchen. Snail delight had crawled into the drawers. Wild garlic surprise hung like smelly stalactites from the ceiling. The floor was inches deep in acorn cappuccino. The walls were covered in soot, and one end of the kitchen table had gone up in flames. The food processor would never process again, and there was a hard-boiled egg wedged into the toaster. The oven would probably have to be scrapped.

  The Farmer’s nephew swung around with a jump and saw his uncle striding toward him with a face like thunder. Making a terrified gurgling sound, he dropped the pile of cash and ran for the bus stop where — luckily — a bus was just about to close its doors. He was still waving from the back window as the bus pulled away with the Farmer in hot pursuit.

  Shaun stood by the front gate, watching as the bus got smaller and smaller with the tiny speck of the Farmer chasing it. He sighed again. He had been so sure that the Flock had traveled in time, and the math had proved it. Maybe, he thought, he had multiplied x by a pound sign when he should have divided y by a love heart.

  Looking over his shoulder, he watched the Flock trudging back to the barn with the remains of the MOSSY BOTTOM FLYER. The Twins yawned. Bitzer dragged his feet, dog-tired. Shaun’s stomach rumbled. They hadn’t even had time to finish breakfast, he thought miserably. And it was all his fault.

  Toot, toot.

  Shaun blinked at a familiar sight — a pimply boy with glasses on a red moped. On the back was a large red box. After checking the address, the pizza boy tooted his horn again. Shaun’s stomach rumbled a second time.

  Grumpily, the pizza boy leaned on the horn of his moped. A long toooooot rolled across the meadow. Still no one came to pick up the delivery. Muttering to himself, he revved the engine and turned to make sure there were no cars coming before he pulled away. Strangely, the box on the back of his moped was open. The pizzas he had come to deliver had been replaced with a pile of money. Shaking his head over the mystery, the pizza boy drove away.

  Behind the hedge, Shaun sniffed at the pizzas the young Farmer had ordered on his cell phone. Clearly, a week of foraged food had left the young man hankering for thick, delicious melted cheese.

  Shaun looked up again. Far away, the bus disappeared over the top of a hill. The young Farmer wouldn’t be coming back anytime soon, he told himself. Plus, the Flock and Bitzer had spent a week doing most of the work around the farm. Tomorrow they would roughhouse with the well-rested and re-energized Farmer. But tonight, they deserved a reward.

  The barn door opened with a creak. Shaun peered around it. Bitzer and the Flock gave him cold stares.

  Shaun grinned and dropped a pile of pizzas on a bale of hay. The smell of melted cheese filled the barn.

  Shirley bleated. She’d always thought Shaun was a brilliant sheep. The best. Totally awesome. A sheep in a million.

  Bleats of agreement shook the barn. They died away quickly and were replaced by the noises of sheep and a sheepdog chewing, and sucking drips of tomato sauce off their paws and hooves.

  Shaun sat on an overturned bucket. His cheeks bulging, he pointed a half-eaten slice of quadruple cheese with extra cheese at the wreckage of the MOSSY BOTTOM FLYER. Through a mouthful of pizza, he bleated: with a few tweaks, the Flock might just be able to get it working. They could become real time travelers.

  Bitzer frowned, waving his own slice in a gesture that asked why.

  Munching away, Shaun thought about it for a moment.

  He swallowed, then bleated happily. Bitzer was right. In all of time and space there was nothing better than being right here, right now.

  A space-time vortex is hard to find; it usually involves hypermolecular lenses and hairy string. But you can bridge the past and the future in a much simpler way: a time capsule! Follow these instructions to send memories to your future self.

  • SET YOUR FUTURE TARGET

  Pick a date in the future for when the time capsule should be unsealed. Is it one year from now, five years — or even ten years from now? The longer the wait, the greater the risk that the container won’t survive into the future, or that it will be forgotten. On
the other hand, the longer the wait, the more rewarding it will be to open! If you can’t decide, make several different capsules, each for a different target date.

  • FIND A SUITABLE CONTAINER

  You need to figure out how you will store the capsule safely. If you plan to bury it underground, make sure the container is watertight, ideally made of stainless steel or another sturdy material that can withstand moisture. You may store the capsule indoors, perhaps in an attic, or in the back of a closet. In any case, make sure to clearly label the capsule with its target date to avoid any early unsealing by someone tidying up or digging in the garden!

  • COLLECT EVERYDAY ITEMS

  Now it’s time to start putting together the contents of the capsule. Photos, medals, and stuffed animals are a few suggestions. Avoid anything digital that needs to be opened on a device — the formats will likely be very different in the future!

  • WRITE A LETTER

  Write to the future you, telling yourself all about life today. Describe your friends, your worries, your hopes, and your daily life. Everyday details are best, since they are probably the things you are most likely to forget. Ask questions. Give yourself some advice!

  • SEAL THE CONTAINER AND STORE IT

  The hardest part comes after the time capsule is safely stored away: remembering to open it! Can you think of ways to remind yourself about the time capsule in the future? (Other than going through a space-time vortex, that is.)

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.

  Copyright © 2016 by Aardman Animations Ltd.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, taping, and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.

  First U.S. electronic edition 2017

  Library of Congress Catalog Card Number pending

  The illustrations in this book were created digitally.

  Candlewick Entertainment

  an imprint of Candlewick Press

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  Somerville, Massachusetts 02144

  visit us at www.candlewick.com