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Johnathan Chandler, a man no older than twenty-five, set out on a journey to find what locals had dubbed the “Time Travel Village”. According to the elders in the neighborhood, the village put you back in time when you found Main Street.
Johnathan wasn't convinced. He knew it was some sort of fiction; nothing of that sort had ever been found in the dense Maine woods. And there were hunters everywhere who could tell the tale if something was found.
Donning a bright orange vest and hat, he set out into the woods with a splitting maul for self defense.
Hardly two miles into the thick forest he found a path. An old wooden sign was nailed to a tree, but the lettering wasn't discernible. He decided to follow it. He found the remains of houses, a post office, a few stores, the like. After the last store, he came to a crossroads.
He looked back and realized the overgrown dirt path he had traversed was now graveled, and all the buildings were in great shape. He was frightened. He decided to turn right, making his way back towards home. As he neared his house something wasn't quite right. The shingles on the lovely Colonial era house were not painted.
As he approached the house, something became very clear. He was not recognized by the people in the house.
He ran inside asking for help, and asking where he was. Things seemed to slow to a stop as he looked into the eyes of the head of the household, a man no more than twenty-five.
A man who looked vaguely familiar.
He was always told he looked like his great-great-grandfather.