Simon Simmons had a cold room. He was tired of purple fingers, itchy sweaters and long underwear. He asked his mom if he could turn up the heater.

“The rest of the house is fine,” said his mom. “Your room is just a bit cooler because it’s far from the furnace. You get a trickle of heat, not a blast.”

Simon asked his sister Teresa if they could trade rooms. “No way,” she said. “I don’t want the trickle.”

He asked his dad if they could move to a new house, “with my room next to the furnace so I can get a blast.” His dad gave him a lecture about how their old farmhouse had been in the family for 100 years. And that meant something. He didn’t say what it meant.

Simon had one other idea …

A time machine.

He would go back to the time when his house was built. He’d get the architect to plan a closer place for the furnace. Then he’d get a blast.

It wasn’t hard to build a time machine. People had been doing it for as long as Simon could remember – which was 12 years if you counted from when Simon was born.

Simon collected his materials and followed the instructions. He spent days pounding, sawing, screwing and gluing.

The last step – number 1,305,446 -- confused him a little. It said he needed a size 3 screw to set up the destination dial. But when he tried the size 3 screw, it was too small. The dial spun like it was out of control.

It took a while, but Simon finally realized the problem. The instructions had originally been written when people measured in inches, not centimeters. Somehow, this last step never got converted to the metric system. Simon whipped out a calculator and figured that 3 inches were the same as 7.62 centimeters. “But screws don’t come in that size.” He picked up a 7 centimeter screw. “It’s just a screw. How much could it matter?” He popped it in. “Done!”

Simon was about to hop into the machine when he remembered something. “Mom always says to brush your teeth and go to the bathroom before you take a trip.”

He came back three minutes later and hopped into the machine. He pulled down the cover and turned the destination dial. His dad had said the house was 100 years old. It was 2021 now, so that meant the house was built in 1921. He didn’t touch the date and time. They stayed at August 9, 1:05pm. Before Simon even had a chance to buckle up, the machine started to shake –

Whirr-whizz-zoooom-POW!

Simon pushed the cover up. The air smelled like his mom’s piney air freshener, except, Simon didn’t think they had air freshener 100 years ago. He opened his eyes and peered out of the machine. He was sitting in the wood frame of a house – his house! It was just being built. Where was the crew?

Thwak thwak thwak. Someone was hammering below him – in the kitchen, Simon guessed. He stepped out of his machine to see.

“Whoa! No floor!” Simon tumbled –

CRASH! He hit a man on a ladder and they both fell to the floor.

“Ohhh,” the man groaned.

“Gee, I’m sorry. There wasn’t a floor,” said Simon, brushing himself off. “Are you okay?”

“Sure, son, I’m fine,” said the man. He didn’t get up. Simon saw the man’s eyes blink twice. “What in tarnation is that?”

Simon looked up.

Creep, creep, creep. His time machine was hanging on a couple of boards above them. It was slipping!

“Get out of the way!” Simon yelled. He pushed the man –

SMASH! The time machine bashed into the kitchen floor.

“This isn’t good,” said Simon. He heard the man cough on the other side of the machine.

What a disaster. He’d almost killed this guy. But more importantly, time machine rules said people in old times weren’t supposed to ever see time machines. They weren’t supposed to know you were from the future. Simon had to get out of there fast. He pulled open the cover and hopped into the machine. He flipped the return mode switch to “on.” The machine started shaking.

POW-zooooom-whizz-whirr.

Simon checked the dial. August 9, 2021, 1:04 pm. “That’s strange. I thought I was supposed to come back at the exact same time I left. Oh well.” He had to go to the bathroom.

When he came back, he hopped into his machine and thought about what to do next. He had to get to the house earlier. He didn’t want to run into this frame-builder guy. He wanted to meet the architect – that’s who’d get him the blast.

Houses today were built in two days. Back then… maybe two months? He set the destination dial two months earlier, 100 years back to June 9, 1921. He didn’t change the time, which was back to1:05pm.

Whirr-whizz-zoooom-POW!

Simon stepped out of the machine. He was in a tree, above where the house was supposed to be. He looked down and saw a big pile of dirt. They were just starting to dig the foundation, he guessed. He didn’t see anyone. He shimmied down the tree and dropped to the ground.

Schlep schlep. Simon turned and saw the man he’d knocked over. “Uh oh.”

The man looked up from his work. His eyes were wide, like he was surprised to see anyone. “Can I help you, son?”

“Um, don’t you remember me?” asked Simon.

The man didn’t say anything. He limped toward a wheelbarrow. Then Simon remembered. It was June 9th now. He didn’t knock the man off his ladder until August 9th!

“I’m a bit behind, son,” said the man. He tossed a load of dirt into the wheelbarrow. He limped to a new spot, left leg swinging straight and stiff.

“Um,” said Simon. “What’s wrong with your leg?”

“Childhood thing,” said the man. Schlep schlep. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Are you doing this all alone?” asked Simon.

Schlep schlep. “Know anyone I can hire cheap?”

Simon felt terrible. Had he knocked a disabled man off his ladder and fled the scene?

Why was this man working all alone, anyway? Where was the rest of the crew?

“I can help,” said Simon. He stepped forward. The man handed him the shovel. Simon took it and jabbed it into the ground. He lifted up a bit of dirt and winged it toward the wheelbarrow.

Bash!

“Ow!” yelled the man, falling flat, rubbing his head.

“Omigosh!” said Simon. He dropped the shovel. There was no sense even trying to apologize. He’d almost killed this guy again – or, technically, it was the first time he’d almost killed this guy. He had to get out of there. He wasn’t helping his cause at all. And the time machine rules –

CRASH!

The time machine fell out of the tree and landed in the dirt in front of Simon. At least it didn’t bash the floor this time.

“That’s a good hole. It’ll help a bit with my digging,” said the man. Simon turned. The man was up and limping toward him. “Need help?” the man asked.

“No,” said Simon. “Um, I gotta go.” He pulled the cover up and jumped into the machine.

“Have a good trip,” said the man, closing the cover.

Simon was so scared he didn’t think about what the man said. He just wanted to get out of there. He flipped the return switch to “on.”

POW-zooooom-whizz-whirr.

He breathed a sign of relief. He was back in his room. He looked at the dial. August 9, 1:03 pm. Didn’t he leave at 1:05pm? He had to go to the bathroom again. He also wanted to brush his teeth. They felt grimy.

He decided to try the time machine one more time -- but he had to get there way before the digging started. He did not want to meet this man again. It’d be embarrassing. Besides, the man was a digger and frame-builder, but Simon needed to meet the architect. He figured another month. “Destination, May 9, 1921, 1:05pm.”

Whirr-whizz-zoooom-POW!

Simon hopped out. Wind whipped through his hair. “Ha ha ha,” a woman’s laugh rang through the wind.

Simon turned to see who it was. “I don’t believe it.” The man was there. Simon saw that he was talking to a woman. She was holding a baby and swaying back and forth.

“Can I help you, son?” asked the man.

“Yes, sir, I want to know why you’re the only person ever here. Where’s the architect? The foreman? The crew?”

“Son, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Again, Simon remembered this was May 9. The man wouldn’t remember meeting Simon before because they hadn’t met until June 9.

“As for why I’m here,” the man went on, “this is my land.” He pointed to the woman and baby. “And, of course, Annika’s and little Simon’s.”

Simon’s chin dropped. “Did you say Simon? That’s my name. And my dad’s and my grandpa’s.” Simon felt a shiver flow from his hair to his toes. His grandpa’s name. That little baby was Simon’s grandpa, Simon. The man and woman were Simon’s great-grandparents.

The man smiled as if he understood, too. How could he? “Would you like me to give you a tour?” he asked. “It ain’t much yet, but it will be.”

“Thanks,” said Simon. He followed his great grandpa around the dirt lot, listening to his plans to build his family a house. The kitchen would have a wood-burning stove and maybe an icebox. There’d be indoor plumbing – something they’d never had before. When his grandpa talked about the upstairs rooms, all he could do was wave his hands and say what would be where. When he pointed to the end of the upstairs hall, he took the baby from his wife’s arms. “And that there will be Little Simon’s room,” he said. He held Simon up. “How do you like it, Simon?”

“It’s perfect,” said Simon. “I mean, … I know it’ll be perfect for Little Simon.”

“So, son, that’s the house. Was there anything else I could do for you?”

“Yessir,” said Simon. “Could you tell me, … um, what about the furnace?”

The man smiled. “I plan to order the top of the line from the Sears Catalogue. It’s got a strong blast.”

Simon felt his eyes water up. “Sir? I’ve gotta go. But if you ever meet me again, um, I’m really sorry if anything bad happens.”

“Think nothing of it, son,” said the man. “We’ve all tripped up in our lives once or twice.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled-up hanky. “Take this on your trip. You might need it.”

“My trip?” asked Simon. He took the hanky. It was dirty and crusty. Why would he need this old thing? But he didn’t want to insult his great grandpa. He stuffed the hanky into his pocket and hopped into his machine.

POW-zooooom-whizz-whirr.

FIZZZZZZZ.

Simon could almost see his room, but for some reason, the machine was starting to fizzle. The walls were closing in. Simon pressed against them. “Help!” But there was no one to help him. He was in a cloudy in-between-type world, just outside his room, but not really in his room.

He looked at the destination dial. He knew what was wrong. The return dial was slipping a minute each time he used the machine. The machine was trying to return at 1:02pm.

But at 1:02pm, he hadn’t screwed in the last screw! The machine wasn’t finished yet! And if the machine wasn’t finished, it didn’t work. And if it didn’t work, Simon couldn’t travel through time. And if he couldn’t travel through time, he couldn’t … go home.

Suddenly, more than anything in the world, Simon just wanted to go home… to his cold room… to Little Simon’s room.

He dropped his head into his hands. His eyes were wet. He pulled out the crumpled-up, dirty hanky.

“Wait a minute!” he cried. “Wait a … hundred years!” Inside the hanky was a screw -- an ordinary screw. Simon knew it would save his life. He knew, without even measuring it, that it was a size 3 screw – 3 inches. 7.62 centimeters. The exact right size for the destination dial.

Simon reached for the emergency tool kit and quickly unscrewed his 7 centimeter screw. He slipped in the 3 inch one and screwed it in tight. “Perfect.”

Fizzzzz-POW! The dial snapped to August 9, 2021, 1:05pm.

“Wow!” Simon popped out of the machine, kicked off his shoes, and jumped onto his bed. He was exhausted.

Funny, though, he didn’t feel cold.

The End

Barbara Kanninen is a member of the SCBWI and has a picture book, CIRCLE ROLLS, forthcoming with Henry Holt and Co. She also has had stories and poems published in Highlights for Children, Ladybug, Guideposts for Kids, Fun for Kidz and Wee Ones magazines.

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