Free Casper Candlewacks in the Time Travelling Toaster by Ivan Brett

Briar’ll only have me back if I’m in more than one piece. You splashed too loud, Candlewacks.”
    “Sorry.”
    “Forget it.”
    He felt a bit guilty now. “So why’d you bother to rescue me if it was such a risk?”
    “My brother’s got your friend building something. He never let me see it, but you’ve heard the noises. Whatever it is, it’s almost ready. And when it is, chances of escape will slip to just under none.”
    “But still, why rescue me ?”
    CLICK.
    “Aha!” cheered Flanella. She hit the RETURN key with gusto and the tag unclipped, slipping off Casper’s ankle like a suddenly bored snake.
    Underneath, his skin was sweaty and pink. Casper scratched it with relief. “That’s better, Flanella. Thanks.”
    “Me? No, it’s Malcolm you need to thank.”
    “Oh… erm… thanks, Malcolm.”
    “Come upstairs, dear,” said Betty. “There’sh a coupla people you’ll wanna meet. They’ll be able to explain things.”
    Casper helped Betty into a sturdy white stairlift.
    “Ooh, be a love and push that green button.”
    Casper did as he was told and the stairlift ground into motion.
    Half an hour later, they reached the top.
    “Forgot me wheelchair,” said Betty. “I’ll just pop down in the lift an’ get it.”
    “No!” shouted Casper. “No, it’s fine. Let me get it.”
    “Shuch a gentleman,” smiled Betty.
    He trotted downstairs and hauled the wheelchair back up with him, then lugged Betty’s frail frame off the lift and into its cushions.
    “Thanksh, dear. You alwaysh were a good boy.”
    Casper finally thought to ask, “So who are we seeing?”
    “I ain’t seeing anyone. Just eshcorted you up here. First door on the right. Would you be a love and help me back into the lift? There’sh a good lad.”
    Casper sighed and transferred Betty into her lift. Then he took the wheelchair back downstairs where she’d be able to reach it when her stairlift got there. Betty gave him a wink as they passed on his way back up.
    It was dark and silent upstairs, save for the grinding whirr of Betty’s stairlift. Casper felt the need to tiptoe the length of the landing. He knocked on the first door on the right – his bedroom door – and waited.
    “Enter,” whispered an old, tired voice.
    The door creaked like it always had. Inside, two decrepit men with barely any hair rocked gently on two rocking chairs. Casper edged forward, suddenly nervous. He held out a hand.
    “Pleased to meet you, sirs.”
    “Better not,” whispered the more slender of the gentlemen. “My companion here tells me that if I were to shake my own hand, the universe would explode.”

    “Your own hand?”
    The gentleman grinned a grin that was bewilderingly familiar, and held out his hand for Casper to see.
    Casper recognised that hand.
    “Two freckles and a scar from the pigeons,” the gentleman said. “Nice to meet me.”
    Casper looked at his own palm, and then up at the gentleman’s face, and gasped.

“But… you’re me!” cried Young Casper.
    “As are you,” chuckled Old Casper.
    “Of course I am!” answered Young Casper.
    “Well, we both are,” answered Old Casper.
    “What about me?” asked the stouter gentleman.
    “No,” croaked Old Casper. “You’re not.”
    “Who am I, then?” The stouter gentleman looked confused.
    “You’re Lamp.”
    “Am I?” He groaned as he leant down to check the nametag on his sock. “So I am.”
    Young Casper stared wide-eyed at the old version of Lamp. “Look at your wrinkles!”
    Lamp peered at Young Casper through the thickest pair of spectacles known to mankind. “Who’s that, then?”
    “That’s me,” said Old Casper.
    “Is it?” The stouter gentleman took off his spectacles and gave them a wipe. “Have you cut your hair?”
    “This is amazing,” muttered Young Casper. “So you two must be… cor… a hundred and eleven? That’s old.”
    Old Casper closed his eyes. “I remember saying that.”
    “Do you?”
    “Oh yes. About a hundred