The rain lashed against the cobbled streets of Edinburgh as Malcolm Reid climbed the narrow spiral staircase of the famous Camera Obscura.
For nearly six months, the city had been plagued by a baffling crime. Every Thursday night, precisely at 11:17 p.m., a valuable object vanished somewhere in the Old Town. A painting from a gallery. A silver pocket watch from an antique shop. A rare manuscript from a university archive. No witnesses. No clues. No suspects.
The police were desperate. Malcolm, the eccentric owner of the Camera Obscura, had offered his help. His giant Victorian camera projected live images of Edinburgh onto a white viewing table inside the darkened chamber. Tourists loved it. Detectives laughed at it. Yet Malcolm was convinced the old camera might reveal something others had missed.
On a stormy Thursday evening, he waited alone in the chamber. At exactly 11:17 p.m., he adjusted the lens toward the Royal Mile. The image sharpened. A hooded figure appeared.
“At last,” Malcolm whispered.
He watched the stranger move through the street, stopping outside a jewellery shop. Then something impossible happened. The figure vanished. Not ran. Not hid. Vanished. Malcolm blinked. A moment later, the figure reappeared fifty metres away. Then vanished again. His heart pounded. The police would never believe this.
For the next several weeks, Malcolm secretly recorded every appearance. Frame by frame, he tracked the thief’s movements. Eventually he discovered the truth. The thief wasn’t moving through Edinburgh. The thief was moving through time. The strange jumps always occurred in exact intervals: thirteen seconds, thirty-one seconds, five minutes. As though someone were skipping through moments like pages in a book.
One night Malcolm pointed the Camera Obscura directly at the thief. The projection flickered violently. The image distorted. Then, to his horror, the hooded figure stopped. And looked directly back through the lens. Impossible. The thief slowly raised a hand and pointed at Malcolm. A second later, every lamp in the chamber exploded. Darkness swallowed the room. When Malcolm regained consciousness, dawn was breaking over the city. Beside him lay a small metallic object unlike anything he had ever seen. It hummed softly. Glowing symbols crawled across its surface. One symbol repeated over and over. A date.
14 October 2189.
For days he studied the device. Eventually he managed to activate it. A holographic message appeared. A young woman materialised in shimmering blue light.
“If you’re seeing this,” she said, “you’ve found my temporal displacement unit.”
Malcolm stared. The woman continued.
“My name is Isla Reid. I am your great-great-great-granddaughter.”
Malcolm nearly fell from his chair.
“The thefts are not crimes,” Isla explained. “The objects being taken were all destroyed in a future catastrophe. We are recovering them for preservation.”
Malcolm felt relief wash over him. Then she added:
“However, there is a problem.”
The hologram flickered.
“You were never supposed to discover us.”
Behind Isla appeared dozens of scientists working frantically. Alarms blared.
“The Camera Obscura wasn’t just a camera. The lens contains a rare crystal that bends light across time itself. It accidentally created a window between centuries.”
The message began breaking apart.
“Please destroy the lens before—”
The transmission ended. That night Malcolm climbed once more to the top of the Camera Obscura. Below him, Edinburgh glittered beneath the stars. He raised a hammer. But before he could strike, the great lens projected one final image onto the viewing table. It showed Edinburgh. Not the city of today. Not the city of 2189. A city far beyond. Towering silver spires rose above the ancient castle. Airships drifted through glowing clouds. And standing atop the future Camera Obscura was an old man. Malcolm himself. The future Malcolm smiled and tipped his hat. Then he mouthed four words:
“Don’t break the lens.”
The image vanished. Malcolm lowered the hammer. And for the rest of his life, he never told another soul what he had seen through the camera. But every Thursday night at 11:17 p.m., he climbed the tower and looked through the lens. Waiting to see what century might be looking back.