The Strange Case of Lydia Lang

How far can you bend reality before it breaks?

Image generated by Midjourney

Lydia Lang’s eyes snapped open the instant her phone blared Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy. A fraction of a second later, her eyes shut. She burrowed her head under the blanket while her hand patted the night table on a sightless mission to find and disable her phone’s alarm. 

Her husband, Calvin, who didn’t need to wake until seven-thirty, released a staccato snore and rolled to his side. 

At 7:10 a.m., Lydia found herself standing in the bathroom. She didn’t remember how she got there, but if she could accomplish her morning ritual with minimal energy and thought—brush teeth, shower, dry, put on the clothes Lydia had laid out the night before—she might make it through the day. 

Lydia was on her second cup of coffee when Calvin walked into the kitchen. “Rough night?” 

“The roughest so far.”

“Maybe you should—”

Lydia raised her hand in traffic cop style. “No. I’m not there yet. I want to figure out my sleep issues, and if I can’t, then I’ll visit a doctor.”

“Doctors are—”

“Cal, I said, ‘no,’ and you’re going to honor my decision.” She clanged her cup hard against the table. 

Calvin swirled the spoon in his mug. “Okay. What’s your plan? You need sleep one way or another. What’s it been, a week of almost no sleep?”

“I bought a Fitbit. It’s got a sophisticated chip that monitors how much deep sleep, REM, and other cycles I get. It tells me the quality of my sleep and my heart and respiration rates.”

“A watch isn’t a substitute for an M.D. What do you have to lose by seeing a doctor? There’s nothing wrong with taking a pill to jump-start your sleep.”

“I’m going to try the watch first.” She slid her empty coffee cup toward Calvin. “Now, make me my third cup of coffee.”

Blaring bagpipes, today’s random alarm, assaulted Lydia at seven. It took a minute before she found the energy to silence the alarm and another five minutes before she crawled out of bed like a slow-motion sloth.

“What does your Fitbit say?” Calvin asked at breakfast. He suppressed a yawn. 

Lydia tapped the screen on her watch, then her phone again. “There’s something wrong.”

“What’s wrong?”

“My watch shows it’s 12:05 p.m., but it’s not, is it? It’s only 7:40 in the morning.”

Calvin glanced at his Rolex and the kitchen clock and nodded. “Only 7:40 a.m. Are you sure you’re reading that right?” Calvin glugged his coffee, despite it burning his tongue. 

“I may be sleep-deprived, but I can tell time.”

Calvin held out his hands. “I’m just saying that you shouldn’t trust your senses in your condition. What do you think happened to the Fitbit?”

“I don’t know. I’ll return it and get another. I’m still hopeful that technology can solve my sleep problem. I feel like I only slept three hours.” 

Though every flat surface looked like a potential bed, Lydia powered through the day, fueled by raw willpower and caffeine, surprised she didn’t extract the wrong tooth from one of her patients. Lydia surmised that being on her feet all day helped keep her awake, but she knew that trick wouldn’t last. Soon, she’d have to cancel her appointments because a drowsy dentist is a cavity away from an unforgivable mistake. 

Lydia fell asleep on the bus ride home and missed her stop. 

At dinner, her fork hovered over her penne bolognese until slipping out of her fingers and onto the table.

She glanced at her watch, which said 8:35 p.m. If she got to bed by nine o’clock, that would give her ten and a half hours of sleep. Even if she slept for half that time, it would still be over five hours—not a lot, but a survivable number. 

Lydia tried to muffle her seven o’clock alarm song, I Like it Loud, by burying her head beneath the pillow and squeezing the pillow’s sides against her ears. Like a turtle emerging from its shell, she slipped from under the pillow and willed her brain to engage. Today is…today is…she looked at her Fitbit for help…Thursday.

Yet, why did her new smartwatch say 12:40 p.m? Lydia’s phone displayed 7:02 a.m., contradicting the Fitbit. 

This was her second Fitbit. Both the new and old ones couldn’t be running fast, but they were. 

“May I borrow your watch?” Lydia asked during dinner as she unfastened her Fitbit’s strap.

“Why do you want to borrow my watch?” Calvin replied, rubbing his shirttail over his Rolex Submariner’s crystal. “What do you want my Rolex for?” His voice hit a high note when he said, “Rolex.”

“An experiment.”

“I don’t think so.” Calvin shook his head like he was trying to fling water out of his ears.

“Nothing that could harm your precious Rolex. I want to sleep with it.”

“Explain.”

“I need to know if my Fitbit is running fast—this and the other one—or if something else is going on while I sleep.”

“Going on? What do you mean?” Calvin stroked his chin. 

“I want to see what happens when I wear a mechanical watch instead of an electronic one.”

“Be careful with my Rolex.”

“I’ll be careful. I’ll be asleep and hopefully barely moving. I’m not wearing it while mountain climbing or bowling or anything.”

Lydia’s eyes opened slowly. The bedroom blurred as if the light passed through air thick with honey. Calvin was an incomplete form, and she couldn’t tell where the bed’s edge ended. After a minute, when she could focus, she glanced at the borrowed Rolex.

According to Calvin’s Rolex, it was 2:23 in the afternoon. According to her phone, it was 7:06 in the morning.

Today, 2:23, yesterday, 12:40 p.m., and the day before, 12:05 in the afternoon. 

The difference between the actual time and the time displayed on her watch increased after every sleep. 

What is going on? Three watches—two electronic, one top-of-the-line mechanical—displayed the same trend, an increasing gap in time between her timepiece and reality. 

Lydia was too sleepy to work, so she called in sick, then called her doctor and got an appointment that afternoon. 

“Definitely sleep deprivation,” Dr. Grace Ackerman, who’d been Lydia’s personal physician for the past fifteen years, said when she arrived a few hours later. “Your reaction time is slow, heart rate elevated, and the blood test clearly shows the marker for acute sleep deprivation.” She removed her reading glasses, folded them, and put them in her white lab coat pocket. “It looks like you’ve been getting less than three hours of sleep a night.”

Lydia nodded. “You saw that in my blood? I didn’t know there was a test for sleep deprivation.”

“The Surrey-Green test. It only informs us about acute sleep deprivation, not chronic sleep loss.” Dr. Ackerman reached for the prescription pad and scribbled. “Lunesta. It’s a good sleeping medication and will help. I’ve given you a month’s supply.”

“I don’t like the idea of relying on a pill to sleep.”

“It’s not an idea. Poor sleep is bad for health, and good sleep keeps you healthy. Take the Lunesta. If you’re sleeping better in a week, stop and see what happens. If you’re not sleeping better in four weeks, see me again.”

While Lydia was waiting for the pharmacist to fill her prescription, she bought a digital Casio watch. 

When Cal’s alarm sounded at 7:30, she looked at the Casio. She’d activated the Casio’s stopwatch feature. The digits counted up and read two hours and six minutes.

I’ve only been asleep for two hours? How is that possible? Even with the sleeping pill? 

Lydia poked Calvin’s shoulder. “Cal, wake up. This is bizarre. I think I’m traveling somewhere while asleep.”

“What?”

“The reason I’m sleepy and the watches say I’m in bed only briefly is because I’ve gone somewhere.”

“That’s crazy. Plus, I don’t see you gone at any point during the night.”

“You don’t observe me all night long.”

“I’m sure I’d notice if you were gone. But even sleepwalking doesn’t explain the watches' fast forwarding.”

“There’s something I haven’t told you. I wasn’t sure what to make of it, but I’m certain I’ve been elsewhere: When I wake, my feet are filthy, as if I’ve been walking outside barefoot, and I always find a pebble or few between my toes. Whatever is happening is Stephen King kind of strange.”

After wiping her eyes with the bedsheet, Lydia continued, “It’s still a puzzle. It’s still a damn puzzle.” She then leaned against Cal and wrapped her arms around him. For every beat of his heart, hers skipped two. “I need sleep, Cal. Lunesta didn’t do anything. I feel like a zombie. I’ve never been so sleep-deprived in my life.”

“How about a nap? You don’t need to change pj’s, brush your teeth, or anything. Get back into bed, close your eyes and open them when you feel like it. Nap for as many hours as you want. I’ll take the day off, too, so you can holler if you need anything. The firm can do without me for a day. I’d recommend a tea before you nap.”

“Yes, please.” Lydia drew a long breath before continuing. “Sleep deprivation still doesn’t explain how my watches—all of them—skipped ahead.”

“I’ve been thinking about that. Maybe you set them forward in your insomnia-induced haze.”

Lydia resynced her Casio with her phone and double-checked the time against Calvin’s iPhone: 8:38 a.m. She kissed Calvin again, returned to the bedroom, put her head on the pillow, and fell fast asleep.

The first thing Lydia did when she opened her eyes was look at her watch, which said she’d been napping for over seven hours: 3:49 p.m. She then confirmed the time with her bedside clock and phone. They read 9:15 a.m. She’d been asleep for seven hours and eleven minutes—or she’d been asleep for thirty-seven minutes. 

Her brain cells dimmed like a flashlight powered by dying batteries. She was too tired to get out of bed, so she messaged Calvin: “I’m awake. Come.”

He sat on the bed beside her.

Lydia didn’t say a word but pointed to the clock. She twisted her wrist to show Calvin that, once again, the watch on her wrist was not in sync with any other timepiece.

“Whoa.”

“What do you mean, whoa?”

Calvin tapped Lydia’s watch. “I mean, whoa. Your watch says it’s October 23.” 

Lydia consulted her phone. “I didn’t see that. But today is October 22. That’s over a day’s difference. I don’t get it.”

“Either you slept for over a day, or your watch is truly messed up.”

“I can’t possibly have been asleep for thirty-one hours. What’s going on, Cal? Am I losing my mind?”

Calvin took Lydia’s hand and interlocked their fingers. “No. You are over the top in need of sleep.”

“And the watch—watches? What’s happening to them?”

“You did that, Lydia. But let’s not worry about the watch for now. Let’s get you more sleep. For the next week, all I want you to do is sleep. Sleep wherever you want: bed, sofa, lounge chair. Do you want to nap now?”

“Yes. I’m sure I’ll fall right asleep. Now that I think about it, falling asleep isn’t my problem. Something goes wrong in between when I fall asleep and wake. I’ll take another Lunesta and one more thing. Can I borrow your watch again? I want to wear a watch on each wrist and compare them afterward.”

Calvin handed Lydia his watch. She confirmed that the Casio, Rolex, bedroom clock, and her phone were synced to 9:25 a.m.

When she woke from her nap, she first looked at the Casio on her left wrist, Cal’s Rolex on her right, and finally, the bedroom clock. The clock told her she’d been asleep for two hours and twelve minutes, but her wrist watches both said the time was 6:18 in the morning—and three days from now. 

Something in her pajama pocket pressed against her leg. She extracted a New York Times newspaper clipping dated October 25th: “New York Mayor Pena Resigns.” Three days from now. Is this real? 

She could wait three days to see if the article came true, but she knew it would. 

Only one explanation made sense, as crazy as it was: While she slept, she traveled to the future. She thought she slept for eight hours, but time traveling made it far less. Her two-hour nap was only a few minutes; her eight-hour sleep was only two hours. 

Now what? How could she use this revelation to finally sleep? 

She needed to know who put the newspaper article in her pocket and why. Did she do it to give herself a clue about what was happening? But why not just write a note that said, You are a time traveler.

When time traveling, am I aware of it, but I can’t remember afterward?

Why me? What’s different that makes me travel in time while sleeping? Why did it start now? 

Is this something that also happens to others, and if so, how do I find them?

An epiphany struck Lydia. If I kickstart my sleep, I’ll travel into the future and reset my sleep cycle. A big push to the future is what I need. If I get stuck there, so be it. At least I’ll sleep. 

Lydia eyed the Lunesta. There were twenty-nine pills left. If I take all twenty-nine sleeping pills at once, I’ll jump far into the future and catch my sleep wherever it’s gone. She smiled for the first time in days, uncapped the CVS bottle, padded to the bathroom, poured a glass of water, and downed the pills in five swallows. 

The woman beside Calvin at the outdoor cafe on Second Avenue and Sixty-Sixth leaned over and asked, “Is she dead?” They sat far from other patrons. 

Calvin released a long, wide yawn before answering Vanessa. He rubbed his eyes and pinched his arm, hoping the pain would bump up his alertness a level or two. “Not yet, but any minute now. I peeked into the bedroom, and the bottle was empty. She took them all. She’ll die in her sleep, and we’ll be free to do whatever we want. Her doctor will attest to an overdose precipitated by hallucinations and sleep deprivation. We can go anywhere, do anything, and be together. I love you.”

“The haxibarbital?” 

“It’s an undetectable barbiturate. I slipped it in her food or drink every night before she went to bed, ensuring that she slept almost not at all. It’s metabolized quickly, so even if they do an autopsy, there won’t be any in her blood.”

“You’re amazing.”

“I’m a little sleepy, too.” Calvin chuckled. His eyes wobbled in their sockets. “I stayed up most of the night every night jabbing her with my finger whenever it looked like she might be entering deep sleep. I scooted outside to get dirt every time she slept. I set her watch ahead in the middle of the night to make her crazy. The stopwatch was a surprise and almost derailed me, but I adjusted that, too.”

“At least you knew why you were sleepy.”

“Yes.” Calvin finished his coffee and noticed that Vanessa had only drunk half of hers. “Mind?”

“Help yourself. Fast forwarding her watch was genius, Cal, destined to drive her batty. We can be together in bliss now, babe. No more sneaking around. You played her beautifully, from the haxi to poking her to shepherding her to a doctor and sleeping pills. When do you think you can move in?”

“Soon.” Cal grimaced as he wriggled his toes. Something was stuck in his sock. 

She reached under the table, caressed his thigh, and slipped her hand into his pants pocket. “My apartment key,” she whispered, her soft breath tickling his ear. “Use it.”

Vanessa pulled a piece of paper out of Calvin’s pants, which she laid on the table in front of them. Calvin raised an eyebrow. He didn’t remember tearing out an article from a newspaper or putting one in his pocket. 

She smoothed the crumpled New York Times clipping dated October 26th, four days from now. They stared at the headline, “Attorney Calvin Lang Arrested for Murder.”

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If you enjoyed The Strange Case of Lydia Lang, I think you’ll also like my story, Gerald Gray’s To-Do List.