[ WP ] Time travelling tourists from the future are commonplace at significant historical events . You get home and find time travellers watching you for an unknown reason .

I struggled to put my key in the door, while keeping my bag of groceries balanced and talking on the phone at the same time. 
 
 `` Yeah'', I said disinterestedly to the voice on the other end of the phone. `` Uh-huh''. 
 
 In any other circumstance, I would've told the owner of the voice exactly where they could go and what the quickest route there was, but I decided against it in this case since the voice was coming from my mother. 
 
 `` I know, I know. I remembered Dad's birthday party. Do n't worry.'' 
 
 I opened the door and walked into the hallway. This damn house. I honestly could n't stand the sight of it. I'd made a deal with my wife when we first moved in. I'd let her decorate the house and, in return, she'd decorate the house. I'd never been good at negotiating, but that time was poor even by my standards. 
 
 `` Yeah, we'll be along at about eight'', I droned at my mother. `` Yes, I know the way to the restaurant!'' 
 
 Everything about the decor just annoyed me. The wicker chair beside the hallway table, the pictures hung in rows ascending parallel to the stairs, the futuristic time-tourists in my living room, the pink wallpaper on the back wall. 
 
 Suddenly, I stopped in my tracks. 
 
 `` I'll have to call you back, mum''. 
 
 Something was n't right here. I searched my brain for what it was. There was definitely something amiss in my house. Then it hit me. I knew exactly what it was. 
 
 I walked back to the stairs and straightened the middle picture. That was better. I then continued into the kitchen and left the groceries on the table. After completing that menial task and realising that I had seen futuristic time-tourists in my living room, I slowly and calmly began to absolutely lose my shit. 
 
 `` Wh- Ha- hoo- Uh- Eeh- Wha-?!'' I asked. 
 
 The time-tourists said nothing and instead proceeded to take pictures with their camera phone ( I mean, it may be the future, but who's really going to go back to normal cameras, right? ) 
 
 They stood there and watched me in silence as I stood there and watched them in silence. So at least we were agreed that something was quite odd about the scene before us. 
 
 They were a middle aged couple. He was rather, shall we say, rotund. He wore a colourful, if not entirely tasteful, Hawaiian shirt, with beige shorts a pair of white socks and sandals. She, being slightly more fairly proportioned, wore a black tank top, a pair of knee-length shorts and flip-flops. This whole sight would almost have been rather normal if they were n't both green and had two heads each. He even had a third arm, for which there was a convenient little arm-hole in his shirt. 
 
 These people were obviously time-tourists. I could tell. Not because of their multiple heads. Not because of the Hawaiian shirt. No, not even because of the rather informative travel brochure sticking out of the lady- ( lady? ) lady person's back pocket that one could spot through the mantelpiece mirror and attempt to read backwards. 
 
 No, I could tell they were time-tourists because of the large white banner they held above their heads that read `` FLETCHLY'S TIME TOURS ( ltd ). SEE THE SPLENDORS OF HISTORY IN STYLE. DO NOT SHOOT, STAB, BLUDGEON, GARROTE, CURSE WITH ANCIENT MAGIC OR SET ON FIRE'' 
 
 I stood fixated on this thought for a moment. They've come to see history unfold. Yet they're here, in my house. Do I make history here and now? What happens next? Do I die here? Is this where it ends? Or do I create an answer to depleting fossil fuels? Do I stop world hunger? Am I asking too many questions? And what's that smell? Is it the bins? Did I not put the bins out this morning? I better do that after I'm done with these time-tourists. Oh shit, yes. The time tourists. 
 
 `` What are you here to see?'' I begged. `` What do I create? Who do I kill? How do I die? TELL ME!!!'' 
 
 `` Where's Franz?'' asked the man- ( man? ) man in an accent that was almost, but not entirely, like a southern US accent. 
 
 `` Who?'' I asked, confused even more so now. 
 
 `` Franz Ferdinand'', he replied. `` Y'know, the guy who gets shot. Then a whole bunch o' other people get shot too. I read about it on Wikipedia. he got shot on June 28th 2014. It said so in the article.'' 
 
 I pondered on this for a moment before coming to two conclusions. One: Wikipedia did really well for itself to still be around in a time where holidays are taken in the past, and Two: These people have the wrong date. I looked at the calendar and saw that, sure enough, today was the 28th of June. I decided to share my knowledge with these holidaymakers- ( holidaymakers? ) holidaymakers. 
 
 `` Ah. I'm afraid you have the wrong date. You see, that happened on the 28th of June *19*14,'' I informed them. 
 
 `` Oh, Gene, I told you to double check the date,'' said his wife- ( wife? ) etc, etc. rather irritably. 
 
 `` Oh fine. I'll change the damn thing. Sorry to have bothered you,'' he said and they disappeared right in front of me in a flash of light. 
 
 I sat down and turned on the TV while I tried to take this all in. Time-travelling tourists came here and mixed up the dates. I was dumbfounded. They thought that World War I started in 2014. How outrageous! I looked at the news and saw that noted musician Franz Ferdinand had been shot dead at a concert by a crazed gunman, followed by a number of members of his security detail and the crowd. A terrible realisation suddenly hit me. 
 
 `` Oh fuck!'' I exclaimed. `` I forgot to leave out the bins!!''
