Pocketwatch timekeeper

Chapter 1-Passing time

This is my town, Evershade. I know this may sound weird, but I do live here, where the sun never rises. We are separated from our king's empire, on this isolated island, and I have heard of stories of the sun, and of the sky being another shade other than dark blue or grey. Ever. Shade. For 17 years I have been living here, but last week I moved out of our home, leaving ma and da behind. The time has come for me to become a......librarian. Not much, but you would be surprised by how many coins the empire pays for librarians, scholars and other people to do with knowledge.

"Liora! Come down here at once!" I heard the screechy voice of the librarian, a crusty old lady who probably has a cat, but I haven't seen it yet.

"Coming!" Yeah. Supper.

After a short supper of potatoes, bread and tomato soup, I trudged upstairs again, content to just curl up and read my books. But then I heard something. A tune of a barred owl. It goes just like what my grandmother would sing to me, every evening at precisely this hour. Our town has something to do with time that I am sure other towns do not.

The tune grew louder, and I peeled my eyes from the yellowed pages I was just reading. Dust swirled in the air, turning into a golden colour. I looked outside and saw that the cobblestones of our streets had moved, in a way. I don't know how to describe it. The last stone towards the north was turning ever so slowly, or was it just my eyes deceiving me? I don't know. 

It started to rain. The raindrops could not be heard; only the tune, like a siren, was singing a song in my ear. The moon was glowing gold. But there was no barred owl to sing the tune.

I followed the tune downstairs, the notes ringing in my ear, and opened the door.

I spotted the small golden-coppery pocketwatch resting on the porch, vibrating. I blinked again, and then it was not vibrating. I knelt to look closer, straining my neck. A waft of cold wind and a torrent of rain splashed down on me, but then again, I was focused on the watch. The hands were rose-gold, with a swirly pattern engraved on them, as if they were moving. Maybe they were. It was showing 23:59.

No way. I just ate supper! Does time really pass that fast?

The tune faded away, and then I saw the second hand slow down. I see......something was going on here. I sat on the wet stone and stared at the illuminated watch.

I waited for far too long, yet the hand did not reach 00:00. It reached 24:00.

I stared at the ticking thing, my eyes fixated on it for what felt like a long time. Then I jolted from my stupor and stood up suddenly, picking up the watch with me. I glanced around, but then something caught my eye. The lamps were not flickering. The orange flames were not flames; they were statues. The rain had stopped, but the ground became dry. I ceased to feel the cold breeze blowing on my cheek. How?

I can not believe this. Down did I glance at the watch, and time had resumed its speed, the hands moving to 24:01. I ran back into our building, pattering and panting into the dining room. No one. 

"Elaine! Are you there?" I called for the librarian, my voice cracking in the middle. The fire wasn't moving or crackling as it should, and I did not feel so warm anymore. I searched the whole place without finding her. Never did I miss her so much. Back I went, running on the stones of our street, as I observed the houses carefully. They were all dark; no silhouettes, no voices, no laughter to be heard.

Time, time, time. Time! Clocks! Clockmaker! Thalen!

Seems like everyone is gone. Might as well check the clockmaker's place.

I narrowed my thoughts into steps, like I always do. I continued northwards, but then halted. Old Thalen lives in the Old Quarter. I do not, absolutely do not want to go there. Where the fire lanterns are dull and blue, the houses abandoned, the trees abundant, and your clock's mechanisms becoming useless because the seconds go by so slowly, you feel like dying.

But I can't let time go on forever, or else I will never see Elaine, Ma, Da and Kesser Vale again. What if it goes to 25:00? Then 26:00? Then I don't know, 100:00? Endless hours, and I will die in this void! 

With unwillingness, I started down the street towards Old Quarter. I passed the old hairdresser, where the owner, Bald John, died of a heart attack. Passed the old restaurant where it once was a colossal centre of the town, bustling with townsmen and beers clinking. But for some reason, bad luck enveloped the Quarter through time and transformed it into this spooky place where children made tales of. Old Thalen did not move out, though. That's the only reason people still set foot in the Quarter: to fix their clocks. As I walked, I got bored and studied this gold watch. There was a nub on top. I pulled it, and with a rusty squeak, a chain came out, golden and shiny, illuminated by the blue flames on either side of the roads. Interesting. It was now 24:02, and I was already at the door of the clockmaker.

I shivered, staring at the ebony wood of the door and the iron hinges. Clockmaker, said the sign, engraved in golden paint and an elegant cursive, the only one still standing in the cacophony of twisted, crumpled signs in the abandoned boulevard. I took in a whiff of dust, rust and something wood-like. Then sneezed. With a trembling hand, I pushed the door open. It creaked.