Ten o' Clock, Precisely

There was a time traveller on the train this morning. My father, God rest his soul, would have told me it was just my imagination, but I knew better. I recognized the man as a time traveller by the things he wore; a long black coat, the sleeves singed from, I imagine, leaving and re-entering the space-time continuum. Under his coat he wore a mismatched three piece suit- black suit jacket and red vest and blue dress shirt. His trousers were of a maroon shade. He wore leather Oxfords on his feet, which I found odd, since Oxfords seem rather fancy to be worn for time travelling. Then again, I have never time travelled. On his forehead were perched goggles of a most outlandish fashion, the lenses warped and coloured a strange amber shade, and the right one was cracked. They sat slightly askew, leaning towards the right of his head.
    None of my fellow passengers seemed to notice the time traveller sitting next to me. The old lady across the aisle was preoccupied with her magazine, and the young man on the other side of me was speaking to someone on his mobile. The baby sitting in his mother's arms smiled and giggled, and seemed to know that the time traveller was different, but I couldn't be sure. I kept a wary eye on this strange man sitting to my right. I held my satchel closely, not because I thought he might steal it - of what use is a satchel to a time traveller? but because I have a habit of clutching things when I am uneasy.
    The time traveller himself was not an imposing figure. He was tall, to be sure, but he was spindly. His long legs were rather awkwardly bent in a stiff position, and his hands rested calmly on his knees. His fingers were rather long, and quite elegant, I thought. I wondered if he played piano. His eyes stared straight ahead at the passing scenery visible through the window opposite of us. I stared at him. He seemed completely immobile, almost like a statue. If not for the steady rise and fall of his chest and the sound of his breathing, I might have thought he was a robot as well as a time traveller.
    Suddenly, his head turned to look at me. The action was so sudden, it must be confessed that I nearly jumped out of my skin. Quite undignified.
    "I say," said the time traveller quietly, "Did no one ever tell you that it is rude to stare?"
    I was quite shocked, and clutched desperately to my satchel. I found that although I could make sense of his words, I myself could not compose a response, what for the complete scattering of my mental faculties. I must have stuttered, and made quite a fool of myself.
    The time traveller saw my confusion, and he smiled. It was a nice smile, and it put me slightly at ease. "I see that I have startled you," the time traveller said, "You were not expecting me to speak to you?"
    Still mute, I only shook my head. The time traveller nodded. "I see." He glanced down at the satchel clutched tightly to my chest; "Carrying something important?" he asked.
    I relaxed my grip, and found my voice; "Oh, no, nothing important," I said, laughing nervously. "I have a habit of, ah, holding tightly to it when I'm...uneasy."
    "Do I make you uneasy?"
    "Ah, well," I swallowed uneasily, "Of course not, it's just that well, you're a time traveller, and that's not exactly something you see every day, so, ah, um..." I trailed off. The time traveller studied me for a moment.
    "I see," he replied. He paused again; "Well then, what exactly are you carrying in that satchel, that is nothing important?"
    "Ah, well," I stammered, trying to remember what exactly I was actually carrying; "Some papers for work, a sandwich, ah, what else? let me think..." I opened the flap of the satchel and rummaged around for a minute. "Ah!" I said suddenly, "My father's pocket watch! I was wondering where that had got to..."
    "That sounds important," the time traveller remarked.
     I pulled the timepiece out of the satchel. It was silver and quite heavy. It was simply made, no elaborate workings marked the cover. It was smooth and worn with age. My father had given it to me when I was nine. I popped the cover open, and revealed the face of the watch. The hands were still. I felt a pang of guilt. My father had told me to always keep it wound, but recently, I had forgotten about it. "Yes," I muttered to myself, "It was important to him."
    The time traveller leaned over my shoulder and studied the watch. After a moment, he held out his hand;
    "May I take a look?" He asked.
    "Certainly." I handed him the watch. He took it gently and examined it it from all angles, especially the face. Then, he reached into the pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out another pocket watch. I leaned over, curious. The time traveller's watch was also silver and worn with age, but much more so than mine. His watch somewhat resembled his goggles; the cover was warped and discoloured and seemed to held in place by a piece of string rather than hinges. It had lost its chain, and didn't seem to be attached to the time traveller's coat at all.
    The time traveller opened the cover of his watch. The inside was in impeccable condition; the glass face was polished, and the hands ticked away with precision. But - I noticed something odd, and leaned closer.
    "The hands are moving backwards!" I exclaimed.
    "Indeed," the time traveller agreed. "It's counting down."
    "Counting down to what?" I asked.
    "The end of time."
    "The end of time?!" I gasped. "Is it soon?"
    "By my calculations," the time traveller replied, "It will be ten o' clock, precisely."
    "Ten o' clock this morning?!" I exclaimed, "What - what do we do?!"
    "There is nothing we can do," said the time traveller, "Once the hands stop, time is up."
    I cast about desperately for a solution; "Could you not wind the hands back?" I suggested.
    The time traveller shook his head. "It has been wound too many times."
    I looked down at the time traveller's watch, old and worn, and nearly broken. Once the hands reached ten o' clock, time would end. What would it be like? I wondered. Would the world freeze in place? Would everything fade away? Would time end sooner in different time zones and later in others? Would we be conscious to find out?
    I sat back and anxiously tapped my fingers on my leg. "There has to be something we can do," I muttered.
    "There might be," the time traveller mused, examining the watches. He held my watch in his left hand, and his own in his right. "Look here," he said suddenly, "These watches are the same."
    I looked, and they were. Mine was newer, but they were the same.
    "So," the time traveller continued, "If I connect your watch to the space-time continuum, and wind it up, and we start your watch at the moment my watch stops -" He handed his watch to me and hurriedly took a small box of tools from his coat pocket.
    "Time will keep going?" I asked breathlessly.
    "There is a chance," the time traveller replied shortly, mind on his work.
    I watched him work, heart in my throat. His watch weighed heavily in my hands, frigid like ice, the hands ticking backward. After what seemed like an eternity, the time traveller turned back to me. He placed my watch back in my hands and took his own watch back. The watch was warm, and I could feel the mechanisms inside, impatiently waiting for me to start them working.
    "Alright," said the time traveller, "On my signal, start the watch."
    A million things ran through my head at the same time; what if I wasn't fast enough? what if I panicked? And - what if it didn't work at all? The minutes ticked by at an agonizing pace. Around me, the passengers carried on with their lives and conversations, oblivious to the impending doom. A bead of sweat ran down the side of my head. I tried to focus, waiting for the time traveller's signal. Suddenly, it came;
    "Now!"
    I started the watch. For a moment, a chill descended over the train car. Conversations slowed, and sound felt as if it were coming from far away. We failed, I thought. But then, the chill lifted, and sound went back to to normal. I sighed with relief, and turned back to the time traveller.
    He was gone.

The End