Clock Struck

Feeling the early morning grog, Hans blindly groped for the clock to stop the all too familiar signal for the start of the day. He tried to rub his eyes awake with curled fingers screwing awake-ness into his vision. Victorious, he tested his focus on the details of the overhead fan circulating the air. All was good. He got up and sat on the edge of the bed, then started his morning routine: selected work attire from the closet: Coat, shirt, pants, shoes, tie; freshened up in the bathroom, and brushing teeth, then combed hair. Did it seem thinner and grayer than yesterday? He mused as he walked to the dresser and finished dressing in front of the mirror, which hung on the wall.

There he saw a piece of folded paper on top of the dresser. It startled him. He did not remember it being there the night before when he retired to bed. Curious, he picked it up and opened it. The curious symbols, which penetrated his eye were most foreign to him.

That's Strange, he thought, I have never seen this language or symbols before, ever. Feeling disturbed that someone or something entered his room while he slept was unnerving. Especially leaving a note, he couldn't read. He folded the note and put it in his inner coat pocket. The more he thought about it, the more shaken he became. I know, after breakfast, I will take this to my friend Kenny Solvate. If anyone can figure it out, it will be him. 

Skipping breakfast, which he always enjoyed, Hans left his clock shop and started up Main Street to Kenny's house. The air was icy and damp, adding to the dread he felt in his gut. It didn't help that he was getting soaked from the rain despite the big umbrella, and he was getting cold. There are more people than usual, or maybe it just seems like it since I am in a hurry." Hans' thoughts focused on getting to Kenny's, and it seemed as though the crowd was hindering him.  

"Oh, Drat!" The crowd stopped and was not moving. Hans could not see ahead. He was about to say, "Excuse me," and push his way forward when he heard a voice. Hans turned in the sound's direction; it was a small dark alley between the buildings. He positioned himself in front of the dark expanse. A chill came over his body as he listened, hearing nothing except rain.

"Who's there? Who are you? You speaking to me, I didn't catch what you said." Han's words seemed as though they were absorbed into the darkness like water into a black sponge. He tried to see into the ally, but he could see nothing between the rain, his umbrella, and the dark.  

"You, Mr. Klockington, are running out of time; be careful where you go."  

The voice was plainer now, and Hans felt the words turn his spine to ice. "Whoever it was called me by name." This realization brought weakness to his knees as he reached out and steadied himself against the building. Who or what was that? Was it the same person -- entity -- that placed the note? Hans felt fear starting to develop in his being. Up to now, he was feared very little; but this day was changing all of that.

"Who are you? What do you mean?" Again his words vanished into the dark hue of the alley without response.  

Han's strained to see, but again he saw nothing. Only a dizzying effect started over him as he tried to push further into the darkness of the alley. Hans could feel that it was like trying to move in molasses, and the aroma — a metallic putrid scent burned his nostrils. He could only hear the sounds of rain and water dripping and splashing, sounding as if it was in a hollow tube. Hans felt nausea building in his stomach as his head continued to spin. He closed his eyes, trying to shake off the sickening sensation as he pulled himself out of the alleyway.  

He felt a bump and a push. The crowd was moving. "Good. Now I got to get to Kenny's house." He tried to downplay the dizziness and nausea. First the note, now the strange voice in the ally saying that time was running out, and where exactly shouldn't he go? What did all these cryptic messages mean? 

Hans' thoughts ended as he rounded the corner onto Eighth and focused up the street. He could see Kenny's house through the rainy grayness of the morning. With Kenny's front door insight, Hans broke into a jog fighting the umbrella in the breeze. "Oh no!" Hans exclaimed out loud with the feeling of despair. The house was dark, with no lights.

"No, no, NO. You got to be home; you just got to be."

Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock

"Kenny, Kenny? Are you there?" Bang-bang, the door rattled against its hinges ... "Kenny!!?"

No answer. Hans tried looking through the cut-glass side panel of the doorway. He then knocked some more. Maybe he is in the kitchen. Han ran around the back of the house. He went through the alley. Rain is running off the roof by the bucket-full, soaking him even more. 

Hans got to the back only to find no one in the kitchen. He backed away to see the house, "Ahh. Light is on in the upstairs bathroom." Hans looked around. He saw the covered trash cans. He made his way onto the roof using the trash cans only to see that the Bathroom light is now out. 

No, No, now where did he go? Hans walked across the slanted roof to see what room Kenny might be in and notices that the rain is now starting to freeze on the roof.  Ahh, I see the light on towards the front of the house, his bedroom. How can I get there? Han's looked down and saw a tiny ledge and a cable just the right height: Ah, Yes! I can slide my way down the ridge holding on to the cable running parallel. He got almost to the window and saw that the light turn off. Now, where did he go? Hans now has to slide, inching his way back to the roof over the kitchen. The rain has not let up, and he is soaked to the bone and getting very cold. The thought, time is running out ran through his mind, and an instant dread hit his heart. Not a good idea to think under these circumstances, he told himself. With that, Han's foot caught some ice. That instant, he was airborne, hanging onto the cable that was snapping off the side of the house. The wire snagged something on the side of the house. His fall now turned into an uncontrollable swing towards Kenny's kitchen window.

Kenny was startled by the exploding window next to his stove. The pancake batter he was carefully pouring into nicely round pancakes went up in the air and came down onto the other burners and backsplash. Startled, he turned to see what just happened. In the rubble, Kenny recognized a person's body crumpled, clutching the cable in his hands. There was movement. Instinct caused Kenny to raise the bowl of what used to contain pancake batter over his head, now cocked to be his weapon against this strange intruder, with the wet cold replacing the cozy warmth of his kitchen.  

The crumpled Hans took his hands from in front of his face and glanced sideways up at Kenny. "Kenny?"

Puzzled and startled, Kenny looked more closely at the intruder, who now started wiping and removing debris from his body. Kenny felt confusion set in, "Hans? Hans?" is that you?" However, Kenny still had the handled-bowl cocked, ready to strike.

"Yes, Yes, don't hit me." Hans felt the bruises on his left side from crashing through the window.

"Hans ... what in the world? ... How'd you manage? .... WHY did you crash through my window?"

"You didn't answer your door when I rang the doorbell and knocked loudly.".

"So you thought crashing through my window was a better way to enter!?!

Hans sensed the controlled anger building in Ken, "No, No, No. This incident was an accident. Ken, I desperately tried to get to a window where you were to knock and get your attention. But every time I came near to where you were, you left. I was working my way back to your back roof when I slipped on some ice on the ledge and fell. I was steadying myself with this cable when I fell, and it swung me in through your window. I am so sorry. I have money to get your window fixed. I'll. I'll ... I'll give you double -- triple, Kenny. I just desperately need your help. Forgive me, please."

Kenny lowered the batter bowl and put it on the table with a loud clang. "You must be desperate to do what you just did. This accident is not anything I would have ever expected you to do, Han's," motioning around the debris field.

Kenny reached out his hand to help Hans up. "So ... what is so troubling that caused all this? Oh, yes, by the way, I WILL take your money .... tripled!"

Hans stood, carefully brushing the glass shards and debris from his wet clothes. "Thank you, Kenny. You don't know how much I appreciate your friendship and insights into things." Hans was looking for assurance that his friendship was still intact. But, unfortunately, he could tell by Kenny's facial expression that the jury was still out on that idea.

"Ok... uh.... well ... Kenny, I got this note." Even though his pocket was still damp, the paper was dry. He pulled it into the light and handed it to Kenny. "Someone left this on my dresser while I was asleep. I uh, I don't know from where it came. I can't read it. I don't know the language. Can you figure it out?

Kenny opened it and looked at the peculiar writing. "Interesting, Hans." His demeanor changed a bit, "I have never seen anything like this, either. Someone left it on your dresser, you say?"

"Yes, Kenny. It was just sitting on the top, square in the middle."

Kenny manipulated the note, "The paper even feels weird. Sorry, Hans. But I am afraid I can't solve this one. But ..." Kenny paused, thinking. "I know of someone who just might be able to help. She is a professor over at the university. Her name is Dr. Gwist, and she is an expert in exotic languages. If anyone can figure out what this says, it just might be her. " Kenny's heart sank as he saw a defeated, worrisome look come over Hans' face. "I am sorry, Hans."

Hans grabbed the note and stuffed it back into his coat pocket. "Thanks, Kenny. I guess the university will be my next stop. Can I help you clean up this mess?"

With Kenny's anger and frustration somewhat subsided, he looked at Hans. "No, Hans, just go ... and take care of this note business. I will handle this mess ... thank you very much!

Hans left Kenny's house feeling awful about breaking through Kenny's kitchen window.

The freezing rain had let up to a cold drizzle. Hans' clothes were still damp, and the cold penetrated to his bones, but he had to get to the college. The sidewalk was less crowded, so he could make better time.

The same strange feeling came over him as he approached the alley where he had felt something trying to seize him earlier. Instinctively he moved toward the street edge of the sidewalk. He could not help but slow his pace and look down the alleyway. Nothing there! He still felt the creepiness. Was it because of his experience, or was there still a presence lurking? He had no answer, and he was not going to stop to find out. He picked up his pace to a fast jog.

Hans passed his clock shop and stopped at the corner. The traffic light was red. Impatient, he stood looking around. The big clock hanging two stories above him chimed the nine o'clock hour. He looked up. He could not help but admire that clock. The prize of the city with its ornate exterior is cleaned and polished every week. Again, he could not help but admire his handiwork. The group started to move when the light went green for them to walk. He took his eye off the clock and moved with them, and hurried on to the University.

He went into the administration office. A young secretary was at the desk. "Young lady," Hans said, addressing her to get her attention. "Can you direct me to Dr. Gwist's office?

"Oh, Yes, Sir." The young student was pleasant and joyful. "It is straight ahead down the hall to your left. Let me see if she is in her office." The receptionist rang Dr. Gwist's phone. "Good morning Dr. Gwist. There is a man here who would like to speak with you. OK. I will send him down." She looked up at Hans with a smile, "She will see you. Just go down and knock on her door."

"OK, Thank you," Hans said as he turned to go down the hall.

Hans came to the office on the left and looked at the door. It had a frosted window and the name in gold letters, "Dr. Lynn Gwist, Professor of Occult Languages," on it. He knocked and asked, "Dr. Gwist?"

A voice behind the door said, "Come on in. It's open."

Hans walked into a nicely decorated office. He could not help noticing the rich Mahogany Bookcases filled with all kinds of language books and lexicons, with interspersed artifacts from different cultures from around the world.

"How can I help you?" The voice of Dr. Gwist came from behind her desk.

Hans's head snapped in the direction of the voice, "Oh Yes. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Dr. Gwist. I have a problem ... actually a note here ..." Hans reached into his pocket, got the note, and handed it to her. "It has a line of symbols I don't recognize ... hence I, ah I can't read it ... hence I d' don't know what it says ... or means."

Dr. Gwist could see that her visitor was greatly perplexed, took the note, opened it, and looked at the strange markings. "Umm, this is very interesting,"

Hans grew impatient as she silently scrutinized the symbols.

"This looks like nothing I have ever seen. From where did this come?

Hans, taken back by her abruptness, "It was on my dresser when I' I" ah, woke up this morning, no, I don't know how it got there or who could have put it there."

Dr. Gwist looked at the note again. "I do see a pattern that may help me figure the message out. However, it may take me some time. Can I call you when I have it deciphered?"

"Thank you. and p' please do, ... call me that is. Here's my number, 787 555 1987" Hans picked up a pencil and scribbled his number onto a piece of paper that Dr. Gwist handed him.

Hans left the Doctor's office feeling anxious to get the answer. He felt a bit encouraged, knowing she said she could tell him the strange note's meaning.

Hans returned to his clock shop. He decided that fixing and cleaning his clocks and helping customers would help keep his mind off the note. This business went on for about two hours before the phone's ringing broke the routine. One of his valued customers was inquiring about repairs for her heirloom clock when the phone interrupted.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Thompson. May I take this call?

"Why certainly, Mr. Klockington. That will give me a minute to browse your marvelous clock shop some more."

Hans answered the phone, "Hello, Klockington Clock Shop, where we have hands-on a ton of Clocks."

There was a pause, then, "Hi, Mr. Klockington, this is Dr. Gwist, from the University. I think I have a translation of your note."

"Ok?" Hans was anxious to know.

"I don't know what this might mean to you, Mr. Klockington. But. I believe it says something like, 'Time will kill you before the end of day."

Hans felt his blood run cold. "I' ah, I am sorry, but did you say, 'T,' Time will kill you before the end of ... day?" He could not believe the words.

"Yes, that precisely is what I said."

"Maybe you miss translated it."

Dr. Gwist sensed Han's fear, "No, I am 99% certain that IS what it says. I am genuinely sorry to bear such ominous news, Mr. Klockington. Yet, it does seem like it is a threat or a warning.

"I understand, Dr. Gwist. It is just shocking and frightful."

"I am sure it is. Sorry, I can't help further."

"Well, thank you for translating that note for me. Goodbye, Dr. Gwist."

"Goodbye."

Shaken, Hans returned the phone to its cradle. Mrs. Thompson could tell that Hans was upset. "Is there something wrong, Mr. Klockington?"

"Nothing really of your concern, Mrs. Thompson. I am sorry, but I must deal with something." Mrs. Thompson realized the sudden urgency as he rushed - more like pushed Mrs. Thompson out the door through her words, "Well now!! How rude of you, Mr. Klockington! My friends will hear about this! You'll be sorry! The decibels of her voice immediately dropped to half as he sealed the door shut with the twist of the lock. He secured all his windows and doors, thinking that he would be safe if he stayed put and did not leave his place. But the words, "Time will kill you before the end of day," kept running through his mind. 

The hours dragged on, and every hour all the clocks chimed, reminding him the day was nearing its end, moving him closer to his fate. Each chime drove his dread to a new height realizing time was running out as the end of the day drew closer. Again the words hung over his mind like a Damocles Sword, "Time will kill you before the end of day."

Dinner time came and went. The clock fancier had lost his appetite due to fear and dread of his potential demise -- a demise that could take place at any moment. Hours chimed as they marked another hour that passed, and his anxiety increased.

The Clock fancier covered his ears as the clocks struck nine, wrapped his head in pillows when they struck at ten, and did everything over again, augmented with earplugs at eleven.

The silence of the eleventh hour enveloped in a smothering blanket of impending doom. Then as tenseness and fear compounded, the tick-tocks started to sound like giant, loud claps echoing in his skull. He could feel his heart beating in his chest. It was thumping like a jackhammer before quitting time. A dreadful calamity could happen before the next "tick," and he would be dead. His thoughts were getting harder to control and were driving him into hysteria. 

"I got to control myself. I got to control myself. I just got to! If this note was someone's idea of a joke, it was a bad one!" His shout drowned out the "tick-tocks" for just a treasured moment. 

Then it dawned on him -- Danny Phelps -- his so-called friend, was ALWAYS playing weird jokes on him. This idea had to be it. This note was just one of Danny's stupid jokes. He laughed and started to feel better. Wait until I see him, he thought as the clocks began to chime the midnight hour, and he was still alive. As each chime struck, his face got a bit happier, and the "tick-tocks" got quieter. Yes!! He shouted with laughter. As six chimes passed, he was so delighted he ran to the door and opened it.

He ran outside and down to the corner to breathe in the midnight air. It felt good to be free and out of his horror chamber. He looked up at the big chiming clock hanging up on the corner of the building and shouted, "It's midnight ... It's midnight, and I am ....."

No one heard the dull thud as the big clock fell.

After years of weather and wear, the rusty, old-iron chain-link give way before its final chime marked the midnight hour - the end of day.

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