The Clock

I'm standing in an ornate room, unable to account for how I got here. My gaze is fixed on the chiming grandfather clock in the corner. “Bong, bong, bong.” All at once I become aware of three things; I know this house, I’ve got to find the box, and time is slipping.

Elation rushes through me as a warm wave. I’m keenly aware of my supreme luck to stumble upon this house again. Hurriedly, I run my fingers along the mantel. There’s always a hidden mechanism along a mantle right?

Nothing.

Quickly I run to the bookshelf and tip warn, gilded books slightly on one end.

Nothing.

I pause, hand to head, trying to rack my brain for any shred of information. Where did I look last time? How far had I gotten? How fast did time escape me then?

I can recall nothing.

The Grandfather clock continues to tick. It’s best to keep moving.

Wandering around the parlor, I lift up cardboard boxes, look behind heavy velvet curtains and run my fingers along sprawling ivy wallpaper with gold-leaf filigree. Finally, I come to a large mirror where a brilliant notion pops into my head. Hesitating at first, but then, slowly I touch the glass, causing its smooth surface to become rippling water. My arm is able to extend through. The mirror is a portal.

One room down.

I awkwardly climb through the freshly created doorway and move on to another sitting room.

This continues. Room after room, floor after floor —hidden doorways in each. I find them in closets lined with fur coats, in walls, in shadows under stairs—places you don’t expect. Higher and higher I climb through this seemingly unending labyrinth. Until finally, I come to a conservatory at the top of a tall turret.

My heart drums through my chest. Immediately upon entering the great room, I become aware of a fundamental truth I now realize I’ve always known.

The box is in this room.

The night sky bleeds through the windows. The ivy creeps along the walls. The brisk air hurts my lungs as I try to calmly breathe in vain. At the farthest end of the room is a window bench. I do a cursory glance around the room out of obligation, but none of the other potential hiding spots hold my attention, it’s the bench. I go to it in a trance. My heart is in my throat as I grasp the edge of the window seat. Feeling along its wooden edges, I discover a lid. This is it. I know it.

The rhythm of my heart, loud as rushing water now, pulsates in my temples. Dizzy, I blink hard to focus and lift the lid. There in the darkness lies what I’ve long yearned to obtain. I have found it! I have found the box!

Reaching in, I clasp my prize to my chest and grin like the Cheshire Cat. For a brief moment the joy is overwhelming. It fades quickly though, as something else becomes clear to me.

I have at other times been in this place, holding the box, and yet I have no memory of what is inside. How could I not know?

My fingertips relish the cool steel. Slowly, I open the lid. At long last, I am about to lay eyes on the secrets held inside the box.

Before I can, everything dissolves, disappearing again inside my own subconscious.

I am awake.