The Clockmaker’s Door: A Race Against Time

Down a cobbled alley, in the heart of the old city, between a disused bookshop and a tea stall with a busted awning, there was a tiny little shop that sold clocks. It bore no board — just an old wooden cuckoo clock on a nail driven into the wall over the door; and the bird had long ago ceased to sing.

The shop was owned by Elias, a quiet man with silver hair and nimble fingers. His clocks (they were more than timepieces) spoke to him of things long buried, and sometimes, if you listened carefully, of things yet to come. The townspeople said Elias used to be a renowned inventor, but had long since lost the ability to speak about his past.

It was a rainy night, and the thunder rumbled amongst the rooftops when a soaked and shivering girl came running into the shop. She held a shattered pocket watch. “You have to let us in,” she pleaded, breathless. “It was my father’s.

Elias took the watch gently. It was old, older than Mira, certainly, and intricate. As he gazed at it, a strange thing happened: the hands jerked, then spun in reverse, coming to rest exactly at 2:17.

“That’s when he vanished,” Mira murmured.

Elias looked up, eyes narrowed. “Your father… did he ever say something about somewhere called the Fourth Hour?”

Mira blinked. “Only in stories.”

Elias nodded solemnly. “Not stories. Warnings.”

He stepped into the back room. He came back carrying an odd, brass key in the shape of a crescent moon. “This will lead you where he’s gone. But time works differently there. You’ve got to come into port before four hours on the clock—or be lost.

Mira only hesitated for a second before accepting the key.

Elias led her over to a decrepit grandfather clock in the corner. He set the hands to 4:00, put the key into the center dial, and backed away. With a creak, the clock was opened to reveal a vortex of light.

Mira stepped through.

Within was a world trapped between the ticks—a shadow place, where shadows moved in reverse and memories drifted like lanterns. Mira roamed about, calling out for her father. Finally, she spotted him, it, frozen in a moment, irises wide as if caught mid-breath.

She pressed the watch into his hand. The instant she did, the air danced and shimmered. He gasped — and time resumed its course.

And then they were through the portal just in time before the fourth chime struck.

In the shop, Elias stared till the hands of the clock sank. “You got off easy,” he mumbled. “Most don’t come back.”

Mira hugged her father tightly. "Thank you," she said to Elias.

He only grinned and turned back to his bench, the cuckoo above the door giving one chirpy tock—for the first time in years.