I Paused Time for 10 Minutes a Day—Until the Stranger Knocked on My Door

1. The Pocket Watch

Grandpa’s antique shop smelled like dust and regret. I’d inherited both when he died—along with the brass pocket watch he’d clutched in his coffin. “Keep it wound, Clara,” his lawyer had said. “He insisted.”

I should’ve known better.

The first time it happened, I was repairing Mrs. Donahue’s cuckoo clock. The watch slipped from my apron pocket, clattering to the floor. When I picked it up, the second hand froze mid-tick. So did the world.

The cuckoo hung halfway out of its wooden door, beak open in silent laughter. Dust motes hovered like constellations. Even the hum of the shop’s heater died. Ten minutes later, time snapped back. The cuckoo squawked. Dust fell. I stood there, white-knuckling the watch, my heartbeat louder than the traffic outside.

I experimented. Same rules every time:

Ten minutes a day. No more, no less.

Only I could move. Not even a feather shifted.

Never let anyone know.

That last rule came from Grandpa’s note, tucked inside the watch case. His shaky cursive warned: “They’ll come for you. Don’t trust their smiles.”

I laughed it off. Grandpa had been paranoid long before dementia took him.

Until the stranger proved him right.

2. The Customer

For months, I used the watch for small rebellions. Stole extra naps. Avoided rent checks. Cheated at poker night with Liam, my best friend and the only person who tolerated my “weird clock obsession.”

Then, on a Tuesday choked with rain, he walked in.

“Mr. Hale,” he said, shaking water off his trench coat. His smile was polished, cold. “I’d like to buy that watch.”

I froze. The watch burned in my pocket. “Not for sale.”

He slid a check across the counter. Seven figures.

“Your grandfather stole it,” he said, voice velvet. “From us. We’ve waited decades for it to resurface.”

Sweat prickled my neck. “Who’s ‘us’?”

He ignored the question. “That watch isn’t a toy. Every time you use it, you fray the timeline. Look closer.”

He tossed down a newspaper. The headline screamed: LOCAL MAN VANISHES MID-SNEEZE—POLICE BAFFLED. The date: tomorrow.

“A glitch,” Mr. Hale said. “Fixable, if you hand it over.”

I shoved the check back. “Get out.”

His smile vanished. “You’ll come begging soon, Clara. And we’ll be watching.”

3. The Glitch

That night, I drank cheap wine and stared at the watch. Liam called it a “creepy relic.” Maybe he was right.

Click. Time stopped.

Raindrops hung like glass beads outside my window. I paced, replaying Mr. Hale’s words. Fray the timeline. Bullshit.

Then the flickering started.

Static crackled at the edges of my vision. The air smelled burnt. The ten-minute timer on the watch’s face vanished.

“No, no, no—” I tapped the glass. Shook it.

Time didn’t restart.

I ran outside. The street was a frozen diorama: a dog mid-leap, a half-eaten pretzel suspended above grease-stained pavement. And them—figures in trench coats, motionless in the rain. Dozens. All facing my apartment.

The watch’s gears whirred backward.

4. The Stolen Days

Three days. Seventy-two hours in a silent, static world.

I raided grocery stores, swallowing guilt with stale granola bars. Slept in hotel beds beside frozen guests. Tried screaming, crying, smashing the watch. Nothing worked.

On the fourth day, I found the hidden compartment.

Inside the watch case was a folded map of the city, marked with a red X at the cemetery. Grandpa’s handwriting: “If it breaks, find me.”

My hands shook. He’d been dead two years.

I went anyway.

5. The Grave

Grandpa’s tombstone was weathered, namesake worn smooth. “Elias Gray, Beloved Tinkerer.”

Nothing happened.

Then the watch hummed. The ground beneath the grave rippled, like water struck by a stone. A spectral hand shot out, gripping my ankle.

I screamed, falling backward as Grandpa’s ghost crawled from the earth. Not the frail man I’d buried, but a younger version—sharp-eyed, terrified.

“Clara,” he rasped. “You shouldn’t have it. They bound me here for stealing it.”

“Who? The Timekeepers?”

He shuddered at the name. “Parasites. They leech off timeline fractures—accidents, deaths, regrets. The watch doesn’t stop time. It steals it.”

“From who?”

“You. Every second you pause is ripped from your lifespan.”

Ice flooded my veins. “How do I fix this?”

“Destroy the watch. Or…” He faded, voice echoing. “…join them.”

6. The Knock

I buried the watch in a lead box under the shop floorboards.

It didn’t matter.

Three days later, the knock came.

Three sharp raps.

Mr. Hale stood in the frozen street, unfrozen, hand raised. “Hello, Clara.”

I lunged for the fire poker. “Get out!”

“You broke time,” he said, stepping inside. The world flickered around him. “That man who vanished? He was the first. Millions will follow. The paradox is spreading.”

“Liar.”

He snapped his fingers. The window melted into a scene: my street, but warped. Buildings bent like taffy. People screamed, half-fused with pavement.

“This is New York in 48 hours,” he said. “Unless we repair the timeline. Your choice: give me the watch, or help me fix it.”

“Why would I trust you?”

He leaned close. “Because I’m not the villain here, Clara. You are.”

The watch hummed in its box below us, hungry.

Grandpa’s warning rang in my head. But so did Mr. Hale’s last words as he tossed me a brass key:

“Tick-tock. The clock’s running out.”

Ending Hook

To be continued… Should Clara trust Mr. Hale? What’s the true cost of the watch? Vote in the comments for Part 2!