The Return of the Wall Clock

“There is nothing that stops one from exiting the villa that hosts the wall clock, but no one has ever managed to come out of it”, a frail old villager warned William Tale, who had taken up the fatal challenge of solving the long-prevailing mystery of the wall clock. Many were said to have been swallowed up in the tranquility surrounding the occult clock over the years. Many voices were dampened and many lives were cabalistically terminated.

Willy was driven to the villa by sheer courage. He found himself right in front of the wall clock as soon as he crept in. 1.30 – the clock read. The forward shift of the heavy iron minute hand was captivating enough for Willy to hypnotically stare at it. Now, it was 1.35. The clock looked out of this world. It had an archaic charm to it. It seemingly had the power to play with time. It complimented the villa fantastically. The paint of the walls had deteriorated, the doors looked anachronistic and windows allowed the passage for an all-accepting darkness that had almost invaded Willy’s mind. He couldn’t restrain himself from glancing at the clock time and again. Now, the clock read 1.55. Willy courageously started walking toward the clock. His eyes were defined. The pair emanated a conglomeration of emotions during that ephemeral walk.

Dong! It was 2 o’clock. The sound resonated in the void scattering over each part of that room. And much to Willy’s horror, he started moving backward. 1.55…1.35…1.30! Time flew in the reverse direction. Finally, it froze at 1.30 leaving an omnipotent quiescence. The decorum was same as it was. Willy was trapped in the strangest of the time cycles.

Nothing was stopping him from exiting the villa, but he simply couldn’t since he had just entered.

(This genre of writing is known as Flash Fiction. The above story consists exactly of 299 words.)



- Mihir Chitre
mihirmumbaikar@gmail.com