Consequences

The clock is a large black and grey invention. It is set on a wooden base with a metallic black cage shaped like swirling tendrils of fire. Around the face are a series of moons and stars that mark the hour with a soft silver glow. As the clock ticks a silver pendulum swings back and forth in the body of the clock, and entire constellations spin on the face, stars rising and falling from the intricately carved cap. The clock was made by a true artist, a magician, visitors say, when they spot the clock.

The origins of the clock are dubious. There are rumours that a member of the family made it and left it to be passed down through the generations. Some assume the clock was born of itself. Others say that one of the gentleman’s ancestors found the clock, already ticking, and it has since never stopped.

The clock has always ticked. It will tick until judgement day, people joke. The house has never not known the sound of ticking to echo in the halls and studies.

This morning Mr.Lampman wakes and descends the stairs from his bedroom to the dining room, as per his morning routine. The paraphernalia for his breakfast has already been laid out. He prepares his tea, settles down with his toast, feeling somehow as if he has not yet awoken. Something is off kilter within the confines of his house, some alteration that disturbs him deeply, though he cannot quite tell what it is. He feels it in the air, rather than seeing it. The ground beneath his feet, beneath the table, makes him nervous. Nothing feels solid.

He finishes his breakfast in some distress and prepares to depart. He exits his house but the impression of something being fundamentally disturbed does not leave him. He grows more and more agitated as he goes about his errands. Several friends or acquaintances inquire if he is alright. He gives polite non-answers, but his unfocused eyes and constantly moving fingers betray him.

On his way back to his house people move out of the way on the sidewalk.

He tosses his coat over the back of a chair rather than hanging it up. He paces the study, his feet shuffling across the carpet. The sound is deafening.

He checks the time.

It is then that Mr.Lampman realizes that the grandfather clock no longer ticks.

Puzzled, he opens the case and reaches inside, into the storm of mechanisms. He has never wound the clock. This occurrence, the need to wind the clock suddenly, unnerves him.

Outside the study window, a crow perches on a bare black branch, watching curiously. 

Text by Lucie MacAulay

Art by Adam S. Doyle