The rain fell in a steady rhythm, tapping against the cracked pavements of Aldergrove's oldest street. Each droplet shimmered under the dim orange glow of rusted street lamps, yet tonight, the world felt… quieter.
Edward Shawn, a man whose eyes seemed to hold both youth and age in equal measure, walked with his hands in his coat pockets. The cold drizzle didn't bother him—it was the silence that did. It wasn't the normal kind of silence. It was the kind that seemed to press against your ears, swallowing sound as though the air itself refused to carry it.
At the far end of the street, there stood a shop that had no business being there.
He was certain he had passed this road a hundred times before… and yet, this crooked little antique store—its windows clouded with dust, its faded sign barely legible—had never existed in his memory. The hanging wooden board creaked in the wind:
"Harrow's Timepieces."
The door opened with a chime far too deep for such a small bell. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of oil and old wood. Countless clocks lined the shelves and walls—grandfather clocks with intricate carvings, pocket watches whose chains draped like silver vines, and desk clocks with faces so worn their numbers were fading into nothing.
Behind the counter stood a man whose presence seemed… blurred. Edward could not recall his features even while looking directly at him. The man smiled faintly.
"You're looking for something rare, aren't you?"
Edward didn't answer. His eyes had already found it—a strange clock, small enough to hold in both hands, its casing a deep, almost black brass. The glass face was perfectly clear, but the hands of the clock… they did not tick. They swayed, almost breathing, as though alive.
The shopkeeper's voice lowered. "Three men have bought that clock before you."
He placed the clock on the counter, its cold surface sending a faint shiver up Edward's fingertips.
"The first man vanished without a trace. Not even a shadow of him remains in any photograph."
"The second… aged forty years in a single night. His hair turned white before the morning sun rose."
"The third… lost his mind. They say he speaks only of a woman no one else remembers."
Edward looked up sharply at that last part, but the shopkeeper only pushed the clock closer.
"And now, it's your turn."
Edward reached for his wallet. Something in him screamed to walk away, but his fingers moved on their own. When the coins clinked against the counter, the shopkeeper gave a nod—as if sealing a contract neither had spoken aloud.
The moment Edward touched the clock fully, the world trembled. The patter of rain outside slowed… slowed… then stopped entirely. Drops of water hung in the air like crystal beads, frozen mid-fall. The air was heavy, thick, and every sound had died.
In the glass of the clock, for a split second, he saw her—
A woman in the shadows, her silhouette draped in ancient garments, eyes faintly glowing with an emotion Edward couldn't name. And then—gone. Like she had never been.
When he stepped outside, the shop was gone. Not closed—gone. The old building was replaced by an empty stretch of brick wall, worn with decades of rain. No sign of dust, no trace it had ever existed.
Only the clock in his hands, warm now… almost like it was alive.
"And as the frozen raindrops began to fall once more, Edward realized he had stepped into the current of time itself—one from which there was no return."