Master Clock Tick. Tick. Tick.
June stared at the alarm clock. She didn’t know where it came from, how it got there. All she knew was that it looked almost exactly like her father’s old one, with a yellowed face and bold, old style numbering.
It sat on the shelf in the antique shop, and while a thin layer of dust coated everything else, it looked newly cleaned. It seemed out of place in general, she thought, still staring. It was the only mechanical thing in the shop; there were mostly just carvings and furniture.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Maybe it was the owner’s alarm clock, and for some reason they’d forgotten it there, though the yellow sticker with the price—ten dollars and seventy five cents—said otherwise.