Description
The Mysterious Clock
Ester sat in her old childhood room, surrounded by boxes piled up in chaotic stacks. For days, she had been rummaging through her late father's house, flipping through books, dusting off memories, and sorting through the life of a man she thought she knew so well. Yet nothing had prepared her for what she was about to find that evening.
She had just decided to take a break when her eyes fell on a small, dusty wooden box hidden beneath a stack of old letters. Her fingers trembled slightly as she lifted the lid. Inside lay an intricately decorated clock set on blue velvet, its delicate gears arranged in an elaborate pattern. The engraved dial seemed to shimmer mysteriously in the gentle light of the lamp. Ester felt a surge of awe—this clock did not appear to be an ordinary family heirloom.
As she carefully held the clock in her hand, she discovered something unexpected: a tiny note was wedged between the dial and the casing. With a pounding heart, she gently pulled out the yellowed paper and unfolded it. In her father's flowing handwriting, it read:
“Whoever turns the hands of this clock forward or backward will travel to the corresponding time. Act wisely, my daughter.”
Ester blinked. Her father had always possessed a vivid imagination, yet she really wasn’t a time traveler. And yet... she couldn’t ignore the strange flutter in her stomach. Was it excitement? Or perhaps a deeply hidden hope?
Hours passed as she repeatedly pondered the words on the note. Finally, as darkness filled the room and the moon cast its pale light through the window, she made a decision. With her heart pounding, she sat on her bed, took the clock from the box, and gazed at its silently wandering hands. Then, with a mix of fear and curiosity, she carefully turned them back by one hour.
At first, nothing happened. Ester held her breath. But suddenly, the air around her began to shimmer, as if an invisible force were distorting the room. The light from her lamp flickered ominously, and a pull tugged at her body. Her heart raced, and she hastily closed her eyes. A dizzy spell overtook her, as if she were being swept into a raging vortex. Then—silence.
Slowly, she opened her eyes—and held her breath. The room was familiar yet different. Her desk had vanished; instead, old magazines were scattered across the floor. Confused, she picked one up and stared in disbelief at the date: ten years ago. A cold shiver ran down her spine.
Ester stepped to the window. Outside, a car that she hadn't seen in years was parked, and the people on the street wore fashions that had long fallen out of style. Not a single smartphone was in sight. Reality hit her with full force—she had truly traveled into the past.
A nervous tingling spread through her stomach as she descended the stairs and stepped out onto the street. She wanted to see for herself, to experience that this was no dream. She strolled through the familiar yet strangely altered streets and suddenly stopped in front of a small café. Her eyes widened as she spotted a familiar figure.
Her father. Younger, carefree, deeply engrossed in a notebook.
Her heart pounded. She wanted to rush over, to embrace him, to tell him how much she missed him—but she held back. What if she changed something? The future was fragile, and even the smallest action could have consequences. Instead, she sat at a nearby table and watched him covertly.
She had never seen him like this before. Full of energy, with a mysterious smile on his lips that spoke of dreams and possibilities. She remembered this man, but the way he now sat before her seemed almost like a stranger. And yet, it suddenly became painfully clear how much she missed him.
With a heavy heart, she decided to return. She turned the hands of the clock once more—this time several hours forward. Again, the strange shimmering, the pull, the vortex of light and shadow came over her. When she opened her eyes once more, she was back in her room. Everything was as it had been—and yet she felt changed.
With trembling knees, she sank onto her bed, the clock still warm in her hand. This was no ordinary heirloom—it was a gateway through time. And it was only the beginning.
An adventure awaited her. An adventure that would lead her through past and future, on a journey through memories and emotions. But for today, she returned the clock to its box. Tomorrow, she would come back. And time itself would tell her a new story.
Another short story from me for you,
your Heinz7777 
Image: Digital Gouache Painting