The sign in the window said, “Closed”, and Christopher Van Meter felt a wave of fear rise in him. It was the only jewelry store in this godforsaken town, and he needed to get his watch fixed fast.
It had stopped, and he could feel the change happening already.
He had always been so careful about not getting stuck like this. And then he thought of Daria, who was back in the hotel at the top of the hill. God, she was beautiful: jet black hair and green eyes, and that little ghost of a smile. It had promised so much, that smile. It had warmed him, made him forget the pain in his soul, enticed him to end his long bachelorhood. He had never gambled, not once, until her. “You only live once,” she would say, and he’d thrill to her randy kisses in an elevator, or a park, or a busy street.
He heard the shout of a child, and he turned to see a boy riding his bike around the cobblestone circle at the center of town. Around and around he rode, shouting from the sheer joy of being alive. There’s eternity for you, Van Meter thought. Ticking clocks don’t exist for him. But he, Christopher Van Meter, was bound by space and time. He was stuck in a village in the Catskills, on his honeymoon, and the jewelry store was closed. His watch had started slowing down yesterday, but he couldn’t think of it then -- Daria took up all his time. Early in the morning he had awoken to stiffness in his joints, and he knew before looking that the watch was stopped. He’d tiptoed out of the room and walked as fast as he could down here to the town square.
Now he realized he’d have to drive someplace else, find another town with a jeweler who was open. It was his only recourse. Daria wouldn’t understand, so he’d just have to leave. He’d make up a story -- an appointment, an emergency, had come up -- if he ever saw her again. He looked back up the street, winding up to the hotel perched like an Alpine chalet on top of the mountain. The effort it would take to walk up there and get the car would fatigue him.
But that boy riding his bike around the square. Look at all the energy he had! Christopher lifted his arm and waved laboriously, and the boy pedaled over.
“Can you help me?” Christopher said, with a voice that sounded like a creaky hinge.
“What do you need?” the boy said.
“A taxi. Do you know where I can get a taxi?”
“Old man Jones runs a taxi service. Over on the other side of town.”
Christopher’s heart leaped. “Can you ride over and ask him to come here? I want to use his service. I’ll give you a quarter.”
“A quarter? That’s not much money.”
“What? Why, when I was a boy. . .”
“That was a long time ago, Mister.”
And Christopher realized it was. “Okay. I’ll give you a dollar.” He reached in his pocket, and held out a dollar in his trembling hand. The boy’s eyes lit up, and he snatched the bill.
“That’s more like it,” he shouted. “It’ll only take me ten minutes.” He took off, pedaling with that extravagance of energy, that child’s ecstasy in being alive on a crisp Fall day.
Christopher sat down on a bench. The sun was rising in the sky, beating down on his head, but Christopher’s bones felt chilled. How long was ten minutes? The boy couldn’t possibly know. Once, he had been that way -- the days were endless. Now he could count the seconds by the spots appearing on his hand.
It was weakness to let a woman turn his head. But oh, he had never felt so alive.
When the taxi drove up, the white haired old man behind the wheel got out and looked around. He couldn’t see anything but an old-fashioned vest pocket watch on the bench. “That Irving boy ought to get a whipping,” he said out loud. “Taking me away from my crossword puzzle, just to play a joke.” He picked up the watch and held it up to the light. The numbers were in some language he’d never seen before. “Well, it’s not a total loss,” he said. “Somebody’ll pay a good price for this at the outdoor market next Saturday.” He got back in the cab, slammed the door, and drove off. A handful of dust whirled in the breeze as he sped away.
THE END
THIS STORY IS FROM MY COLLECTION OF HORROR STORIES CALLED "13 HORROR BUNDLE". YOU CAN FIND IT ON AMAZON HERE.
It had stopped, and he could feel the change happening already.
He had always been so careful about not getting stuck like this. And then he thought of Daria, who was back in the hotel at the top of the hill. God, she was beautiful: jet black hair and green eyes, and that little ghost of a smile. It had promised so much, that smile. It had warmed him, made him forget the pain in his soul, enticed him to end his long bachelorhood. He had never gambled, not once, until her. “You only live once,” she would say, and he’d thrill to her randy kisses in an elevator, or a park, or a busy street.
He heard the shout of a child, and he turned to see a boy riding his bike around the cobblestone circle at the center of town. Around and around he rode, shouting from the sheer joy of being alive. There’s eternity for you, Van Meter thought. Ticking clocks don’t exist for him. But he, Christopher Van Meter, was bound by space and time. He was stuck in a village in the Catskills, on his honeymoon, and the jewelry store was closed. His watch had started slowing down yesterday, but he couldn’t think of it then -- Daria took up all his time. Early in the morning he had awoken to stiffness in his joints, and he knew before looking that the watch was stopped. He’d tiptoed out of the room and walked as fast as he could down here to the town square.
Now he realized he’d have to drive someplace else, find another town with a jeweler who was open. It was his only recourse. Daria wouldn’t understand, so he’d just have to leave. He’d make up a story -- an appointment, an emergency, had come up -- if he ever saw her again. He looked back up the street, winding up to the hotel perched like an Alpine chalet on top of the mountain. The effort it would take to walk up there and get the car would fatigue him.
But that boy riding his bike around the square. Look at all the energy he had! Christopher lifted his arm and waved laboriously, and the boy pedaled over.
“Can you help me?” Christopher said, with a voice that sounded like a creaky hinge.
“What do you need?” the boy said.
“A taxi. Do you know where I can get a taxi?”
“Old man Jones runs a taxi service. Over on the other side of town.”
Christopher’s heart leaped. “Can you ride over and ask him to come here? I want to use his service. I’ll give you a quarter.”
“A quarter? That’s not much money.”
“What? Why, when I was a boy. . .”
“That was a long time ago, Mister.”
And Christopher realized it was. “Okay. I’ll give you a dollar.” He reached in his pocket, and held out a dollar in his trembling hand. The boy’s eyes lit up, and he snatched the bill.
“That’s more like it,” he shouted. “It’ll only take me ten minutes.” He took off, pedaling with that extravagance of energy, that child’s ecstasy in being alive on a crisp Fall day.
Christopher sat down on a bench. The sun was rising in the sky, beating down on his head, but Christopher’s bones felt chilled. How long was ten minutes? The boy couldn’t possibly know. Once, he had been that way -- the days were endless. Now he could count the seconds by the spots appearing on his hand.
It was weakness to let a woman turn his head. But oh, he had never felt so alive.
When the taxi drove up, the white haired old man behind the wheel got out and looked around. He couldn’t see anything but an old-fashioned vest pocket watch on the bench. “That Irving boy ought to get a whipping,” he said out loud. “Taking me away from my crossword puzzle, just to play a joke.” He picked up the watch and held it up to the light. The numbers were in some language he’d never seen before. “Well, it’s not a total loss,” he said. “Somebody’ll pay a good price for this at the outdoor market next Saturday.” He got back in the cab, slammed the door, and drove off. A handful of dust whirled in the breeze as he sped away.
THE END
THIS STORY IS FROM MY COLLECTION OF HORROR STORIES CALLED "13 HORROR BUNDLE". YOU CAN FIND IT ON AMAZON HERE.
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