Max has a minion!

Henrik the Rhett

Tic... Tic...

---

There in the middle of town, on a street you've walked a hundred times before and most likely even a hundred times before that, stands a building. More like an old work-shed, really, with its untreated wood siding and shutters on hinges boldly defying the inevitable collapse. And you keep on walking, as you've always done, past the store front and the rusty sign above the door that reads only, SHOPPE. That's when you feel it. A sudden jump in blood pressure, your heart pounding on your eardrums. Steadily. Rhythmically.

Maybe this is how it ends. In front of a shop you've never even noticed before. The doctors said it would be sudden. But here? Now? So soon?

Chimes above the door softly announce your arrival. You didn't intend to turn around. You scarcely remember placing your hand on the door. But there you are, regardless of intentions.

Bare bulbs hang suspended from old wooden rafters, humming away their staticy electric tunes. And under the soft buzzing and the fading tinkling of the door chimes you feel it as much as you hear it, a slow mechanical thrumming that falls in time with the beating of your heart so that you aren't sure whether the dull throbbing in your head is coming from within or without.

Tic. Tic.

You find yourself at the back of the store, past dusty bureaus standing on broken legs and old bicycles with chains long rusted, shelves lined with china dolls whose fractured faces tell tales of love and wear. It's here at the back that the pulsing in your head finally makes sense.

Clocks. Clocks fill the entire back wall so that not a speck of the weathered board that they rest upon can be seen. And for a moment everything stops and there is nothing but the sound. Tic. Tic. Tic. A scene from the captain's nightmare. But something more. Every second hand beats in time with it's neighbors and not a single hand skips.

You notice the old man. He's been there all along, propped up on a stool with his callused hands deep in the belly of a time machine.

"A time machine, eh?"

The old man chuckles under his breath. His eyes meet your own, the deep wrinkles that trace their ways around the corners of his eyes turn up at his smile and he winks.

"A time machine. That is the perfect way to put it. Since you didn't. My name is Massimo and this is my shoppe. I am in the business of keeping time. All time. Something you, my friend, are clearly in need of. Or else you'd never have made it past the door."

Confusion and fear and a growing sense of urgency roll up your spine, raising the hairs along the back of your neck. You only just got the news. You're out of time. Any day now. Any hour. Any minute. Your time is up. But just maybe...

Massimo pulls his hands from the clock, laying a copper gear upon the table with a clink and folding his hands on the glass top in front of him.

"I guess it's time to make a deal, then. I will give you all the time you need. All I ask from you..."


art by GlaceLeau
premade profile by Chen