Minutes, Hours

Anne Lawrence had been fascinated by the clock at her grandparents’ house for as long as she could remember. The name “grandfather clock” often confused her, considering the polished antique belonged to her grandmother. The relic seemed out of place in the otherwise rustic Lawrence family farmhouse. It looked over the family room, stationed between a red-checkered couch and an unfinished wooden coffee table. Although her grandmother loved it dearly, the clock had not chimed since 1994. It had mysteriously stopped working, frozen at 1:23.

It took years of being in and out of her grandparents’ house for Anne to learn how to read the roman numerals around the clock face. She mastered numbers 1-20 before she knew multiplication, all to make sure the clock hands did not move without her knowing. Anne collected several theories as to why the clock did not work anymore.

“A forest fairy cursed it,” her mother claimed two summers ago when Anne was visiting her grandparents. She stood in the kitchen washing dishes while Anne watched the analog clock beside her wistfully, waiting for it to strike 1:23 so she could run and check the living room. “She was angry that a tree was chopped down in her forest to make the clock, so she cursed it to break and spends her days trying to get it back.”

“Nonsense,” her grandma called from the couch. Grandpa Lawrence snored in the recliner across the room, so she turned up the volume of the TV to drown him out. “It broke on the night of an earthquake,” she yelled, stirring her grandpa momentarily. “I never felt it, but the clock did. The force was powerful enough to scramble the machinery.” From his recliner, her grandpa sighed mockingly and went back to sleep.

Last summer, Anne returned to her grandparents for their annual visit. She had practiced staying awake late at night, hoping she could make it to the clock at 1:23 A.M. instead. Nothing ever happened at 1:23 P.M. Her brother, Tommy, caught sight of her plan around 11:30 at night when he snuck downstairs to break into Grandpa's stash of Fig Newtons. Anne struggled to stay awake, reading a book in the recliner. “You know, you're gonna die if that thing ever starts working again. It's connected to your heart, so when the ticking starts, your heartbeat will stop.” Tommy rifled to the pantry and found a fresh sleeve of hidden cookies.

Anne’s father was the first to wake up to her crying, followed closely by her grandpa. Huddled in the corner, Anne watched her father yell at Tommy for an explanation while her grandpa joined her in the corner with an embrace.

“Don’t listen to him Annie, that old thing is just a piece of junk that broke! It’s older than me even,” he joked, trying to hide the pain in his knees as he kneeled down.

“You promise?” Anne asked between a stifled cry.

“I promise.”

“I made the whole thing up,” Tommy told Anne a couple of weeks after their trip. It was clear to her parents that Anne would not let this go. Anne sat on the floor of her room while braiding her hair, startled by Tommy’s willingness to talk. He rarely set foot in her room and never started conversations with her for no reason. She caught a glimpse of her father down the hallway, staring intently at Tommy’s back while failing to conceal himself.

“Okay,” Anne responded coldly.

“I’m serious Anne. It’s not true, none of it. I made it up,” Tommy recited robotically, as if he had previously rehearsed it. Anne thought for a moment, searching for a reason to reject his apology. She wanted to believe him. She wished that forest fairies were real or earthquakes contained other-worldly power. At this rate, she would have settled with the fact that the clock is an ancient artifact with faulty machinery. Anything but a connection with her heart.

***

A year older and finally past her fear of dying if the clock ever moved again, Anne and her family arrived at the farm around midday. She was always the first to the doorsteps and today was no exception. She sprinted past Tommy to the house, leaving her parents to carry her luggage. To get to the clock as fast as possible, she would hug both grandparents at the same time instead of individually and admire how big she had grown upfront instead of waiting for them to make the observation. Anne pressed the doorbell, which made a rooster caw echo through the house.

Her plan was ruined when Grandma Lawrence answered the door alone, with her husband likely asleep on the recliner. Tommy rushed past Anne and took the first hug as she waited on the front porch. She saw him grin as their grandma slowly wrapped her arms around him, blocking Anne from getting through the door. Her father caught up, handing Anne the suitcase she had left in the car.

“You need to help out too, Annie,” he said as she begrudgingly took the bag. With her luggage in tow, Anne waited her turn at the door.

“Look how big I've grown,” Anne shouted, much to her grandmother's confusion when it was finally time for her hug. “51 and ¾ inches.”

“That's great dear, go say hello to Grandpa too!” Anne did not wait for her to finish before running into the house, immediately ditching the suitcase at the entryway. However, her destination was the kitchen, specifically the analog clock perched next to the sink. The blocky red numbers read 1:15. Anne celebrated her timing, having plenty to spare before the grandfather clock’s fated time would pass. She ran to the living room and sat on the floor so that nothing would obstruct her view of the clock face. As she counted the numerals around the rim, conversation from the front caused her to lose her place.

“I didn’t see the pickup out front, what happened Ma?” Anne’s father asked between the shuffling of suitcases and duffle bags.

“Ah, we got rid of the stupid thing, Don’t need it after all.”

“So you’ve been living out here without a car? That’s dangerous, especially with all the break-ins that have happened around the area,” Anne’s mother chimed in, startled by her mother-in-law’s statement. Anne recalled overhearing a previous conversation about the break-ins between her father and her grandmother. Although she spoke over the phone, Anne could hear her grandmother’s exasperated tone easily, upset with her father for expressing his worries.

“We were gonna get a new one, but we haven’t gotten around to it yet. We pay the neighbors’ kids to bring us groceries, so why else would we need to leave?”

Their conversation dragged on but Anne tuned them out, losing interest when the robbery discussion subsided. She decided instead to focus on her mission. Tommy strolled into living with a poorly concealed, paper towel-wrapped Fig Newton sticking out of his pocket. “It’s 1:22 Annie, get ready,” he whispered delicately, knowing they were in earshot of their father. Anne clenched her fists in anticipation, unsure whether she wanted something to change. A minute slowly passed. Nothing happened.

Anne’s parents had decided to drive into town for dinner that night. Tommy snickered to himself as they left, mumbling something about “bar hopping” that Anne did not understand. Her plot to stay up until 1:23 A.M. was coming together without the obstacle of her parents being home. The children were given a 9:30 bedtime to accommodate their grandparents' sleep schedule, although both parties knew that would not happen. Tommy drifted off around midnight, leaving Anne alone in the living room. Whenever she began to feel tired, Anne looked out the sliding door windows to the screened-in porch, where she would count the stars in a slim pocket beneath the ceiling. She often walked to the kitchen and back to check the actual time. From the kitchen window, she surveyed the outside of the house. With no cars in the driveway and no lights on whatsoever, the house appeared completely abandoned from the outside. Her thoughts drifted back to her grandmother’s argument with Anne’s father from earlier. She wished she had paid better attention to the details. The only thing she could conclude was the house must always look empty after Grandma Lawrence got rid of her car.

As 1:23 drew closer, Anne settled in her spot on the floor. Staying still for too long proved to be difficult and she found herself drifting off to sleep while sitting up. Her head sank slowly toward the ground with some stifled snores. She was prompted awake once her chin hit her chest; she had no idea how much time remained once she woke up. As a distraction, Anne counted the clock face a final few times.

A rattling sensation suddenly struck the house. Earthquake Anne thought to herself, caught off guard in a sleepy state. Remembering all the earthquake drills she had learned from school, Anne lunged underneath the coffee table and covered her head with her hands. The sound oscillated between Anne’s ears as she became frozen under the table, unsure of what to do next. Any moment now, her parents would rush through the door to come and grab her or Tommy would start laughing from afar, revealing that the entire ordeal was a cruel prank.

After she became still again, Anne realized the house itself was not rattling, just the back door. It shook with an intensity unfamiliar to Anne, as if someone attempted to open it without knowing it was a sliding panel. She buried her head in her knees, masking the sound of her breath while covering her ears. An updraft of cool wind notified Anne that the door had finally opened. Unmoving, all she could hear was a twinkling sound traveling around the room. Another burst of cold air reached her, like a pair of wigs had fluttered in her direction. A minute passed in what felt like an hour to Anne. She could hear items in the house being overturned and thrown around as the twinkling grew angrier. They are searching for something she realized as she felt periodic vibrations of what could only imagine as beating wings around her. It must be the clock, she thought. They want it back!

Anne tried to silence her thoughts as the vibrations grew closer to her position. She had chosen a hiding spot directly beside the grandfather clock and desperately attempted to conceal herself. Her heart rate had grown too intense for her to control, drowning out any other noises that consumed the room. It's just a piece of junk that broke, she thought to herself to calm down, hearing her heartbeat pounding in her ears, it's just a piece of junk that broke.