The Clockmaker’s Secret
In the quiet town of Elmridge, nestled between foggy hills and ancient forests, lived an old
clockmaker named Elias. His tiny shop sat at the corner of Maple and Fifth, its windows forever
misted with the breath of ticking timepieces. Clocks of every kind filled the shelves—
grandfather clocks with solemn faces, cuckoo clocks that chirped on the hour, and pocket
watches polished to a golden gleam.
But Elias wasn’t just a craftsman. He was a keeper of something far older than the town itself.
One rainy evening, a young girl named Mira wandered into the shop. She wasn’t looking for a
clock; she was hiding from the storm. Elias offered her tea and let her warm by the fire. As
thunder rolled outside, she noticed a peculiar timepiece on the wall—its hands moved backward.
“That one doesn’t tell time,” Elias said, smiling mysteriously. “It remembers it.”
Mira was fascinated. She returned the next day, and the next. Over weeks, Elias taught her not
only how to fix clocks but how to listen to them. “Time speaks,” he told her once, “but most
people forget how to hear it.”
One day, Elias vanished. No note. No sign. The only clue was the backward-running clock, now
still. But Mira understood. She wound it gently, and when its hands ticked back into motion, the
shop filled with whispers of the past: Elias’s voice, stories of the town, and secrets only time
remembered.
Years later, Mira became Elmridge’s new clockmaker. People came for repairs, but they stayed
for her stories—stories she claimed were told to her by the clocks themselves.
And the backward clock still hung on the wall, ticking quietly in reverse.