The Clockmaker’s Last Customer

The old clockmaker had fixed every timepiece in town, except one.

A watch without hands, sealed shut with black wax, rumored to hold a curse.

On a night thick with fog, a man cloaked in shadows entered silently, carrying that very watch.

“It stopped the moment you were born,” he said, voice like cracking ice. “Fix it, or lose more than time.”

The clockmaker’s fingers trembled as he pried the case open.

Inside, the gears spun backward. Slow and deliberate, like a heartbeat reversing.

He worked as whispers crawled up the walls, the air growing heavy with cold.

Tick… tock… tick… tock. Each sound a distant scream trapped in the silence.

When the watch finally ticked forward, the man smiled, revealing teeth sharper than shadows.

The clockmaker gasped as an icy hand gripped his heart.

His breath froze, eyes wide. Time wasn’t just caught up; it was tearing him apart.

Outside, the fog swallowed the town whole,

And inside, the clockmaker’s last tick echoed in the void.