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The antique clock chimed on my manager’s desk.
It was running slow.
Why that man kept an old wooden clock was beyond me. Everything else in his office was modern, severe, and cold. Even the manager himself was a mixture of the dark and metallic with his slate eyes, black suit and the shock of silver hair beside each temple. That wooden clock with its ticking hands and clicking cogs sat amidst the black and steel like an unexpected guest.
I felt as out of place as it looked.
The manager glanced up at me from my printed slides held loosely in his hands. “I’m going to need you to come in early tomorrow, Howard. I need this presentation ready by 9:15 and it’s nowhere near it.” I wasn’t surprised. After he had told me how disappointing my past three-months efforts had been to him, I knew I’d have to fix it. I only wished he had told me sooner than the day before.
“Yes, sir. I’ll be staying late tonight and I’ll come in early to put in the finishing touches.” I always surprised myself with how little of my frustration showed in my voice. He nodded and I knew that I was excused. I got up to leave but when I reached the door he cleared his throat.
“I will likely be here late tonight as well… please feel free to check in with me if you have any questions.” I looked at him trying to mask my surprise. He had never offered to help me before…
All I said was “thank you, sir,” and I retreated to my desk on the other side of the building.
As the afternoon progressed, I worked on the other urgent tasks that crossed my desk, knowing that my night was getting later and later with each moment that I couldn’t get started on the presentation. Still, I smiled when the secretary would bring me a note with her apologetic look and ducking appreciation; she was the only person who worked as closely with the manager as me, and she knew I wouldn’t be sleeping much that night.
How right she was. I don’t sleep at all anymore.
The digits switched to “5:00” across the office and I knew that somewhere a bell would be chiming 5 times in a few moments. Somehow I knew that that wooden clock would still be running slow. It was like I could feel the cogs turning slowly in the back of my mind.
The time dragged on for me as my co-workers left as quickly as they could, infusing forced cheerfulness into their farewells:
“You’ll get out of here in no time!” And “stick with it! You’ll have his job soon.” Everyone was certain that the manager would retire any minute… but people had believed that since before I even started working here.
The office cleared and the lights dimmed, and finally, I could work on the project that was hanging over my head. I made a copy of the presentation in case, after my sleepless night, the manager preferred the first version. It wouldn’t be the first time, I thought bitterly. Ah well…
I worked for what felt like an hour accomplishing little—rewriting and revising the same slide over and over without being satisfied. Then I looked at the clock on my desk.
“8:26?” I thought my clock must be fast, but my phone verified the time.
I should’ve gone home. I should’ve taken my things and left… but I didn’t.
Feeling oddly shaken at the loss of time, and unable to get a handle on what the manager was asking me to do, I decided to take him up on his offered help.
I left my desk, feeling weak; I hadn’t had time for lunch that day… like most days. I headed across the office. All around, the clocks witnessed the time that felt so wrong to me, but I continued to the manager’s office door.
I knocked right as the half-hour chimed once. I waited a moment, hoping that he was gone, my heart beating in time with the minute hand I couldn’t see. Surely he must’ve left by now? I thought to myself, but then—
“Come in.” He spoke from behind the door. I entered the office. “Still here? Time’s getting away from you.”
“Yes, sir… I was wondering if you could clarify what you needed me to do.” The manager put his index fingers to his temples, a sign of exhaustion uncharacteristic of him.
“Honestly, I don’t know what to do… I’ve been feeling rather worn down recently.” He glanced at his old clock then shook his head. “I’ve greatly appreciated the sacrifices you’ve made recently. You’ve given me your time… and that’s the most valuable thing there is.”
I was floored. Was the manager really thanking me? Was all my hard work finally being recognized?
“… Thank you, sir. I look forward to working closely with you, in the future.” He nodded and smiled a tired smile.
“Yes, I think we will be working very closely.” I smiled, elated, and turned to leave. “Before you go, would you give my old clock a few turns? It’s been running slow.”
“Of course…” I walked back to that familiar austere desk and reached out to the key on the back of the strange wooden clock. I never second-guessed such a harmless request.
I twisted it once, twice, three times; all the while the manager watched me over his folded arms, leaning in closer with each turn.
I lost track of how many times I had turned the key when suddenly the clock started chiming, wild and dissonant. I covered my ears but the sound pierced through my trembling fingers.
I backed away, then fell to the floor. I crawled toward the door feeling weaker and weaker, heavier and heavier, stiffer and stiffer and still the screaming toll of the clock assaulted my ears.
The manager rose slowly from his chair. He picked up the clock as he passed the edge of his desk and advanced toward me, holding it before him.
“Thank you for your time.”
All went dark.
***
I woke up the next morning unable to move.
I stood motionless, staring at the empty wall behind the manager’s desk. What happened? Did I pass out?
I tried to close my eyes, turn my head, lift my fingers but all I could manage to do was stare forward, unblinking. My arms and hands spun slowly in front of my face without my will or control. That’s when I noticed the ticking of the clockwork in place of my heart.
I couldn’t see the wooden clock, but I was intimately aware of where it was.
It was me.
The manager walked in, sat down and smiled. He didn’t look tired anymore and his hair was as black as his suit.
His smile widened as he looked at me and he picked up his desk phone.
“Send Miller in; Howard spent his last day with me yesterday. Thank you.” He hung up and looked back at me. “There are always more cogs for the machine.”
I tried to scream, but all that came out was tick…tock…tick…