Death Clock

Hello Dear Reader,

So I must confess that I have not been accompanying Gemma and Vic on their trips to the junkyard.  Though the idea of Nano enhanced rats is appealing to me, I feel that there are other, less trash-strewn mysteries out there for me to discover.

But after their last outing (still no bottles caps though) they called and said needed to meet right away.  Unfortunately, Robyn and I were busy at the time.  I was able to meet with them later that evening at Muriel’s.  When I entered the diner they were already sitting in a booth, a strangely excited look on their faces.  They clearly had not showered since their trip to the junkyard.  In the middle of the table sat a strange metal box, its black paint chipped.  It had a rounded top with a gauge and a hole about the size of quarter underneath it.

I stared at it for a moment, perplexed, “What’s -”

“We think it’s a Death Clock,” Gemma blurted out.  Vic slid over to make room for me sit down.

“Death Clock?” I asked.  A waitress slid two plates onto the table, gravy fries for Gemma and a Greek omelet for Vic.

“What can I get ya?” our waitress asked, eyeing the death clock.  You can’t live in Kevin’s Crossing for very long without developing a healthy suspicion for strange things.  

“Egg Cream, please,” not wanting to take my eyes off the Death Clock.  The waitress didn’t write down my order, she just stared at the thing for a minute.

“What’s that?” she pointed a long fingernail as if we might not know what she was referring to.

“Death Clock,” Gemma replies.

“Uh huh.  Better not make a mess.”  She walked away.

We all looked at each other.  Gemma was using the fries to scoop up the gravy.  “So what makes you think it’s a death clock?”

“What else would it be?” Vic said.

“Uh, pencil sharpener?”

“We think it works like this; you put your finger in the hole and then the little hand on the meter tells you how long you have to live.”  I lean in and look at the meter, it looks similar to the gas gauge in a car.  There is a bar at the bottom that’s dark on one side and light on the other.  The light end has a skull.  Not very subtle.  The bar is divided into four sections.  There’s a red hand that currently is resting the dark end of the bar.  I was intrigued.  My Egg Cream arrived.

“Does it say where it’s made?”  Already knowing the answer.  Vic spun the device around so I could see the back.  ‘Newton Manufacturing Company’ was pressed into a metal panel.  I nodded.

“I think the real question we should be asking is, who wants to try to it first?” Gemma asked.  Vic turned pale.  It seems that since his experience with the ghost of Horatio Grey he was not feeling very adventurous.

“You didn’t try it already?” I asked in disbelieve.

“Well,” Gemma said slowly “That’s a heavy thing to find out about yourself.  Knowing how close you are to death.”

“Especially if it’s tomorrow,” Vic added.  I reached my hand out, finger pointing towards the hole.

“No,” Gemma said and slapped my hand.

I rubbed my fingers and gave her a sour look.  She grinned back.  Then I did something I'm not proud.

“Look!  Jak-Jak!” And pointed behind them.  The entire diner turned to look.  I shoved my finger into the hole in the death clock.

Then everyone turned back to look at me.  I shrugged and said, “Sorry, missed him.” Everyone grumbled and went back to eating.  Gemma and Vic glared at me.  Then we all looked down at the meter.  It hadn't moved.

“Either you're already dead or it doesn't work” Vic stated.  I frowned.  Gemma yanked my finger from the machine.

Me: Maybe it needs batteries.

Vic: Does it take batteries?

Gemma: I don't know, maybe there's a hamster on a wheel in there.

I sincerely hoped there wasn't a dead hamster in there.  Vic took the thing and pried the panel of the back with his manly strength.  Inside was a compartment that was clearly intended for batteries.  It was empty.  Vic looked relieved.

Me: Does Ziggy's carry death clock batteries?

Gemma: Shit on a stick, they probably do.  They might even sell death clocks.

After that, there wasn’t much left to do but finish our meals and be on our separate ways.  Gemma took the clock with her since she won’t let me have it and Vic didn’t want anything to do with it.  On the way out of Muriel’s I walked past a booth and saw Harold sitting alone.  He was muttering to himself over a cup of coffee and his hair looked thinner than before.  If you don’t remember Harold, dear readers, please go back the fourth posting of this blog (so long ago!).  He was the prematurely balding young man that went nuts and ran into the street naked at Ziggy’s and first introduced me to the strangeness that lurks below the street in Kevin’s Crossing.

PostScript

Today I received a letter from Newton Public Library that my request to view a historical document approved!  I’m finally going to get my hands on that almanac!  Unfortunately Ziggy’s had a sale on ice pops and I spent all of my disposable income for the month.  So it’s going to be a little while until I can get back to the library again.

    I’ll keep you updated.