Hands Of Time [Chapter 4]

As I stand at the door I want to turn and go get my children but instead I slowly open the door and allow my gaze to ascend up the dark staircase. In seconds I too was moving up the stairs, leaving behind me the warmth and light of our main floor and forging ahead into the coolness and dimness of the attic. I moved slowly and carefully up the stairs, my eyes trying to adjust to the new light, or lack thereof. Once at the top of the stairs I was met again with another door, the door leading into the attic. I turned my head down and looked at the foot of the door, light was pouring out from underneath the crack of the door. “What is going on here”, I whisper to myself?
I paused only for a brief moment then slowly opened the door and looked inside. We stored all of our keepsakes and memento’s up in the attic and rarely went up there. Everything was covered with sheets, blankets, and a liberal measure of dust. I blinked my eyes in rapid succession, confusion gripping my mind, I thought I must have been seeing things. At the far end of the room was an old couch and standing before the couch stood a young man and woman, each in their mid teens. “Hey, what are you doing in my house”, I called to them in a stern voice. They just stood there talking to one another, ignoring me. “Hey”! I repeated, louder this time. I was about to tell them to get out of my house, and as I began to do so I took a step into the room. As my head went to pass through the door my body suddenly jerked to an abrupt stop. I couldn’t pass through the door. I looked to my wrist and saw that there was a thin thread-like wire attached to it. I pulled and tugged to get it off but it would not budge. My temper started to flare and I began to violently heave and jerk wildly at the wire, my hands flailing in a semi-spasmodic fashion, trying to free myself from this newly discovered bondage. I quickly stopped this action because each time I jerked at the wire I felt a sharp pain in my body. Strangely enough this pain was not where the wire bound my wrist but instead penetrated into my chest, directly at my heart. “How did this thing get attached to me”, I cried out to the young couple in my attic, both of whom seemed oblivious to my existence. I clutched my aching heart with both my hands, doubled over, then closed my eyes and tried to think about what exactly was happening to me. After a few deep breaths I stood up, opened my eyes and turned my body towards the stairs again. “There’s more than one way to skin a cat”, I mumbled to myself as I rapidly descended the stairs back to the main floor. As I reached the bottom step I saw that the other end of the wire was anchored to the face of the grandfather clock. “What in the world is going on around here” I hissed out in total bewilderment. I wrapped the wire around both of my hands and pulled with all my might, teeth clenched, jaw muscles bulging, but the wire would not come from off of the clock. After two or three strenuous attempts I surrendered to my new oppressor, Grand Father time. I stood before the clock, shoulders slumped, head down, trying to gather some composure. Then I suddenly remembered again my visitors, both outside and inside. I quickly unraveled the wire off from around my hands and lunged back up the stairs. This time instead of trying to yell at them and break the wire I stood like a spectator at a play, watching and listening to the scene before me.