Hands Of Time [Chapters 3-4]

To my horror I see a black van outside of my house. My mind reels at light speed, trying to find an answer to a question that I didn’t know yet. I blurt out to myself, “I love my children”, I want my children, why have they come to my house.” Then I yelled to myself, my hands grabbing the hair on the sides of my head, “this has to be a mistake”! As my words bounced off the front window of my house they seemed to shatter all the noise that was disturbing our world. In an instant, silence ruled the airwaves, you could hear a pin drop, but instead I heard something much louder, the van doors outside slamming shut. I chop my words off so as not to be heard from the intruders outside.

Four men had exited a black van, they were now standing on my front sidewalk, lighting cigarettes and laughing. They were all dressed in black army uniforms with a swastika insignia on both shoulders. Even in their laughter, their faces seem hard, cold and cruel, anything but humorous. Their laughing faces seem more sinister and heartless then comical and jovial. I don’t know who called them but the death squad was just outside of my house. They were here to take an unwanted child from my home and that child would never bother anyone again. But I didn’t have any unwanted children, I screamed in my head. I quickly ran back into the kitchen and frantically looked into the terrified faces of my wife and children. I tell my wife to take my two oldest children into their bedroom and hide them underneath their beds. I then grab my two little ones, one under each of my arms, and run them into their bedroom. When we get to their room, I hug them tightly and whisper into their ears that everything is going to be all right, but they need to hide for a while, and they need to be very quite. They each squirm underneath their beds and I quickly slap the face of the clown on the wall, killing the light in their room. Quickly I run back out into the hallway and look at the clock. What seemed like an
eternity is only a little over a minute, Grandfather’s face now says 5:59 p.m. I look to the front window and instinctively allow my gaze to lead my feet there. My whole body is tense as I await to hear the doorbell ring or pounding on the door, to shatter the silence of my nightmare. But as I reached the window again I see that the men outside are not coming towards my house, but are still smoking, talking and laughing. My head shifts towards my wife and again I ask her why are they outside? She starts to cry again and tells me that she doesn’t know what is going on. Just then the clock begins its hourly ritual. The first gong nearly causes me to jump right out of my skin! Six-o-clock! As the chime’s ring from within the clock they also simultaneously begin going off inside of my head. Recognition! Illumination! Suddenly, it came to me! I understood why the soldiers were here. The clock was ringing for it’s 6th and final time when a loud noise from upstairs brings my attention to the ceiling of the room. For some reason I don’t want to check to see what the cause of this sound is, but my body instinctively begins to
be drawn to the attic door, like a pin to a magnet.

Part 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.