Tock!

Tell me. No, no, that's not right. I mean, not phrased correctly. I seek an answer, so, answer me. Do you believe in fate? No, that's not exactly what I mean. Do you believe in curses? Yes, yes, that's what it is, a curse! But then again... that's it! It's both. Is that possible? Can it be both? Can one be cursed by fate? Or maybe fated by a curse? Ahhhh! Whichever, it has happened to me. Come. Sit down. Listen to my story.1


I was walking down the street. It was a beautiful, sunny day. Actually, it was very sunny. Too sunny. I knew it was going to be sunny. I always check the forecast. Be prepared! That's my mantra. There are no surprises if you are prepared. I wasn't going to get burned again. No sir! Every inch of exposed skin was carefully lathered with #45 sunscreen. . . every inch! 2

Once I inadvertently missed a spot, and oh, did I get burned! It turned red and hurt for days and days. I was sure I had smothered myself with sunscreen. How could it have happened? Wait a minute! I remember now. A man had bumped into me. Yes, yes, that was it! I saw him coming. He was looking down instead of watching where he was going. I stepped to the side to avoid him and at the last second he stepped in the same direction and bumped into me. He touched me! Oh, the look he gave me, as though it was my fault. He touched me. He touched my arm! He stole my sunscreen! It was his fault that I got sunburned. Never again. Never again, I tell you. I keep the bottle in my pocket. Be prepared!3

Where was I? Ah, yes, I was walking down the street. It was a beautiful sunny day. Actually, it was very sunny, and hot. Too hot. I was starting to perspire. I hate to perspire. Normally I rub antiperspirant all over my body. I loathe the feeling of sweat on my body. The way it beads and runs in little streams makes my skin crawl.4

Hot, sunny days are the worst. I hate going out on hot, sunny days. They create such a dilemma. If I cover myself with antiperspirant, the sunscreen won't stick. If I leave off the antiperspirant, the sweat pours out of me and the sunscreen runs away in those little streams. So I have developed my sunny day strategy. I wear long pants and long sleeves. I used to wear gloves, but it was so difficult doing things with them on and I got tired of taking them off and putting them on and taking them off. I also wear a wide brimmed hat which protects me from the sun. Sunlight can still get under my hat by bouncing off of car windows and mirrors, so I coat my face and neck with sunscreen. That's all I have to protect, oh, and my hands of course. I have to keep putting it on my hands. Every time I am obligated to touch something, I have to put more on my hands.5

Okay, so it was a hot, sunny day. I was going to the bank to. . . never mind, it's none of your business. I was out walking. It was a hot, sunny day. I could feel the sweat starting to form on my hands. I needed to get out of the sun so I could wipe the sweat off and apply a fresh layer of good old #45.6

I was near an old, secondhand store. Let’s not be delicate, it was a junk dealer. It was dingy and disgusting, but I could feel beads forming. I had to get out of the sun! I went in and an obnoxious little bell announced my arrival. It stunk in there. I was gasping for breath as the musty air coated my lungs.7

A man sat behind a counter with a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. He just sat there and stared at me. The only muscles he seemed to have control of were his eyes. They followed me. Oh, the look he gave me! Did he think I was going to steal some of his precious junk? The only time he blinked was when some of the smoke crawled up his face and licked his eyeballs.8

I tried to be nonchalant and pretend not to notice that he was staring at me. I decided to put on a show for my captivated audience of one. I became the curious shopper. I walked up and down the aisles looking at things with feigned curiosity as though I might actually buy something. All the while I was cleverly and discreetly dabbing the sweat from my hands and reapplying the sunscreen.9

There was so much junk! Every shelf was crammed with oddities. Piles on the floor. Stacks in the corner. There was junk hanging from the ceiling! I had to be careful not to touch anything. God only knows what kind of germs were scurrying around. Bacteria and viruses vying for the chance to jump on my coat and crawl up my sleeve. 10

Mission accomplished. I had successfully donned a new layer of sun armor. I couldn't wait to get out of that place. Side stepping a huge, old. . . I'm not even sure what it was, but it was partially blocking my escape. Anyway, I got around the thing and then I saw it. 11

I was almost out the door. I was just seconds away from freedom. I stopped. I couldn't tear my eyes from it. I was turning around and walking toward it. It was a clock. A clock! It was the oddest, most strangely beautiful clock I'd ever seen. I walked right over and picked it up. Yes! I actually picked it up. I think it was a mantle clock. I'm not sure since I'd never had a mantle. Nevertheless, it was a clock. It was colorful. It was so uniquely. . . It was probably a piece of junk, but there was something about it. I had to have it. Don't ask me why, I had no answer then, nor do I now. Call it fate. No, no, it's a curse, that's what it is. See, I told you it was a curse! 12

What did I do next? Oh, yes, yes, the story. I walked up to the proprietor. I was about to place it on top of the glass display case he was sitting behind, when I saw all the dust and bread crumbs. I stopped in mid-motion and held it. I cleared my throat and asked him how much he wanted for the clock. I was careful not to sound too excited about my find. I didn't want him quoting an exorbitant price. 13

He said, "$12.95."14

I was shocked! Not by the price, but by his voice! Have you ever heard the sound a goat makes just before it is slaughtered? No, hmm, neither have I, but that's what his voice made me think of. It was the most bizarre sound I’d ever heard escape from parted lips. 15

“And how much would that be with the tax?” I asked. 16

“It’s included,” he squawked back.17

I cradled the clock in one arm as I fumbled with my wallet. I extricated some money and carefully counted out and laid thirteen dollars on the dust. I thanked him and started to back away. 18

“What about your change?”19

“No, no, that’s okay, keep it.” I couldn’t wait to get out of there. 20

“What about your receipt?”21

“No, no, that’s okay, keep it.” My voice quavered. I needed some fresh air.22

“Ain’t no returns without a receipt,” he grumbled. 23

“Yes, yes, I fully understand, I shan’t be returning . . . it.”24

“You want a bag for it?”25

Was he dense or something? I just wanted to get out of there. How much more obvious could I be? 26

“No, no, that’s okay.” I turned and practically ran out the door. I could hear him laughing as I burst into the sunlight. Sunlight! It never felt so good to be back in the sunlight. I completely forgot about going to the. . . never mind. I went back to my apartment with my newfound treasure. 27

Once home, I shed my clothes and threw them into the washer, hat, shoes, and all! I put in detergent, set it to “hot water only”, added some bleach, then a little more bleach. I set the timer for the “extra long” wash cycle. As I closed the lid, hot water started to gush in and flood my clothes.28

I took a long cool shower. After applying a brand new layer of antiperspirant, I put on shorts and a t-shirt. Armed with long rubber gloves and disinfectant, I cleansed my clock. I set it on the kitchen table. I sat down and stared at it with head propped in hands. It was so . . . so . . . different. I was at a loss. It just didn’t seem that the right words had been invented to describe it.29

As we sat there staring face to face, a thought came to me. Did it work? It never occurred to me that I may have spent thirteen hard earned dollars on a clock that didn’t work! I picked it up and examined it closely. There was no “on” switch. No place for batteries. What kind of clock was it? There was a key sticking out of the back. Maybe it had to be unlocked in order to open the battery compartment. I turned the key to the right and then to the left. Nothing. It didn’t open. Great! I bought a broken clock. I shook it. It didn’t sound like there were any broken pieces in it. I turned the key again. It went all the way around. I turned it again. I could feel that something was going on inside. I turned it again. Yesss! That’s it! I’d heard of these before. It was a wind-up clock!30

It made a sound, a tick. It was the sweetest sound I’d ever heard. It was softer than a hummingbird’s whisper. It was like an angel giggling. It was honey for my ears. I turned the key again and again. It worked!31

The next sound that came out of the clock was so shocking that I nearly dropped it. A tock! It was the most horrifying sound imaginable. How could something so beautiful make such a sound? It tortured me like dirty fingernails being dragged across my eardrums. It thumped in my head like knuckles on my skull. It was like a belch from the very bowels of hell itself. How could anything crafted by the hands of man make such a hideous sound?32

Tick. There it was again. So wondrous, so. . .33

TOCK! No! No! How can you do this to me?34

Tick. Ah, there you are, please. . .35

TOCK! Horrors! Am I to be tempted each second only to be tortured on the half?36

The clock was running. There was no doubt left in my mind. It worked. Oh, how it worked.37

I was hypnotized by the clock. Each tick was a song of seduction. A siren beckoning me closer, whispering intimate secrets in my ear. Closer, it said. Come closer. But it was a trap! The tock was laying in wait, ready to pounce on me. Each tock was a tiger tearing and shredding my ears. Each carnivorous clunk consumed another piece of my soul.38

It was a vile abomination. I had to destroy it. I had to smash it and grind it to bits. I raised it high overhead. I was determined to end this misery, but before I could hurl it downward, the tick pleaded in my ear. It cried and begged for mercy. Its voice was so sad, so sad. I lowered it gently. All the while the tock taunted me, mocked me for being so weak. He dared me to smash it. He dared me! But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t.39

I was doomed. A cruel twist of fate had delivered me into a topsy-turvy nightmare. No, no, not fate. It was a curse, a curse I tell you. But why? Who? Who would do such a thing to me? It was the shopkeeper! He knew the clock was evil! He wanted to get rid of it. He tricked me into buying it. Oh, how could I have fallen into such a trap?40

Tick41

TOCK!42

Tick43

TOCK!44

Must I spend the rest of my life listening to these twins of torment? Destined to savor the tick while suffering the tock? I couldn’t stand it any longer. . . the pleading and mocking, pleading and mocking. . .45

I ran and got my pillow. That would silence it! As I lowered the pillow, the tick cried out, “No, no, I won’t be able to breathe.”46

And the tock barked out a challenge, “Do it, do it. Kill her! Kill her!” 47

I dropped the pillow and cried. I couldn’t do it. The tick thanked me over and over and over while the tock laughed at me. The laugh was driving me crazy. I had to stop it. Aha! I had a new plan, a great idea! I would smother just the tock! If I timed it just right and quickly dropped and raised the pillow, I would only hear the tick. I hovered over the clock with the pillow. The tick asked what I was doing. I winked to let her know it would be alright. Before the tock could complain I rammed the pillow down on the clock. It worked! No tock! It was wonderful. I kept it up.48

Tick.49

Wmmph.50

Tick.51

Wmmph.52

Every great plan has a flaw. After ten minutes, my arms were getting tired. I couldn’t do it forever. I threw the pillow to the floor in defeat. The tock laughed and laughed and laughed. He sounded stronger! How could that be? He was getting stronger and louder.53

The tock called me over and told me a secret. He told me to bang my head on the wall. He said I wouldn’t be able to hear him while my head was banging on the wall. It seemed so simple. Would it work? The tick cried out.54

It’s a trick.55

It’s a trick. 56

It’s a trick.57

And the tock mocked me and mocked me and mocked me. 58

I had to try it. I had to know if it would work. I stepped up to the wall and timed it just right. Whack! It worked. It worked! I did not hear the tock! I smiled and the tick sighed. 59

Tick.60

WHACK!61

Tick.62

WHACK!63

Tick.64

WHACK!65

My head started bleeding, but I kept right on smiling as my precious tick sang me a song. I heard someone yelling, the landlord maybe, something about the noise. Stop the banging! But I couldn’t, it was so beautiful, so peaceful. Finally, it was just me and the tick. I didn’t hear my door open. Didn’t see who came in. Blood was in my eyes. Someone wrestled me to the ground and pinned me down. I kept banging my head on the floor. I had perfect rhythm. I never missed a beat.66

Soon after more people arrived. They strapped me to something and restrained my head. I couldn’t bang my head but it didn’t matter anymore. They took me away and I could no longer hear the clock. 67

Well, that’s it. The end of my story. There’s nothing more to tell. You see, it was the clock. The clock was cursed, not me. I’m fine now, now that I’m away from the clock. The clock is gone. They told me it’s gone. I’m fine now. Tell them I’m fine and they’ll let me go home.68


I had listened to his story intently, jotting down a few notes as he talked. It was getting late. The session was almost over. I removed the pocket watch from my vest to check the time. When I opened it, he realized what it was. He jumped back and screamed as though I had unleashed a deadly poison into the air. I quickly closed my watch and shoved it back into my pocket, but it was too late. He had heard it. He ran up to me and grabbed my arm. He begged me to open the watch again. He pleaded mercilessly until I acquiesced. I took it out and opened it. The smile that grew across his face was enormous. His eyes beamed. He began to clap his hands. As he bounced up and down, he began to sing. Tick, tick, tick. . . 69

I had never really given it much thought. No reason to, I guess, until now. My pocket watch did not tock. It just said, "tick, tick, tick. . . "70

“Can I hold it? Can I? Please, please, please, can I?”71

How could I refuse him? I saw no harm in letting him hold it. He took the watch and stroked it lovingly. He put it up to his bandaged head and listened through the gauze. You should have seen how his eyes sparkled.72

“Can I keep it? Can I keep it? Oh, please, please, please, can I?”73

I feared that I had inadvertently opened Pandora’s Box. It was an ill-advised gesture on my part, but I let him keep it. How could I say no?74

The session was over. He went back to his room clutching the pocket watch; guarding it like a lioness with a newborn cub. I dictated a few notes into my tape recorder and called it a day. It was a beautiful afternoon, so I decided to walk home rather than take the bus.75

After walking a short distance, I realized that a short detour would take me past my patient’s apartment. I decided to visit his landlord. He became quite cooperative when he learned who I was. I asked him what had become of all his belongings. He informed me that they had been sold, to a local second-hand store, to pay for the damage to the wall. I inquired and he gave me the address. It wasn’t too far out of my way, so I decided to visit the store. 76

As I entered the store, I was greeted by the jangling of a bell on the door. He was right. It was an obnoxious sound. I was quickly assailed by the heavy odor of mildew and stale cigarette smoke. And there was the proprietor perched on a stool behind the glass counter with a smoldering cigarette wedged in the corner of his mouth. He just sat there staring at me. I nodded to him and began to browse.77

It was amazing how much junk was crammed into that little store. And dust, there was dust everywhere. I brushed off my pants several times as I shimmied up and down the aisles. No clock. I began to feel foolish. What was I doing in there anyway? What did I hope to accomplish if I found the clock? Was I just suffering from a case of morbid curiosity? 78

I thanked the man and turned toward the door. I was just a few steps away from fresh air when I saw it. That had to be it. It was the weirdest clock I’d ever seen. I took it to the counter and asked how much he wanted for it. These dealers always ask for more than they want, so I was prepared to bargain with him.79

“$12.95,” he said.80

Well, I had to admit it, that was probably the most aggravating voice that I had ever heard. Did he sound like a dying goat? I had no idea what a dying goat would sound like, but I was confident that it wouldn’t sound like him.81

“Would you take $12.00?” I asked.82

“Nope.”83

So much for bargaining, I decided to get this over with quickly. “Does that include the tax?” I queried.84

“Yep.”85

I don’t know why, but I decided to buy the clock. Then a thought came to me. How do I know it’s the same clock? I asked, “How long have you had this clock?”86

“Couple days,” he chirped back.87

Luckily, he was a man of few words. His voice was grating on my nerves. I decided not to ask him anymore questions.88

“Funny thing ‘bout that clock though,” he blurted, “I sold that same clock a week ago to a skinny, little, nervous fella.”89

I thought, oh please stop talking! I smiled, handed him $13.00 and told him to keep the change. 90

“You want a receipt?” he asked.91

“No, thank you,” I said. I was getting uncomfortable.92

“You can’t. . .”93

I cut him off just to stop him from talking. “I realize I cannot return it without the receipt. That’s quite alright.”94

“Do you want a bag?”95

“No. . . ” A wave of deja vu swept over me. It was like I was replaying scenes from the story I’d just heard. “Yes,” I countered, “I would like a bag.”96

He bagged the clock. I took it and turned. I aimed straight for fresh air. I was going to thank him, and thought better of it. 97

“Yer welcome, you have yerself a wonderful afternoon now.”98

He did that on purpose! There was no need to say that. I didn’t thank him. What an irritating little man. I swung the door open and gulped the fresh air. Before the door closed, I could hear him laughing. So irritating!99

I regained my composure as I walked home. It was amazing how one person, one voice, could be so aggravating. I brushed him out of my mind just like his dust off my pants.100

At home I went into my study and put the clock on my desk. I sat down and stared at it. Was it the same clock? I found it hard to believe that it couldn’t be. The story, the landlord, and the shopkeeper were all too much for mere coincidence. It must be the same clock. Besides, as I examined it, I began to doubt that there could be as many as two such clocks on the whole of this planet. It had to be the same clock. Of course, there was one way to find out. Wind it. 101

I hesitated, thinking about my bloody patient and the curse that he raved about. 102

“Good God,” I spoke to myself, “you’re a psychiatrist! There are no such things as curses. Get a grip, man! Be sensible.” Yes, I thought, there’s nothing to be afraid of. I’m an educated man. I picked up the clock and grabbed the key. I must admit, that my hands were shaking slightly, but I persevered. I had to find out! I turned the key once. Nothing happened. I turned it again, then again. Something was happening. I could feel something moving inside. Suddenly, it ticked, just once. It was the most beautiful little tick that I’d ever heard. Although I was apprehensive I was also eager to hear the next sound. I wound it again and again and again. It tocked! It had a lower pitch, but it was beautiful, too. It ticked once again, then fell into a regular rhythm. It was working. The sounds that emanated from the clock were gorgeous. They were light, yet metallic and pleasing to the ear. It was the prettiest little two note refrain that I’d ever heard. 103

“Oh, how could this be the clock?” I asked aloud. And yet, I thought, how could it not? If it was, then I feared my patient had many, many long sessions ahead of him. 104

Is it? How can I be sure? The answer was obvious. I’d bring it to the hospital! For God’s sake! Have pity on the poor devil. What? What was I doing? Defending and defying myself? What was happening to me? I cleared my mind. Then I retraced and reassessed the events surrounding the clock. I seemed to be suffering from a temporary lapse in sound judgment. 105

I put the clock back on the desk. I sat down next to it and stared at it while its sweet sound danced playfully within my ears. For hours I pondered the clock. I finally reached a logical conclusion. One thing remained clear in my mind. I was taking that clock to the hospital. No, not tomorrow. Let him enjoy my pocket watch for a while. Soon, though. Very soon!