Time Will Tell

Claire watches the moving truck as it disappears down the long gravel drive. The stacks of boxes it left behind seems to mock her tired limbs.

Guess I should have paid the extra amount for the movers to unpack for me, she thinks and huffs a heavy sigh. “Oh well, let's get to it,” she grumbles, pulling her blond hair into a ponytail.

As she moves boxes from one room to another, she sighs again, this time at the hugeness of her new home. It was too big for her, but she’d inherited it so she wouldn’t look a gift house in the mouth. Snickering at her purposeful misuse of the saying, she wipes her dirty hands on her even dirtier jeans.

“God, I hope the hot water is working,” she groans. She had hired tradespeople to come and inspect everything before she moved in, but she hadn’t had time to check those things herself.

The last few months had been a whirlwind of selling her condo, quitting her job, packing and finally moving into this behemoth of a home. She hadn’t even thought her grandma Vicky liked her enough to leave her a candlestick, let along a house in her will.

She could hardly believe it when her grandma’s executor had handed her the keys to the place along with a note that simply read, ‘Time will tell’. Notwithstanding the strange note, Claire had been speechless.

She’d only visited here maybe twice in her life before her mom and grandma had a falling out. And after her mom died, Claire had heard only the vaguest news of her grandma from her cousin Becky.

“Thanks grandma,” she whispers, raising her eyes to the ceiling. “Sorry we didn’t get the chance to know each other better.” Regret wasn’t something Claire had a lot of, but not knowing her grandma was one.

Putting her hands on her hips, Claire looks at the surrounding mess. “Not paying the extra fee for unpacking services is also on my regret list,” she reiterates.

Her energy all but drained, Claire slumps against the curved banister.

Her eyes move to the enormous grandfather clock left here by her grandma. It didn’t work any longer, but it was beautiful and fit the space so well that Claire didn’t have the heart to sell it.

“Well, Little Ben, looks like it’s just you and me,” she jokes, naming the clock after the famous Big Ben in London.

The silence that greets her as she gazes at the clock is eerie. Having always lived in the city, and usually in noisy condos, Claire wonders if she’ll get used to such quiet. “Maybe I’ll see if I can get you repaired, Little Ben. I’m sure the sound of a giant clock would be soothing.”

Too tired to think more about it, Claire heads to the bathroom. Thankfully, the hot water works perfectly, and she soaks under the spray for far longer than she intended.

Wrapped in her warm bathrobe, she visits the kitchen next. Slapping together a simple ham and cheese sandwich, she brings the food along with a dogged ear copy of her favorite novel to her room. The sun had barely set, but she knew it would be an early night for her.

The bed frame was still in pieces, but her mattress would be just as comfortable without it. Pulling a blanket around her, she reads while enjoying her meal. She doesn’t even finish a chapter before her head is bobbing, and it’s a struggle to keep her eyes open.

Giving up the fight, Claire closes her book and sets her empty plate on the floor beside her. Burrowing under the blanket, she lets sleep take her.

****

Voices raised in anger fill the room where the towering clock sits. A young girl, barely the size of its swinging pendulum, runs from the noise. Tucking herself behind a large potted plant next to the clock, she sits, pulling her knees to her chin and resting her back on its solid oak frame.

The steady ‘tick tock’ soothes her and the clock feels her hammering heart slow. She sighs in relief when her parents finally slam their respective doors as they take a break from arguing.

She doesn’t leave though, instead she turns onto her stomach and stretches out on the floor. Finding the nail she hid behind the clock, she rests her chin in one hand while she scratches several flowers into the backside of its wooden base.

It’s not the first time the child has defaced its surface as many flowers, stars, moons, and animals decorate that hidden side of it. The clock doesn’t mind though, taking pride in the simple artwork.

She fondly brushes over the fresh marks before placing a kiss on the dark brown panelling. “At least I’m always safe with you,” she whispers. Rising, she brushes herself off before leaving.

An impossible tenderness permeates the great clock as the little girl scampers out the front door to play. And as it rings out the hour, an almost sentient promise infuses its gears, a promise to indeed keep her safe.

****

Jerking awake, Claire sits up in groggy confusion. The strange dream fades as she wipes her eyes, looking around at the box filled room. “Right, new home, still lots of unpacking to do,” she groans before flopping back and pulling the covers over her face.

Knowing she can’t ignore the work forever, she finally rises to face the daunting task.

With a steady supply of coffee and sandwiches, Claire finishes the main floor before evening. Having lived in a condo previously, much of the space still looks bare.

Heaving the only piece of antique furniture she owns—a winged armchair—over to Little Ben, she angles it just so beside it.

Flopping into the chair, she blows out a breath before leaning back to stare at the ceiling. “Might have to buy more furniture to cozy up the place,” she mumbles to herself.

Groaning, Claire pulls herself upright, her body almost ready to give up for the day. Just as she’s about to leave the comfort of the chair, she catches sight of something out of the corner of her eye. Squinting, she leans further out of the chair before sliding to the floor. On hands and knees, she scoots closer to the base of the clock.

Faint etches of flowers, stars, moons and more wrap around Little Ben’s wooden base. Cocking her head to the side, Claire puckers her lips as a sense of déjà vu washes over her. “Why does this seem so familiar?” she wonders.

Her eyes widen as her dream from the previous night suddenly unfolds in her mind. The dream had faded quickly after she had awakened, but now the images were crystal clear. “How is this possible?” she whispers, running her hand over the scratched surface, much as the child had done in her dream.

The flowers were exactly as her dream had projected them. “I must have seen these scratches yesterday… it’s the only explanation,” Claire reasons. “I was just too tired to really acknowledge them.”

But the tightness in her stomach only gets stronger. Her dream had been so strange, so realistic… too realistic. Usually, her dreams comprised fragmented events from her day or week, but rarely were they coherent, and never to this degree.

Pushing such disconcerting thoughts from her mind, Claire shakes her head. “I’m just overly tired, is all. So much change too quickly,” she chuckles, the laugh sounding forced.

Still on her knees, she places her hand on the clock and looks up at its towering frame. “Stay out of my dreams, Little Ben. Living in this big house is creepy enough,” she says fondly, tapping her fingers against its trunk.

Rising, she finishes up for the day, successfully convincing herself that she had seen the etches on her first day, thus the odd dream.

Two days and nights pass without further incident. Claire is a whirlwind of activity and by the third day, she has unpacked the last box.

Pulling in a deep breath of fresh night air, Claire sighs as she lowers herself to sit on the top step of her porch. Staring up at the blanket of stars, she sighs again. It wasn’t a sight she was used to, but definitely a plus to moving out here.

Besides the sound of insects, the silence was also something she’d need to get used to. “The joys of living twenty minutes from town, I guess,” she snorts.

Losing herself to stargazing, Claire starts when the sound of a clock chimes the hour. “What the…?” she mutters, cocking her head to listen. She had no neighbors nearby, so it couldn’t have come from them.

“Little Ben?” she asks, turning to look over her shoulder at the front door. The sound was indeed coming from inside her house. “But you’re broken.” Shaking her head, she gets up, a slight shiver raising goosebumps over her arms.

Not once since she’d moved in had the old clock kept the correct time never mind rang out the hour. More baffled than concerned, Claire moves to re-enter the house.

As she turns the doorknob, the chiming stops. It was eight pm, but the chimes had only sounded five times.

The house is eerily silent as she moves into the front foyer and Claire nearly jumps when an old floorboard creaks beneath her feet.

Standing in front of the clock, she puts her hands on her hips, staring up at it. Tilting her head closer, she listens for any sound that might show it’s working again.

Hearing nothing, she frowns before reaching out to open the glass door on its trunk; it opens with a slight pop. “Not sure what I hope to find,” she says as she gazes at the assortment of parts.

No movement and no sound issues from its many gears. “Humph,” she grunts, closing the door. “Must have been a weird fluke. How about you do nothing else weird, Little Ben, and I’ll call a repair person to come look at you?”

Patting its wooden frame, Claire turns on some music and more lights than needed. The brightness and sound soon help to dispel any oddness surrounding the unexpected chiming.

By the time Claire retires for the night, she’s neatly pushed the incident from her mind.

****

It’s late, and the young girl, now a young woman, tiptoes down the stairs. Dragging a blanket and pillow, she nestles into her favourite place beside the towering clock.

Many nights she’s come to keep it company, her voice quiet as she discusses her day, her dreams or the boy she had a crush on in school.

The clock treasured these moments, its wooden frame warming with happiness.

But tonight, when the girl’s voice dips with sadness from a friendship that ended, something in the old clock shifts.

A gear loosens, the small part making a tinkling noise as it hits the glass. The small piece wasn’t overly important in the clock’s function, but the pretty flower shaped gear might bring a smile to the girl.

Tilting her head at the sound, the girl carefully opens the glass door. Spying the small gift, her face brightens. “Thank you! It looks just like a flower,” she whispers, clutching it close.

With nimble fingers, she adds the trinket to the golden chain around her neck.

When her stories turn joyful once more, the clock’s restless energy settles.

****

Moaning, Claire shifts, covering her face with a pillow as bright sunlight streams through the bedroom window.

Rolling over, she blindly gropes for her phone. Nearly knocking it off the nightstand, Claire swears as she fumbles for it. Pulling it close, she cracks an eyelid. “Seven am, ugh!” she groans.

Pulling the blankets over her head, she’s determined to go back to sleep.

But the dream has left her feeling unsettled, and sleep eludes her. Unlike the first dream, Claire remembers this one in vivid detail.

In the dream, it’s almost as if she’s viewing everything from Little Ben’s perspective. If that wasn't strange enough, the dream seemed more like a memory… just not Claire’s memory.

Blowing out an irritated breath, she throws off the covers. Sitting up, she runs her fingers through her sleep tousled hair as she glares around her room. “What’s with this place, grandma, and why did you leave me that cryptic note, ‘time will tell’?” she grumps.

As if in answer, her eyes land on a small box of her grandmother’s. She discovered it a few days ago but hadn’t gone through it yet.

Huffing, she moves to grab the box, bringing it back to the bed. Flinging the lid off in frustration, she upends the box, carelessly spilling the contents over the blanket.

Various trinkets, pictures and folded pieces of paper litter her bed. Feeling the need to tear through the folded notes, Claire takes a moment to calm herself before sifting through the pile.

“Please let there be something here to explain why I’m having these dreams,” she grumbles.

The pictures appear to be of her grandma as a child. Claire sets them aside carefully before moving onto the folded notes. These are definitely love notes between her grandparents and she adds them to the pile of photos.

A flower printed journal grabs her attention, and Claire eagerly picks it up. Claire skims through the first few pages, her annoyance growing at the mundane entries.

Nearly tossing it aside, she freezes when she notices the next sentence. “I’ve been having strange dreams since moving here. I can never remember much, just a child’s face, a young girl. The dreams have such a… desperation about them. I wish I could make more sense of them.”

Claire gasps as she flips through the next few pages. Her grandma mentions the dream several more times, but she never seems to remember more than the child’s face.

Disappointment slams through Claire when the entries peter out. They end with her grandma saying the dreams stopped several weeks later.

“No! Come on! There must be more!” Claire growls. She looks over the entries again but finds nothing more. Rifling through the mound of paper, she searches for anything else that might help her make sense of things.

A black and white news clipping catches her attention. It’s of a man, woman and young girl standing in front of a house. This house.

Her eyes zero in on the girl and recognition slams through her. It was the girl from her dreams.

The caption reads, ‘Blackwell family takes possession of Trembly Place, 1963. From left to right, Tom, Mary and Beth.’

“Holy shit!” Claire whispers, her heart racing.

Claire was a firm believer in the supernatural, but it was surreal to be in the middle of it.

Grabbing her phone, she turns to the internet, hoping to find out more on the Blackwells.

An hour of searching doesn’t reveal much. She finds the obituaries for both Tom and Mary Blackwell, but nothing on the little girl, Beth. Could she still be alive somewhere? If she was, she had probably married and her last would have changed.

Rising from her crossed-legged position on the bed, Claire stretches her sore muscles, sighing. “What now?” she wonders.

She jumps when chiming sounds from downstairs. Freezing for a moment, Claire narrows her eyes as determination infuses her.

Alright Little Ben, it’s time we had a chat! Her steps barely falter as she hurries out of her room and down the stairs, only stopping when she’s facing the tall time piece.

Claire stands, looking up at its ivory clock face, waiting as the last chime sounds. Five chimes again.

All frustration leaves her as she stares at the beautiful grandfather clock. No menace emanates from it. In fact, when Claire places her hands against its wooden frame, only a sort of sadness washes over her.

“What happened to your friend, Little Ben? What happened to Beth?” Did she marry and move away? Do you miss her?” Claire asks the questions quietly, her hand still pressed against its side.

Pursing her lips, Claire drops her hand. “Time will tell, I guess,” she mutters, repeating the cryptic words her grandmother had left her.

****

“Hurry Beth! It’s getting late and we still have a long drive ahead of us,” the handsome man shouts as he paces in front of the clock.

The scowl on his face deepens when Beth comes down the stairs empty-handed. “Where’s your suitcase?” he asks, irritation clear in his voice.

“I’ve changed my mind, Henry. I… I can’t run away with you!” Beth exclaims, tears pooling in her blue eyes.

Henry runs his fingers through his dark hair, replacing his frown with one of forced patience. “Yes, you can my love. Just remember that I love you and you me. We will start a whole new life away from your family. Somewhere where their disapproval means naught!”

Beth shakes her head, her fingers bunching the fabric of her pale green dress. “No, I can’t leave them in such a way. Even with the note I wrote, they would forever wonder where I am.” She cries.

Henry’s eyes narrow a fraction. “Your parents won’t be back for several days, so come, dearest. Let's walk down to the lake and talk things over. I’m sure we can find a solution,” he coaxes, reaching over to grab her hands.

Beth hesitates but a moment, her eyes full of love as she looks up at Henry. “Yes, alright. I know we can work it out,” she says as she follows him out the door.

Claires tosses and turns in her sleep. The heavy, desperate feeling of the dream nearly causing her to awaken.

Hours pass, but the sun still shines when finally the front door is flung open. Henry, wide eyed and frantic, stumbles into the foyer.

His gaze skims the grandfather clock and he stands frozen for several moments, deep in thought. Beth doesn’t appear, and the desperate edge to the dream intensifies.

The hem of Henery’s pants are soaked and dirty, and his hair is in disarray. There are several red scratches across his face.

Suddenly, he moves, taking the stairs two at a time. He’s gone less than a minute, and when he returns, he’s carrying a floral-patterned suitcase and an envelope addressed to ‘Mother and Father’.

Leaving the envelope on the table in the foyer, he doesn’t look back as he leaves, taking Beth’s suitcase with him.

Rage, pure and uncomplicated, rolls off the grandfather clock. And, as the hour strikes Five pm, the chimes ring out one last time.

****

Gasping, Claire sits bolt upright in bed. “Oh god. Henry murdered Beth!” The absolute certainty of what happened sends shivers over her body.

Flinging the blankets off, she quickly gets dressed, not bothering to brush her hair.

Rushing down the stairs, Claire stands before Little Ben. “I know what happened to Beth. I saw it, and I know what Henry did,” she whispers, running her hand over Little Ben’s trunk.

The sadness that seeps into her fingers brings tears to her eyes. Leaning forward, Claire presses her forehead against the cool wood, letting the tears fall for a stranger she never met.

She stands that way for many minutes as the sky outside slowly brightens.

Finally, Claire straightens, wiping the wetness from her face.

Moving to the front door, she puts her sturdiest boots on, grabs a warm coat and heads toward the lake.

Claire has no clue where to look. She only knows she needs to try to find Beth. Intuitively, she knows no one had ever gone looking for Beth, believing she had run off with Henry.

Some inner pull guides Claire off the well-worn path. Fighting her way through the underbrush, Claire makes her way to a small sunny clearing where the ground is soggy from run-off from the lake.

The forest is full of places to hide a body, and Beth has been here a long time. Claire isn’t sure how she expects to find her.

A bright flash has Claire whipping her head around.

Another flash—sunlight hitting something shiny—has Claire stumbling toward a large fallen log.

There, floating in a pool of murky water, a golden cog in the shape of a flower.

Reaching out with trembling hands, Claire plucks the cog, still attached to a gold chain, from the pool.

She knows Beth is there, beneath the dirt, probably tucked under the log. Claire closes her eyes, saying a quick prayer as she clutches the necklace close to her heart.

“I’m sorry it took so long for someone to find you, Beth. But Little Ben always knew what happened to you and now I know as well. You won’t be forgotten,” Claire promises.

The air feels lighter as Claire makes her way back home.

Removing her muddy boots, she moves to Little Ben. Opening the glass door on the clock's trunk, she places the cog necklace within.

“Beth’s back home now, Little Ben. You’re a true friend for never forgetting her,” Claire says, smiling up at its beautiful face.

Peace radiates from the clock and, unsurprisingly, its hands begin to move again.