The Clock Stopper
Chapter One
Tick tock, tick tock, the pendulum swung back and forth. I stared at the clock, it was wooden with a gold trim that sparkled in the suns gaze. Father used to say that if you stared at a clock for long enough, time it’s self would stop. But I knew as well as every else in their right mind it was just an oldwives tale, but my father insisted that it was true. He was a traveler, in search of many intriguing artifacts. Didn’t see an awful lot of him, usually the house was left in my care. Well it was until he made it his duty to look after Thomas whom he found homeless and in a terrible mess. And now it seems life can only get worse, he was a mad to leave the house in charge of a-
“Oh Jonathon, please spare me the trouble of drying the dishes. You are fully aware that I did it last night and that tonight it is your duty.”
The sarcastic tone of voice made me clench my fists every time, you don’t know the amount of willpower it takes to stop me from booting him out. I decided it was best to get it over a done with so I swung my legs over my bed and reached for my door handle, my bare feet creaking on top of the polished floor boards. Oh and I that’s another thing I forgot to mention, this house is never untidy, not even a speck of dust. But before I could move another inch the door opened and in he came, trotting around as if he owned the place. He stared at my room in disgust, the only untidy part of the house, well it’s more of a cottage rather than a house. He stared at the scarlet curtains and they split apart allowing some light into the room, next he made my bed, with a blink of his eyes. Weird huh, you don’t know the half of it. I stared at him, wondering what I should do with him next.
“You know it’s rude to enter without knocking” I told him, slipping on a pair of white socks.
“Yes well I have my duties, and one of them as it appears is to look-“
I cut him off before he could utter another syllable, picking him up in a babies cradle and placing him on top of the windowsill. I cursed under my breath as his thick black hairs stuck to my clothes. Oh and that’s another thing, he’s grumpy, old, demanding and he’s a cat. I went to stroke him. Hiss. I jumped back, scared half to death that he might rip my face off, because it’s not unheard of you know.
“I’m hungry. Feed me.” He demanded, whipping his tail back and fourth.
He’s not one with patience, likes things his way and fast. So without wasting any more time, I ran down the wooden staircase, and headed into the kitchen. I cursed out loud as my foot slipped on a small yet troublesome puddle, landing with a loud thud. It was a miner injury and could be easily walked off so I put it to the back of my mind and continued my search for the cat food. I began to think that we hadn’t got any and the consequences of not pleasing Thomas weren’t worth thinking about. But not a moment too soon after the thought had entered my mind a shiny tin glinted deep within the cupboard.
Tom licked the bowl clean, and pushed it to the side using his tiny white paws. His emerald eyes met mine, as if he wasn’t satisfied and wanted more. But too my relief, I was wrong.
“I’m going for nap” he groaned.
“But you always sleep, in the morning, afternoon, and at night. Although I shouldn’t really be moaning, because it’s great when you’re asleep.” I said, managing a small yet noticeable smile.
“Well aren’t you the funny one, now leave me be, I don’t want to be disturbed.” He sighed and as his eyelids grew tired and closed, he was dead to the world, for a while at least anyway. I quietly slipped out of my bedroom, being careful not to wake him up. I couldn’t resist it, so I sat on the staircase edge and slide on the shiny wood all they way down to the bottom before flinging myself off and coming to a halt. Well that’s probably as much as excitement as I’ll get today, if father doesn’t return soon. I strolled into the kitchen to do the dishes, but I stopped dead in my tracks. And no it wasn’t the state the dishes were in, but the wet footprints that trailed into the living room. They were too big to be Tom’s and they weren’t mine, it could have been father’s except he normally calls up the stairs to let us know that he’s home. I quietly crept along to the drawers, careful this time not slip on the puddle or should I say puddles as there were at least three more. My fears were confirmed this was an intruder, father wouldn’t have puddles plotted all around the house-a clean freak like him. I eased open the drawers glad that they weren’t squeaky, and clenched my fingers around a small kitchen knife. Doesn’t matter what size it is, obviously bigger the better, but a knife’s a knife. I took a deep breath and charged into the living room, knife raised high.
