Clocks

He really needed to wash this thing.

           Jeremiah peeled off the sweaty and dirt-speckled mask, inhaling the fresh but humid air deeply. For a moment he did nothing but enjoy the feeling of his skin finally being able to breathe. He imagined it was akin to the feeling reptiles experience when they finish molting. He didn’t give himself long to revel in the relief before he started thinking about everything he needed to get done.

           First things first, chores. His little den needed tidying up. Jeremiah didn’t mind cleaning his home, it was small anyway and didn’t require much effort. He never spent much time here, most of it out in the wilderness camping while he was on jobs. He didn’t own much clothing, most of the money he made went into buying little trinkets to decorate the small home.

           Ceramic statues taking the shape of multiple different critters such as turtles, bunnies, and squirrels littered the walkway right as you come through the front door. Ornaments like pinecones and gems hung on all four walls. There were at least six different clocks that were each made in their own unique way. One was wooden with small handcrafted designs on the outer edge, simple but beautiful in the way you knew someone had put a lot of care into crafting it.

           Another one of the clocks was of rusted metal, the hands of it needle-like and the numbers crooked. The minute hand was stuck but the other two worked just fine, so Jeremiah figured he’d keep it, even though it was sort of ugly, and every time he touched it he was left with a potent metallic smell on his hand that made his nose scrunch with disdain.

           One was white and minimalistic, nothing very noteworthy about it at all. Something you could find at a dentist’s office or maybe a school. The font for the numbers looked a bit bolder than the average clock though, and Jeremiah could appreciate that. The fourth clock had a sleek black coating around it, but the inner edges were orange, as well as the numbers. It was very easy on the eyes. Jeremiah made sure to clean that one every time he was home, not wanting it to lose its shine.

           The fifth one consisted of roman numerals, something that fascinated Jeremiah to no end. He’d only just learned of that number system two months ago when he had bought the clock. They were confusing at first but once he understood them, he became obsessed. It was just so much fancier than writing normal boring numbers.

           The last clock was one he had only just hung up moments ago, shortly after taking off his mask. It was a dark green all around. The numbers were nonexistent, instead replaced with golden flowers. Where the number one would be was a flower with only one petal. Where the number two would be, was a flower with two petals. So on and so forth.

           Jeremiah couldn’t explain why he found the clock so… mesmerizing. It filled him with an emotion he couldn’t quite pin down. As he stared at it, he found himself starting to slip away. As if he was in a trance.

           Jeremiah shook his head, refocusing. Right, chores.

           First he would clean the black and orange clock with some polish he had bought from the crafts store. Then he’d probably rearrange some of the ceramic statues on the floor, sweeping while in the process of that. (Jeremiah hated sweeping, he often became frustrated when he couldn’t seem to get all the dirt from the cracks in the wooden floor.) Then he’d wash down the small cooking stove he had. Next would be the knee-high wooden table he had sitting in the middle of the den. It looks like it accumulated a nasty layer of dust on its surface.

           He didn’t have what some would call a “proper” bed. He preferred the small cot he made for himself in the corner of the room that lay right under the only window he had. He’d wash the one small blanket that occupied the cot and hang it up to dry outside.

           As Jeremiah began his first tedious task, he couldn’t find himself to appreciate it as he usually did. He couldn’t stop his mind from wondering to what he would have to do tomorrow. When he’d have to put the mask back on.

           It’s not that he hated doing what he did. It was just work. Something to keep food in his mouth and money in his pockets. But it didn’t bring him much happiness if he were to be honest. He supposes most people didn’t find it a particularly favorable job- unless they were somewhat insane.

           Jeremiah shook his head, trying to focus on the task at hand. The polish was doing a great job at adding an extra layer of shine to the clock.

           Sweeping was as bothersome as it usually was, the dirt lodged in the corners of the room and stuck between the wooden planks making his life hell. He spent around fifteen minutes stubbornly sweeping one spot on the floor only for it to look the exact same as before.

           “I should invest in some rugs,” Jeremiah said aloud to himself, putting a hand up to his sweaty forehead as he surveyed the floor.

           Before he could begin to put the strewn about ceramic statues back in their rightful places, he heard an ominous thud outside. Jeremiah’s entire body froze and a cold, suffocating feeling settled in his chest. He tightened his hands on the broom, knuckles turning white as he stared wide-eyed into space. Listening.

           A few seconds passed and for one allaying moment, Jeremiah thought it was nothing but paranoia tricking his mind. He released the breath he’d been holding in, oxygen, as well as solace, filling his lungs. Then-

           THUD.

           That couldn’t be in his head. The dread returned and Jeremiah glanced over at the mask that rest on the sink a few feet away, still covered in grime. As he silently crept over to the sink after leaning the broom against the wall, he thought about how lucky it was that he didn’t take off his shoes yet. He grabbed the mask with shaky hands, scrunching up his nose as he put it on. The dirt rubbed against his face uncomfortably, making him want to peel it right back off.

           He couldn’t though, not right now.

           Jeremiah slowly edged toward the front door, the short walkway feeling like it was miles long. He reached for the pocket knife in his sleeve, securing it in his grip. After what felt like ages, Jeremiah finally reached the door.

           Putting his ear to it, he strained to listen. His heart raced, unable to hear anything but a slight whistle in the wind. Jeremiah’s heart raced as he waited for another sign that someone was there. When there didn’t seem chance for another noise, he hesitantly put his hand to the doorknob. He would need to make sure no one was there.

           He opened the door achingly slow, attempting to avoid any loud creaking noise.

           Jeremiah’s eyes scanned the outside, having to move his head more because of his limited field of view with the mask on. Although foreboding, he couldn’t spot anything in the darkness. No movement. No sounds. There was nothing-

           Oh! Jeremiah spotted something a few feet to the left of his mermaid ceramic statue he had by the very small garden he started several months ago but abandoned due to not realizing how much time a garden really takes to care for. The withered stems of the dead flowers looked baleful in the grim lighting of the night sky.

           Jeremiah approached the mysterious object, knife out and in front of him in a defense position. The blood rushing in his ears made him feel like his head was being filled with water. The suspense was going to drown him if it lasted much longer. His shoulders sagged when he finally realized what the object was.

           It was just some broken glass.

           Glancing around, Jeremiah attempted to figure out where the glass could have fallen from. There was no nearby source that it could’ve dropped from. The multiple shards were too big to have been picked up by the very slight wind at the moment. Someone would have to have thrown it here. Or perhaps dropped it?

           The thud he heard earlier didn’t sound like broken glass.

           Something wasn’t right here. Jeremiah looked down at the glass, seeing a faint reflection of himself. He visibly flinched. Is that what he looked like? The mask didn’t look how he’d seen it just a few minutes ago before he put it on.

           Jeremiah tutted, looking away. He wasted all this time when he could have been cleaning and even better, relaxing. He made his way back into his den, forcing himself to forget the peculiar experience and his subsequent budding paranoia.

           Sighing after he closed the front door, he took a moment to re-observe his home. Everything looked right. Except- wait, what?

           The green clock was read a different time than all the others. How did that happen? It never has before. Jeremiah drew near it, staring intently at it and tilting his head. As he stared at it, he realized he could see a reflection of himself in the glass that separated the beautiful interior from the rest of the world. Or rather, he could see a reflection of the mask he wore.

           He frowned but couldn’t see it.