The Hourglass

Adam sipped a glass of red wine watching the camera feed that displayed the entrance of his house. You could the see freshly painted red door, the porch, and the garden with calendula and winter jasmine. And Oscar, roaming around the freshly cut lawn, who stood at attention as though something moved in the distance. 

The attic was a makeshift command center with dual displays, featuring a small fridge that used to be stocked full of energy drinks, and a stack of books on home security systems which sat on the wooden desk. While taking breaks from his wine, Adam twirled a revolver in his hand as though it were a spin top.

A computer displayed incomplete job applications for data entry positions. He’d gotten to the final round of interviews before, but never landed a job. No references. Only wanted to work from home. Away from people. Away from the world. But there was still time, Adam thought, to be who he wanted to be.

The rain poured in, turning the video grainy. And when the feed cleared a few drops of wine later, Oscar was gone, replaced by the contours of figure that stood at the foot of Adam’s driveway.

The rain turned beautifully to white snow, peppering the rolling mountains in the distance. The only sounds were distant crying of the trees as they ached in the cold wind. The stars shone brightly, as though a spotlight had been placed on Adam’s house.

He ceased twirling the revolver, and held it confidently, as though he were a soldier waiting for a whistle to charge into thick smoke. But the wine had turned him woozy and careless. So instead, he watched, as the shadow figure trembled in his driveway.

He woke to a thud at his door. A noise too strong to belong to Oscar, or any cat for that matter, but not loud enough for a human.

When Adam opened the door, Oscar stood there, rubbing his head against a box sitting at the door step.  Unmarked, it appeared to have been used a dozen times judging by the tape marks, wholes, and indentations. A grotesque odor emanated from the box, the smell of which Adam inhaled. He carried the box inside as the cold wind blew the door shut.

Adam opened the box, cutting the tape that loosely held it together. A moth flew out, flapping it’s wings with the intensity of a bird freed from a cage.

Adam opened the box and removed the concealed item. A heavy, hand carved hourglass, made of polished mahogany. Thick plastic encased the sand. But upon further inspection, it was not sand at all inside the hour glass, but ash.

Part of Adam didn’t want to turn the hourglass over, as though doing so would trigger an event in the universe. It wasn’t even his hourglass. He could leave it outside to rot in the rain and snow. But instead, he decided to turn over, to start the descent of the ash, deciding that maybe it had come to his for a reason. Flipping it over, the ash fell, and the moths collapsed onto the wooden floor, clinging to life as their wings fluttered. Adam coughed.

For several weeks Adam couldn’t sleep. A fit of headaches began not long after the hourglass had come to his door. And each night, the headaches worsened. It was the type of pain that felt as though a band were being stretched tightly around your head. The type of pain that could steal your enjoy and leave you in a cold and dark room, alone with monsters that sit in the highest corners of your room, waiting for you to close your eyes.

The mornings were worse. At first, he hadn’t recognized the change in his appearance. His face had started, his gums had blackened, and the color of his teeth had changed overnight to dark yellow.

The ageing he attributed to the dread. The dread that each night he’d fall asleep and the terror would ensue. And in the morning, he’d wear that terror upon his face like a mask.

The hourglass. That was the only explanation. In a fit of anger, he threw it against the wall. Snot coming down his nose, grinding his teeth, anger drooling from his face. The hour glass slammed against the wall, Adam’s desperation now written in the cracks of his small home. He led out another large cough and saw the dark and shadowy figure at his doorstep.

But the hourglass sat against the wall, Undamaged. Time’s a tick-tick-tickin the hour glass seemed to say, as the ash continued to fall and fall and fall.

Removing a hammer from his closet, Adam slammed it against the hourglass. Perhaps he could burn it? He fed his fireplace until he was drenched in sweat, but the mahogany wood didn’t burn, and the plastic didn’t melt. But the ash. The ash turned majestic bright yellow, like the calendula that grew outside his house.

Adam’s eyes grew wide as the bright line shined in the fireplace. What an idiot, he thought. How beautiful the light looked as it withstood the flames. How detailed the engravings on the wood. At what point this hourglass became a coveted possession Adam did knot know, only that it mattered to him just as much as Oscar, and his flowers. He reached into the fire, burning his hand, and removed the hour glass. He led out another long cough and ran to the kitchen.

He awoke, drenched in sweat, to a familiar voice outside his door. A sharp and impatient voice that brought back unpleasant childhood memories.

 “What happened to your garden Adam,” Kevin said.

“Everything is fine,” Adam said, rubbing his eyes.

“It’s all dead.”

“What’s dead,” Adam said.

“Your entire garden has died.”

Adam coughed, harder than he had in the previous month. He looked over the mulch. His brother was right. Scabs had grown, the leaves had turned yellow, and roots looked as though they were suffocating every plant in the garden.

“The neighbors told me they heard screaming from your room last night. I would have come earlier but I had a dinner in the city.”

“How thoughtful.”

“Your my little brother.”

“You don’t always need to be coming around here and checking up on me,” Adam said.

“Mom always said you would need help.”

“I’m doing fine,” Adam said closing the door. He wanted his brother to leave. He wanted to clean up the glass. He wanted to find Oscar, whom now Adam realized it had been a few weeks since he had seen him.

“What happened to your hand?”

“Does it matter?”

“I’ll be back in a couple-”

“You really don’t have to,” Adam said.

“You won’t always have all the time in the world,” Kevin said. “I brought my book over for you. I think there’s some exercises in it that will really help you.

Adam shut the door.

The backhanded helpfulness of an older brother. A visitation serving only to remind Adam that his brother had his life together and Adam didn’t. And “his book”, Adam laughed to himself. A gentle reminder that he was a published author, making money off people dumb enough to think mind games were the answers to their insecurities. Adam coughed again and looked at the Hourglass. The ash had almost fully descended.

Adam felt an obedience to the hourglass. As though it stood there, he had placed it on the mantle after trying to burner. The mantle was the best place for it. A place where he could honor it like a God. Surely, he was under the service of the hourglass. It had changed him physically, but also gave him purpose. To protect its beauty as he protected the house. 

He found Oscar lying in the upstairs bedroom. Hissing, a familiar terror came out of the cats mouth that made Adam flinch. Adam petted the cat, whispering to him, as they both fell asleep. When Adam woke moths clattering in the mirror and Adams body had turned cold.

He hated himself for calling his brother. A white flag. An admission of failure. He could already hear the genuine satisfaction in his brother’s voice as he expressed his thanks for reaching out to him. So what if he drank wine too much? So what if he owned a gun? So what if he had no job. He cared for the things that he loved, even if the things he loved were dead.

“The hell is that smell? I see you haven’t read my book yet,” Kevin said, in a judgmental tone.

“Oscar died,” Adam said.

“Who?” Kevin said with a smile.

“That cat,” Adam said, coughing.

“Is that why your down?”

“I need you to take me to the hospital.”

“What is that thing?” Kevin said.

“My hourglass,” Adam said in a defensive tone.

Adam felt like a catapult ready to snap toward Kevin in response. Kevin showed a robust hatred toward the hourglass. Why had he placed it on the mantle? Why did he have it in the first place?

Kevin walked toward the mantle and grabbed the hourglass, looking at it as though he were examining cheap furniture. He turned the hourglass over. But the ash simply stopped moving, suspended in air. Adam’s wasn’t. For even though he had never seen it do something like that before, he knew that the hour glass was special. That perhaps, it was not of this world.

“Cheap toy,” Kevin said.

Adam hurled himself at Kevin, knocking his head into the mantle. On the ground, Kevin’s body lay still, except for hand that gently flinched. A pool of blood flowed from his head.

If it weren’t the rage that filled Adam’s heart, perhaps he would have felt awful for what he had done. But the strength at which he had pushed his brother into the mantle, had sent him into an awful coughing spat.

When he recovered, Adam looked at the hourglass as though he were an apprentice looking for the approval of his master. He bowed to it, and as he did, blood spilled from his mouth.

And as Adam began to carry his brothers body into the basement, he saw the dark figure approaching from the window. Standing there, watching him expectantly, watching him the confidence of a crow circling a bloody carcass.

Adam’s chest began squeezed. He spat out blood, smattering against the wall. How beautiful the hourglass looked. How stupid he had been to trust an object.

The door opened, and the dark contours of a man appeared. Adam recognized the shadow. The dark figure looked to be so human in appearance, and at the same time, it was not of this world. His hands and feet were unseen through the cloak. Only a partial view of his could been seen, and such a look made Adam spit the last of the blood

The figure picked up the hourglass and placed it back in the box that it had come in, as though he were some delivery boy. He walked out of the house and headed down the street. The moths following like the loyal servants. He turned left, and just before Adam felt his eyes close, he saw the man pausing, deciding on which house to enter next.