A Stitch in Time

A Stitch in Time

R. Aaron Falk

“Peter, wake up.” A shrill voice assailed his ears.

“Go away.” Peter snuggled deeper into the fifteen-year-old easy chair that knew every part of his body. He rolled to the left and wrapped his arms around his chest to ward off the chill air.

A surge of magic flashed through Peter’s body. Every muscle twitched. He opened his eyes. Grimilda’s elfin like face stared down at him. He flinched again.

“Move your ass.” Grimilda sneered. “I can’t keep this level of magic going forever.”

“So don’t.” Peter closed his eyes and tried to ignore the vanilla aroma of Grimilda’s white magic.

The sting of her palm slapping him on the cheek shocked him. She’d never touched him before.

“What the hell?” Peter’s focus gelled. The dim glow of Grimilda’s white aura illuminated a small patch of his otherwise dark living room. “Turn on a light.”

“Can’t. Everything has stopped.”

“The power’s gone out again?” Peter grunted and clawed his way out of the recliner. “I’ll get some candles.”

“Stop! Don’t step outside my aura. I am not sure I can get you started again.”

Was this a joke? Peter examined Grimilda’s expression for any sign she was playing a prank. They used to do that when they were kids. But no. Despite her petite, almost childlike appearance, the adult Grimilda only harbored disdain and irritation.

“When did I ‘Stop’?”

“Midnight. Everything stopped at midnight. It’s like someone opened up time and drove a Mack truck into the works.”

“But you’re moving and now me too.” Peter rubbed the back of his neck. “Why did you start me up? Did you get lonely?”

Grimilda stomped her foot. “Don’t be an ass. I had enough magic to avoid the initial event, but it is dwindling away. I couldn’t expand my aura to bring things back to normal. I need your help.”

“I am only a mage. I have no magic of my own. How do you think I can help?”

“I can only emit white magic and it’s not enough. You can change it into other colors and flavors and focus it. Maybe that will make a difference.”

“So, you want me to use your magic to do what?”

“Hell, I don’t know.” Grimilda stabbed a finger at him. “You’re the smartass Paranormal Investigator. Figure something out.”

“Yeah sure.” Peter waved his hand around. “Poof. All is good again. Oops, nothing.”

“Get serious, will you? We’ve got fifteen minutes left before I run out of magic and our lights literally go out forever.”

“All right, let me think.”

Inky darkness enveloped everything except for a circle around Grimilda. Peter swore he could see that pool of light shrinking. Time had stopped. Or had it? Grimilda’s interpretation of events could be wrong. He needed information.

“OK, I am going to redirect some of your magic towards my grandfather clock.”

Peter used the chair, now cast halfway into darkness, to orient himself. A whispered charm pulled some of Grimilda’s white magic into him. He redirected it towards the clock as red magic with the fragrance of rose petals. A red spotlight illuminated the wall. A moment of scanning about and he spotted the clock. The pendulum hung motionless.

Just a stopped clock, maybe? Peter added some spin to the red beam. The intensity undulated. The pendulum did not budge. A shift to the other handedness of spin and still nothing. He ran up the color spectrum, orange and yellow with citrus overtones, green and blue with a hint of pine, purple lilac; still nothing. Grimilda’s aura circle no longer illuminated the chair. Peter stopped.

“I’m sorry. All I am accomplishing is depleting your reserves.”

“Do something, Peter.” Grimilda’s voice wavered.

Peter shivered, unsure of what to do next. There had to be an explanation. Time was just a parameter in an equation that moves things around. Stopping time only meant stopping all motion. If Grimilda could get him moving again…

“I want to move over near the clock.” Peter looked around at the dwindling sphere of light. “Let’s go together, left foot first on three.”

Peter held his breath as they short stepped their way ten feet across the floor and the grandfather clock came into the glow of Grimilda’s aura. Peter reached out and tried to open the cabinet. It would not budge. His hand slipped and swung outside the aura. Numbness crawled up his fingers and along his wrist before he jerked his hand back. The numbness remained.

“We haven’t got much time left.” Grimilda pursed her lips and hung her head. Her white aura had shrunk to where their noses nearly touched.

“Look.” Peter shook his head. “I know we’ve been at each other’s throats for the last many years, but we used to be friends. Give me a hug and then push me out of your aura. Use your remaining time to, well, I don’t know. Do what you need to prepare.”

A giggle escaped Grimilda’s lips. She covered her mouth as a full-blown cackle erupted. “I can’t keep this up any longer.”

Christ, Grimilda was losing control.

“You have to stay strong.” Peter moved to hug her.

She pushed him away. He stumbled across the room and fell back into the recliner. No, no, no. He’d slipped outside her aura. Darkness enveloped him.

The room flooded with light. The grandfather clock struck midnight. Grimilda cackled on through all twelve dongs.

“Happy birthday, Peter. Sorry I couldn’t grant your wish.”

“What?” Peter pulled himself upright in the chair.

“You didn’t want to turn fifty, so I stopped time for you. Couldn’t keep it up, of course. Requires too much magic.” Grimilda laughed, then hiccupped. “Pretty good prank, though.”

“I, I, I might have wet myself.”

“Incontinence at such an early age?” Grimilda waved her hand, and the wetness disappeared. “I got you a regular birthday present as well; there on the table. Gotta run. Enjoy being fifty.”

Grimilda giggled as she strode past him and let herself out. Peter remained in the easy chair staring at the package; a perfect ten-inch cube wrapped in white paper with blue and purple polka dots with a white bow. He wondered if he should call the bomb squad.