In the quiet town of Eldermere, there was a clockmaker named Elias Voss, known for crafting timepieces so precise they seemed to defy the laws of nature. His shop, a dimly lit nest of gears and pendulums, stood at the corner of Willow Lane, where the air always smelled of oil and old parchment.
Elias was a recluse, speaking only when necessary, but townsfolk whispered that his clocks did more than tell time—they remembered it. Some claimed that if you listened closely to the ticking of a Voss clock, you could hear faint echoes of laughter, whispers, or even sobbing from the past.
One evening, a young historian named Clara Reed visited Elias, seeking a rare pocket watch rumored to contain a lost memory of the town’s founding. Elias, his eyes shadowed beneath bushy brows, hesitated before leading her to a back room. There, under a dust-covered velvet cloth, lay an ornate silver watch.
"This one doesn’t just remember time," Elias murmured. "It steals it."
Clara scoffed, but when she held the watch, her vision blurred. Suddenly, she was standing in Eldermere a century earlier, watching as a fire consumed the old courthouse—a fire started not by accident, but by the town’s first mayor to erase evidence of his crimes. The watch had shown her the truth, but at a cost—her hands were now slightly wrinkled, as if years had passed in seconds.
Elias took the watch back, his expression grim. "Every truth has its price," he said. "And time always collects."
The next morning, Clara returned to the shop, determined to learn more—but the door was locked, the windows dark. Inside, all the clocks had stopped at the same exact hour: 3:07 AM. And Elias Voss was never seen again.
