Grandfather Clock

Tick...Tick...Tick... Greg stared at the grandfather clock with a frown, his arms crossed. The mystery of the clock had consumed him for the entirety of his stay at his grandpa's house. It ticked, which would usually mean it worked. And yet the hands had been stuck at 1:30 all weekend. Whenever he got close, his grandpa would shoo him away, warning him not to get too close. But why did he care? It didn't look fragile or expensive, unlike the other antiques in the room.

Greg stood in front of the clock, watching the pendulum swing left to right. Its incessant ticking taunting him. It was clearly working, so why was the time completely wrong? He looked at his phone to see that it was many hours out of time. If only he could nudge the hands to the correct time, it might restart and begin working once more. But his grandpa... Thinking on it, he hadn't seen or heard his Grandpa Drew all morning. He slunk through the house, looking for the old man, eventually finding him dozing outside with the morning newspaper resting on his belly. Greg grinned, this was perfect!

He rushed back to the clock and gingerly placed a finger on the wooden panel. Then his whole hand. Then the other. Greg smiled mischievously. He was touching the grandfather clock and his grandpa wouldn't even know! As long as he kept his grubby fingers to the wood and not the glass, he wouldn't risk leaving a stray fingerprint. Now all he had to do was adjust the time. He reached up on his tiptoes, and pushed against the minute hand to move it backwards. Yet try as he might, it just wouldn't budge. Gingerly, he nudged it forwards, and the hand moved! Doing so made a weird tingle go down his back. He chocked it up to the thrill of doing something against the rules.

Gripping the minute hand tightly, Greg pushed as far as his tip-toes would allow him, managing to get it to 1:50. Then he felt an odd wave of vertigo wash over him. He glanced around. Nothing appeared different. He reached back to the clock face, and paused. Wasn't he just struggling to reach the clock hands? Now it was easy to reach it. He pushed it forward even more, stopping at 2:20 after feeling that same wave of vertigo. It was like the room was shrinking around him. Yet once again, everything was the same. He stared at the clock face, now face to face with it. He shrugged his shoulders. He wasn't a morning guy. He pushed the hand forward even more, now finding it easier to spin.

After a couple of spins, he let go of the hand at around 4:00. He felt peculiar... There was something strange going on. He stepped away from the clock, and scratched his face. He paused upon feeling a rough, prickly texture under his fingers. But that made sense, he hadn't shaved in a few weeks. Which was normal, right? He rubbed at his arms, also littered with thick hairs that both felt unfamiliar and normal. He tugged on his T-shirt, as if it clung to his body. It didn't feel so tight when he put it on, right? Yet it rubbed uncomfortably against his body. You'd think he'd just grown his chest hair, the way it itched. All these weird feelings, and yet, it was just him. Maybe this was why his uncle told him not to touch the clock. Could it have hallucinogens on it? He shook off the thought with a chuckle, as if that old man would allow that in his household!

Greg spun the clock hands around until he stopped once more, around 6:30. Everything around him seemed to get blurry. He scratched at his head in confusion, ignorant to the hairs that scattered down in front of his vision. He had been thinning for a few years now, after all. He paused for a moment. He patted at the center of his meaty chest, fingers brushing against curly hairs, until he managed to grip upon something cold and solid. Aha! Of course, he always kept his spectacles tucked into his shirt collar when he wasn't wearing them. He stuck them on his nose, and everything came back into focus. He could see once more! Why he wasn't wearing them in the first place, he couldn't quite understand. Looking down, he was surprised to see a small gut hung over the waistband of his pants. He rubbed it, then smiled. He'd been putting on weight recently, his desk job was taking a toll on him. But he didn't mind, it felt quite nice to have a little bulk in the winter. He lifted a wrist, checking the current time on his wristwatch buried within his arm hair, and nodded. Not much further now.

After a few more turns of the hand, ignoring the weird feelings throughout his body. The appearance of dull aches in his knees and back couldn't distract him, nor his stomach pushing out against the wooden body of the clock. Finally, he stepped back with a sense of achievement. He finally had the correct time, 9:40am. While he felt accomplished, he also felt a little out of sorts. Greg stumbled back to his armchair and slumped into it with a heavy thud. He felt peculiar. His shirt felt tighter than usual against his belly. He undid the buttons, allowing himself to let go, his large belly pooling out into his lap.  He rubbed it with a sigh. He sure had let himself go over the years. This shirt used to fit him perfectly, and now he was close to popping a button. But he had to admit, it felt comforting to rub his soft belly, feeling its heft from decades of overeating and lack of exercise. It seemed like only yesterday, he was a spright, young lad with big dreams for the future. And now, he was a fat, retired old man with a big gut. Where did the time go?

Greg continued to rub his swollen beach ball of a belly, lost in thought. His fingers traced over the soft hairs that sparsely covered it. A stray grin tugged at his cheeks. He had to have a bigger belly than his brother.

"Greg!" he heard a cry from across the room. Busted... He looked up to see Andew in the doorway, dumbstruck. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Uh... Enjoying this morning's breakfast?" he said unconvincingly. He was surprised at the gruff rumble that came from his throat, but that was always his voice, right? He really needed some coffee...

"You look guilty of something..." Andrew stroked his wobbly chin until his eyes widened. "You touched the clock, didn't you!?"

"Maybe..." Greg said coyly, only to sigh. "But it was driving me nuts!" He declared. "You really should get someone to take a look at it. Such a fine looking clock shouldn't be mere decoration."

"I told you, it's not a proper clock!" Andrew pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed. "It's an enchanted artifact that represents a person's lifespan. By touching the hands, you force your own time forwards. So yeah, it's a pretty big deal!" He stepped towards the clock, and the hands automatically spun backwards, settling at 9:25. He shook his head, and tutted. "If I didn't already know you were my older brother, I'd be shocked. I mean, why would you do such a foolish thing? What was the time before you tampered with it?"

"Like I could remember that..." Greg muttered. "You know I'm forgetful. My memory's not like it used to be..." He didn't like his younger brother treating him like an idiot. So he was nearly seventy, what did that have to do with a clock? He scratched at his bearded cheeks, and mumbled, "I recall wanting to move the hands backward, as it would have been quicker. But they wouldn't budge."

Andrew could only groan at the response. His brother was quite clearly not his brother mere moments ago. And yet, he couldn't recall a single thing about who he could have been. Was he his son? His grandson? This was an entirely new development with the clock. He never should have agreed to look after it for his antiquity friend...

He looked at his brother once more, seeing an old man with a receding hairline, a white beard, and a swollen belly, wondered what would lead someone to willingly get so old. The fact that neither of them could remember their life before the clock made getting to the bottom of things an impossibility. It wasn't like his brother had a bad life, after all. He was happily retired, and in good health despite his rotund appearance. Andrew sighed, and shook his head. "Okay... I'll forgive you for touching the clock this time. But since time can't go backwards, you can't get any younger. And if that clock ever strikes twelve, well... The less said about that, the better. So don't. Touch it. Again!"

"Okay, I won't!" Greg growled, rolling his eyes. He didn't believe any of that magical bullshit. If it really were some sort of mystic life drainer, surely he would have noticed, right? You don't just become elderly in an instant without remembering something like that. But no, he was the same old man he had been for years. It wasn't like he hated being old. He'd spent years of his work life dreaming of retirement, so having achieved that level of relaxation was wonderful.

Andrew frowned at his brother's defiance. He was always immature for his age. Or, he assumed he was. For all he knew, he used to be a child before tampering with the clock. It would explain a lot... "If you'll excuse me, I should give my client a call..."

Greg watched as Andrew slunk out of the room, phone held to his ear as he tried contacting the original owner of the clock, hopefully to get them to repair it. He got out of his chair with a grunt, and turned back to the clock. 9:40. Exactly where he left it. He turned around, making sure his brother wasn't still about, and pushed the hands forward a little more to the new correct time. It wouldn't hurt, right? He felt an odd wave of fatigue wash over him, and immediately reached out for the armchair behind him. He patted along the arm until he managed to clutch his trusty cane, and sighed. Why would he get up without it? Entering his seventies had been hell on his knees, but it was only an inconvenience as long as he had his cane nearby. He tucked his shirt back into his pants, and made his way for the front door. Maybe his brother would have fixed the clock by his next visit. It sure would be nice to see it working again.