This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.
The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Vegetable_League3623 on 2025-01-31 09:16:51+00:00.
When I moved into my grandmother's old house after she passed away, I expected to find dusty furniture, yellowed photographs, and maybe a few heirlooms. What I didn’t expect was the strange, intricately carved wooden box hidden in the attic, tucked behind a stack of old newspapers and a broken rocking chair.
The box was about the size of a shoebox, but heavier than it looked. Its surface was covered in swirling patterns that seemed to shift when I tilted it in the light. At the center was a small brass keyhole, but no key in sight. Curiosity got the better of me, and after an hour of rummaging through drawers and cabinets, I found a tiny brass key in a jar of buttons in the kitchen.
The moment I turned the key, the box let out a soft *click*, and the lid popped open. Inside was a clock—a pocket watch, to be precise. It was old, with a tarnished silver casing and a face that seemed to glow faintly in the dim attic light. The hands weren’t moving, though. It was stuck at 11:59.
I picked it up, and as soon as my fingers touched it, I felt a strange warmth spread through my hand. The air around me seemed to hum, and for a split second, I thought I heard whispers—faint, unintelligible murmurs that sent a chill down my spine. I shook it off, assuming it was just my imagination, and decided to take the watch downstairs to clean it up.
That night, I dreamt of a man in a dark workshop. He was hunched over a workbench, surrounded by gears, springs, and half-finished clocks. His hands moved with precision, but his face was twisted in frustration. He kept muttering to himself, “It’s not enough. I need more time.” When I woke up, the dream felt so vivid that I could still smell the oil and metal.
The next day, I decided to research the watch. I took it to a local antique shop, and the owner, an elderly man with thick glasses, nearly dropped it when I handed it to him.
“Where did you get this?” he asked, his voice trembling.
“It was in my grandmother’s attic,” I replied. “Why? What’s so special about it?”
He hesitated, then said, “This isn’t just any pocket watch. It’s a *timekeeper’s watch*. Legend has it that a clockmaker in the 1800s created a handful of these watches, each imbued with the ability to manipulate time. But there’s a catch—every second you steal from time, you lose a piece of yourself.”
I laughed it off, thinking it was just a tall tale, but the shopkeeper’s grave expression made me uneasy. I took the watch home and decided to wind it up, just to see if it would work. As soon as I did, the hands began to move, ticking steadily. But then something strange happened.
I was running late for work, and as I rushed out the door, I muttered, “I wish I had more time.” The watch suddenly grew warm in my pocket, and the world around me seemed to slow down. People on the street moved in slow motion, and the traffic came to a near standstill. I looked at the watch, and the hands were spinning backward. I had *literally* stopped time.
At first, it was exhilarating. I used the watch to get out of awkward conversations, to finish tasks at work, and even to catch up on sleep. But then I started noticing changes. My reflection in the mirror looked… off. My eyes seemed darker, my face more tired. And the whispers I’d heard when I first touched the watch were growing louder, more insistent.
One night, I dreamt of the clockmaker again. This time, he was staring directly at me, his eyes hollow and desperate. “You’re running out of time,” he said. “You can’t keep stealing it. It will consume you.”
I woke up in a cold sweat and immediately checked the watch. The hands were moving erratically, and the face had started to crack. I realized then that the shopkeeper had been right—every time I used the watch, I was losing a part of myself. My memories were fading, my emotions dulling. I was becoming a ghost of who I used to be.
I knew I had to get rid of it, but the watch wouldn’t let me. Every time I tried to throw it away or hide it, it would reappear in my pocket or on my nightstand. It was as if it had chosen me, and it wasn’t going to let go.
Now, I’m stuck. The watch is counting down to something, and I don’t know what happens when it reaches zero. All I know is that I can’t keep using it, but I can’t seem to stop either. If anyone has any advice, please—I’m running out of time.