The Watch Of Doom
"From now I'm never getting bored, 'Cause I've just stolen what they wouldn't give. And now I'm happier than before, with no-one showing me the way to...tick tock tick."
Just over a week ago, my stepmum got in touch with my sister to say that she was having a clearout and getting rid of the last of my dad's stuff. He married her just a couple of months before he was diagnosed with cancer, and when he shuffled off this mortal coil, she got pretty much everything. In the decade or so between now and then, she's re-married and had a kid. I guess she finally decided it was time to move on.
She told Cath there were some old photos, some china he bought back from the orient that might be worth something, and his watch. When Cath mentioned it to me, I said I'd like the watch, because I have nothing of my dad's and I thought it'd be a nice keepsake; something small but meaningful.
Of course, I didn't know the story behind the watch until Cath told me it, and by then, I already had the thing. You see, dad was wearing it when he died. Ten minutes after he finally stopped breathing, it stopped. And - in what's pretty much a perfect horror story set-up - nobody has wound it since.
Admit it, you'd be creeped out if you found yourself holding a watch that your father had been wearing when he died, especially if it was frozen on a date and time just before the ambulance arrived to take him away ten years before. Who wouldn't be? It's a creepy scenario. But I'm not sure you'll be as quick to relate when I tell you that late in the evening a couple of days ago, once my sister has gone home and everybody else had gone to bed, I picked the watch up for the first time...and the second hand started moving.
I don't mind telling you that the shiveriest of shivers crept up my spine at that moment, and I don't mind admitting that I was on the verge of just throwing the thing away and running upstairs. Everyone gets the screaming heebie-jeebies from time to time, no matter how much they may frown on superstition and a fear of the unknown. I wasn't petrified or anything, but I was more than a little freaked.
In the end, I settled for wrapping the watch up in a plastic bag and walking very calmly up to my room...leaving all the lights on. Later that night, during a conversation with Jenn, I felt sufficiently foolish to go downstairs and retrieve it for further study. I discovered that it's basically broken and will never work properly again, not without professional help. Left alone, it stays frozen on a specific time, but any disturbance tends to get it moving again. Nothing supernatural, you know? Just a broken watch.
But you know what the frightening thing is? I've run it through twenty four hours now, and the date doesn't change. It's one of those models where it only says the number of the day, in this case 22, representing the 22nd January 1994. I've tried both letting it run naturally past midnight and winding it manually, and nothing changes it. For good or ill, it's frozen on that date forever.
And that, friends, is creepy.
Just over a week ago, my stepmum got in touch with my sister to say that she was having a clearout and getting rid of the last of my dad's stuff. He married her just a couple of months before he was diagnosed with cancer, and when he shuffled off this mortal coil, she got pretty much everything. In the decade or so between now and then, she's re-married and had a kid. I guess she finally decided it was time to move on.
She told Cath there were some old photos, some china he bought back from the orient that might be worth something, and his watch. When Cath mentioned it to me, I said I'd like the watch, because I have nothing of my dad's and I thought it'd be a nice keepsake; something small but meaningful.
Of course, I didn't know the story behind the watch until Cath told me it, and by then, I already had the thing. You see, dad was wearing it when he died. Ten minutes after he finally stopped breathing, it stopped. And - in what's pretty much a perfect horror story set-up - nobody has wound it since.
Admit it, you'd be creeped out if you found yourself holding a watch that your father had been wearing when he died, especially if it was frozen on a date and time just before the ambulance arrived to take him away ten years before. Who wouldn't be? It's a creepy scenario. But I'm not sure you'll be as quick to relate when I tell you that late in the evening a couple of days ago, once my sister has gone home and everybody else had gone to bed, I picked the watch up for the first time...and the second hand started moving.
I don't mind telling you that the shiveriest of shivers crept up my spine at that moment, and I don't mind admitting that I was on the verge of just throwing the thing away and running upstairs. Everyone gets the screaming heebie-jeebies from time to time, no matter how much they may frown on superstition and a fear of the unknown. I wasn't petrified or anything, but I was more than a little freaked.
In the end, I settled for wrapping the watch up in a plastic bag and walking very calmly up to my room...leaving all the lights on. Later that night, during a conversation with Jenn, I felt sufficiently foolish to go downstairs and retrieve it for further study. I discovered that it's basically broken and will never work properly again, not without professional help. Left alone, it stays frozen on a specific time, but any disturbance tends to get it moving again. Nothing supernatural, you know? Just a broken watch.
But you know what the frightening thing is? I've run it through twenty four hours now, and the date doesn't change. It's one of those models where it only says the number of the day, in this case 22, representing the 22nd January 1994. I've tried both letting it run naturally past midnight and winding it manually, and nothing changes it. For good or ill, it's frozen on that date forever.
And that, friends, is creepy.
posted by Michael at 9:27 PM
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