In the heart of a foggy little town named Bellridge, nestled between an old bakery and a crooked post office, sat a curious little shop with gold lettering that read:
“Mr. Elroy – Watchmaker & Timekeeper”
The windows were dusty, the paint chipped, and yet the shop had been there for as long as anyone could remember. Mr. Elroy himself — a wiry man in his 70s with snow-white hair and a mischievous sparkle in his eye — was something of a local legend.
He rarely spoke much, but he was always tinkering with gears, hands, and springs behind the glass counter. People often said, “If your watch is broken, Elroy can fix it. If time is broken… he’ll still give it a shot.”
One rainy afternoon, a teenage boy named Max wandered into the shop. He was clutching an old pocket watch he’d found in his late grandfather’s attic. It didn’t tick, didn’t tock — just sat there like a lump of silver history.
Mr. Elroy didn’t look up at first.
Max cleared his throat. “Excuse me, sir. Can you fix this?”
Elroy finally glanced up, took the watch gently, and examined it through a magnifying lens.
“Where did you get this?” he asked quietly.
“My grandfather’s,” Max replied. “He passed away last winter.”
Elroy nodded slowly, as if that explained everything. He turned the watch over in his hands, inspected the hinges, and then gave Max a strange look.
“Tell me something, Max. Are you ready for time to start again?”
Max blinked. “Um… I guess?”
Elroy didn’t answer. Instead, he went to the back room. After a few minutes of clicks and clanks, he returned — and to Max’s shock, the once-dead watch was ticking steadily.
But not like any normal watch.
The second hand was moving backwards.
“What… is this thing doing?” Max asked.
Elroy smiled, but it wasn’t the kind of smile that made Max feel comfortable.
“That’s no ordinary watch, son,” he said. “It’s a wager.”
Max instinctively stepped back. “A wager? What do you mean?”
“This watch doesn’t measure time — it trades it,” Elroy said. “For every second it ticks backwards, you’ll get a second from someone else’s life.”
“Wait… what?”
Elroy leaned in. “Time isn’t just a number, Max. It’s currency. And this little beauty hasn’t ticked in 52 years.”
Max stared at the ticking hands. “So whose time is this?”
“That’s the gamble,” Elroy said. “Sometimes it borrows from people who’ve wasted theirs. Other times… from those who still need it.”
Max looked at the watch. It was warm now — humming faintly.
“So if I keep it…”
“You’ll live longer. Smarter. Sharper. But with every gain comes a shadow. Eventually, someone will come looking for what was taken.”
Max hesitated. “And if I give it back?”
“Time resumes its normal course,” Elroy said. “But no second chances.”
Max thought for a moment, then slipped the watch into his coat pocket. He looked up. “I’ll take my chances.”
Elroy gave a small nod. “Everyone does.”
