Clocktown

Chapter 1
Part 1

Seth Travers wiped the fog from his windshield. Any moment another short blast of rain would again reduce visibility to nil and he would be stuck squinting through the small circle he had cleared with his hand.

“Not one damn station...“ he muttered, clicking the radio tuner with one hand and driving with the other.

By now he was certain he’d made a wrong turn at the last intersection roughly ten miles back. The crinkled map offered no help, aside from its ability to soak up the occasional drop of rain that leaked from the passenger side window. Seth’s editor would kill him if he knew how much time he was wasting on the winding backroads. All of which seemed to lead nowhere.

Already approaching six o’clock, Seth couldn’t afford to spend any more time or gas meandering on the narrow country two-lanes. Agitated and sick of interpreting the useless signs that dotted the road every few miles, he decided to detour into the nearest town and ask directions.

Hanging a sharp left, Seth traveled past a wooden welcome sign whose letters had been worn off by what he assumed was decades of bad weather.

How inviting, he thought.

As the pavement grew more cracks and the road became slimmer, he wondered if perhaps someone had simply abandoned the route and whatever town it once led to. Weeds and bent signposts littered the sides of the road, all testaments to a once quaint country way. Gradually Seth felt as if he’d stumbled into a rural timewarp.

After an interminably long drive on the snaking street, he considered turning back but decided to stick with it. Surely some gas station attendant or friendly farmer could offer directions. Besides, his fuel gauge was leaning awfully close to “E.”

Just as Seth contemplated a u-turn, he came over a small ridge in the road and, coming down the other side, spotted a beautiful small town.

“Jesus,” Seth mumbled. “Look at this place.”

The closer he got, the more the town stood out - immaculate, everything freshly painted in bright primary colors, complete with picket fences straight out of Norman Rockwell. Seth could hardly believe it. Like a movie set, the town appeared far too picturesque and inviting. Even the rain had slowed to a drizzle. Who knew such places really existed.

Taken in by the scenery of the rather vacant Main Street, Seth suddenly felt a thud and lunged forward. Lost in a daze, he’d rear ended an old white Chevy Impala moving at a snail’s pace ahead of him. The damage didn’t look to be horrendous, but a wreck was about all Seth needed that day. Flustered and ill-equipped to deal with any irate locals, Seth reluctantly exited his vehicle and prepared for the inevitable tonguelashing.

Instead Seth watched as the Chevy door swung open and a kid, no more than fourteen or fifteen, jumped out and began sprinting away from the scene.

“Hey... hey!” Seth shouted to no avail. The boy, clearly too young to drive in the state, kept running, not even glancing back as Seth continued to call out. “Hey kid, where are you going?! Get back here!”

“Whoa, what’s the commotion here?” a tall, dark-suited man strolling down the sidewalk asked. “And who are you?”

“Oh, my name is Seth Travers. I work for...well, it doesn’t matter. I came into town to ask for directions and accidentally rear ended this car,” Seth explained, breathless from yelling. “Anyway, this kid must have been driving. He shot out of the car and ran that way...“

Glancing briefly up the hill and back at the dented Impala, the raven-haired gentleman grew a slight grin. “Oh, that shouldn’t be a problem, Mr. Travers.”

“You know that kid?”

“Everyone knows everyone in this town. No secrets here. Why don’t you pull your car right there,” he said, pointing to a cobblestone driveway leading up to an almost Victorian-style shotgun house. “Come inside and I’ll have my wife fix you something to drink.”

“That’s very nice of you, sir, but I’m really in a hurry. I’ve got a deadline to...“

“Nonsense,” the well-dressed man snapped. “This town was built on manners and I won’t have you wandering around in the street.”

“Shouldn’t we alert the police or something?”

Opening the creaking iron gate to his house, the man laughed. “Son, I’m the mayor. Come inside.”

Late but without any other recourse, Seth nodded and pulled his car around into the driveway. Once inside, he marveled at the collection of vintage clocks covering the walls, some no doubt worth a fair amount of money.

“This way,” the man said, leading Seth into an ornate dining room. There, a woman in her mid thirties donning a sunny yellow apron was setting the table. Putting out the silverware was a young brunette, probably eleven or so, no doubt the man’s daughter. Hair tied back into wholly girlish pigtails, she also seemed to be straight out of a bygone era. Seth half expected her to introduce herself as Pippi.

“I’d like everyone to meet Mr. Travers. He’s a...“ the man paused and peered back at Seth.

“I’m a writer for a magazine.”

“Oh, one I might have heard of?” the woman asked.

“Probably not. It’s rather obscure really. Just a culture journal out of LA,” Seth explained, all the while eying the girl, who was still meticulously arranging the knives and forks on the table. “I don’t believe I caught any of your names.”

“Oh, I’m George Tierney and this is my wife, Gwen, and our daughter Lindsay.”

“Nice to meet you, Seth. Are you staying for dinner?” Gwen asked, smiling hopefully. “It’s been so long since we’ve had any guests.”

“Oh, I insisted Mr. Travers at least have something to drink.” George stared at Seth expectantly.

“To tell you the truth, I’m already way past my deadline. I don’t suppose another hour would make any difference.”

“Excellent, then it’s settled,” Mr. Tierney announced. “Take a seat right there.”

The next hour passed slowly, with each person at the table offering only smatterings of conversation, usually about nothing in particular. Seth couldn’t help but notice how the little girl, Lindsay, maintained an almost disturbing silence, as if she had been scolded earlier that day for misbehaving. Polite but stilted, the Tierney family kept persisting that Seth stay just a few minute more, even after George had appeared to lose interest in his guest.

“I really should be going. It was lovely meeting you all,” Seth said, sliding his chair from the table. “But I really need to clear up this matter with the car, find a gas station and get going...“

Excusing himself, Seth made his way back out to his lightly damaged Civic and turned the key. Struggling to turn over, the engine sounded weak and finally gave out. With the gas still registering just above the empty mark, Seth reasoned that the jolt had knocked something loose under the hood and he’d probably need a mechanic to fix it.

“Shit!” he growled. It was past nine o’clock and the entire town seemed to have already shut down for the evening.

“Something wrong?” Mr. Tierney asked, sidling around the car.

“The wreck must have jarred something out of place. It won’t even start now. No chance of finding a mechanic at this hour, I would imagine?”

“Best come back inside. You can sleep upstairs. We’ve got an extra bed in Lindsay’s room.”

“No, no, I can’t impose.”

“It’s no imposition. There’s plenty of room. Just get whatever you need and bring it in. I’ll have Gwen fix a spot for you,” Mr. Tierney smiled, almost as if the little mishap had been scripted. Something in his voice, the eagerness of it, made Seth vaguely uneasy.

The long walk up the staircase inside produced a symphony of creaks. While the house appeared kept and dusted, the place had an almost antique-like feel; the symmetrical hallways were lined with small tables, each covered with lacey cloth and knickknacks of yesteryear. Silent the whole way, Seth felt somewhat relieved when he stepped into his room. But his relief wouldn’t last long, as he found himself sharing the company of the Tierneys’ quiet but observant daughter.

“Extra blankets are in the closet,” Gwen said. “Now Lindsay, you won’t bother Mr. Travers, now will you?”

“No, Mom,” the meek young girl answered, delicately pulling back the sheets on her bed.

“All right, well, you’ll let us know if you need anything?”

“Yes, thank you again for the hospitality,” Seth said. “Goodnight.”

Not completely thrilled with the notion of sleeping under the watchful eye of Lindsay all night, Seth decided to extract a few words from her before bed. With her hair down, she looked slightly older than before. That combined with her patient demeanor made her seem far more mature than her appearance suggested. Already decked out in her light blue night gown, the minute beginnings of breasts could be seen poking out from underneath the frilly top. Watching her, Seth wondered how the Tierney’s had managed to tame their preteen so well.

“So, is bedtime always so early?” he asked, with his best friendly smile.

But Lindsay’s attention seemed focused elsewhere. She stared intently at the door and listened as the last of the creaks from the stairs indicated her mother had fully departed. Then she turned to Seth, her manner suddenly changing.

“My mom and dad are crazy,” she said with a deadly seriousness.

Seth was caught off guard and didn’t quite know how to respond. “Oh, I don’t know. They seem very nice to me...“

“That’s not what I’m talking about. They put on a good show for company, but you have no idea.” Lindsay took a seat on the bed opposite Seth. “They’re both crazy.”

“What do you mean?”

“They treat me like child. All these rules and regulations and if I mess up once, they...“

“Hold on, hold on,” Seth stopped her. “They may be strict, a lot of parents are, but that’s no reason to call them crazy. My parents were overprotective with me when I was your age too. I’m sure once you get older, things will change, you’ll see...”

With that, Lindsay glared at him. “You have no idea what’s going on here, do you?”

“What are you talking about? What’s wrong?”

“I’m twenty-three years old, Seth,” she said emphatically. “I’m not a little kid.”

Lindsay delivered the revelation so earnestly Seth could hardly keep from laughing out loud. Here, a girl barely at the outset of puberty living with her parents in a room with pink walls, was claiming to be a college age woman.

“Lindsay, now that’s ridiculous...“

“Wanna see a picture?” she immediately went rummaging through the drawer on her nightstand. Pulling out a color photo marked 04-15-2005, she handed the proof to Seth. “That’s me, two years ago with my friend Rachel. I’m the one on the left.”

Incredulous but amused, Seth nevertheless studied the picture and compared it with the anxious girl sitting adjacent to him. Sure enough, the woman in the picture, an attractive college junior with styled bangs and sparkling eyes, bore a marked resemblance to Lindsay. Especially her eyebrows which lifted curiously at the ends. But no, it couldn’t be her, Seth reasoned. People just don’t age backwards.

“Lindsay, I’m not sure what kind of game you think you’re playing with me, but it’s got to stop. There’s no way you’re the woman in this picture. You’re a little girl, eleven or twelve at best, honey. I’m sorry,” he explained, handing the photo back to her.

“They do it with a device. It’s called the Creason Shifter or something like that,” Lindsay kept on unfazed.

“Wait, so you’re saying your parents made you younger?” He was finally beginning to catch the girl’s train of thought.

“Every time I break a rule, go out with a guy they don’t like,” she said, sounding as if her predicament were an everyday teen problem. “Or sometimes, they just do it for themselves. So they can have their baby back.”

Intrigued, Seth leaned forward and locked eyes with Lindsay. Nothing about her, except her appearance, implied an eleven-year-old. The way she carried herself, her words and gestures - if she was lying, it was a pretty good show.

“You’re telling me your father has a device that can change your age?” Seth still found this a tad hard to swallow.

“Not just me,” Lindsay added. “Everyone.”

Once again taken aback by the girl’s seeming sincerity, Seth decided to simply shut up and listen.

“Everybody. This whole town. He controls them. We don’t have a normal jail or a normal school or anything. If someone is caught doing something bad, my dad just regresses or ages them. And if you’re wondering how we afforded this house, it’s all the device. Dad doesn’t sell it or even let anyone else know where he keeps it,” Lindsay explained clearly. “Instead he calls it a service.”

“What kind of service?” Seth asked attentively, the story having captured his imagination.

“Mostly parents who want their kids regressed. Sometimes people want their relatives aged so they can die sooner and collect their inheritance...“

“Back up here. Your dad just loans out the device?”

“No, he’s always in charge of it. But he changes people’s ages for profit, as long as the buyers know the deal,” Lindsay continued. “If anyone blabs about the device to the media or tries to alert outside authorities, they’ll wake up a little kid or even a baby.”

“I’m sure you realize what you’re telling me makes no sense,” Seth said, leaning back.

“I know, but it’s true. You have to believe me,” the nervous fifth-grader said.

“I’m sorry, Lindsay, I can’t..." Before Seth could finish his sentence, Lindsay leaned in and planted a kiss on his lips.

Opening the door at that inopportune moment, George Tierney witnessed the entire scene, his face going from welcoming to livid.

“What is going on here?! Lindsay!”

 

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