Clockwise

By Talla Taccone

When Daniel was just a little kid, Uncle Jack showed him the old grandfather clock in the attic and told him it was full of dark secrets. Jack instructed Daniel to care for the clock if something ever happened to him. That time has come; Uncle Jack left for the Amazon awhile back and hasnt been seen since. Now sixteen-year-old Daniel is determined to follow his uncles wishes.

As Daniel examines the clock, he discovers a burned message on the back panel that reads: Beyond the Shadows, Time Waits. Hes intrigued but has no idea what the message means. When the clock strikes thirteen, Daniel is thrown into a deadly adventure in a different time and place.

He initially finds himself in the cemetery, the Everlasting Garden of Rest, in the country of Arcadia, and he realizes hes a long way from New York. With his new acquaintances Benora and Poge, Daniel experiences a journey that changes his life. And it all started with a clock.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Jul 20, 2015
• ISBN: 9781480819962

Talla Taccone

Talla Taccone lives in Upstate New York with her son and their twenty-pound calico cat.

Book preview

1

CLOCKS, ESPECIALLY GRANDFATHER CLOCKS, SHOULD DO certain things.

They should tell time; they should chime; they should be nice to look at; and like a good friend, they should be a joy to have around.

This crummy clock did none of those things.

One thing a clock should never do is change your life, no matter how dull you may think it is. Sometimes change is good, but there are limits.

One day in September, we were up in the attic of Uncle Jack’s house in Rochester. My uncle Jack was gone. Gone forever, my father, Walter, said, and that’s why we were there—to clear out the place so my mother could put the house on the market to sell.

In a dark corner under the eaves, I stood in front of the awful grandfather clock. My hand shook as I touched its face. Not that I was afraid of the weird thing—not me—but seconds before, when my fingers had traced the nose and mouth of its face, a funny shock had shot through my arm.

That was odd because the clock wasn’t even ticking. In fact, it was dead.

It’s a funny way to talk about a clock, but I suppose it had been in the attic for so long that its innards had dried up, and therefore there was no other way to describe it. Dead.

The single lightbulb in the attic ceiling was anemic—so anemic that my mother, Eileen, had to hold up a flashlight so we could see everything better.

Walter came up the stairs and joined us. Daniel, that thing’s a piece of junk. I don’t think even the Salvation Army will take it.

As parents go, mine aren’t bad, I guess, except when they’re after me to do something—like cut the grass or do my homework. I’m only sixteen. What do they expect from me?

I got huffy when Walter said that about the clock. This is my legacy, Walter, and nobody’s giving it to the Salvation Army or to anybody else. I put my arms around the ugly thing and hugged it. No one had ever died and left me anything before. I felt very important because of that.

Walter snorted a hmmph and gave me an annoyed look at the same time, probably because I had called him Walter.

I’d been in Uncle Jack’s attic before. Years ago, when I was a little kid, Uncle Jack had showed me the clock and said it held dark secrets. He also made me promise that if anything ever happened to him, I would take the clock and care for it.

At least I think that’s what he said. I was only around eight or nine at the time. The whole conversation is vague. I also remember him saying once, Daniel, you look like me. Did anyone ever tell you that?

He must have meant our red hair. For a while, when I was young, I didn’t mind having red hair, but it got to the point where people would ask, Where’d you get such red hair?

I wanted to gag but would say, By eating carrots.

One time in the mall, when a lady asked that, I said, The same place you got your big nose.

Eileen pulled me away after an embarrassed apology to the lady, and then she gave me the dreaded fisheye. That spelled trouble. That night there was no dessert for me.

From another part of the attic, Walter held up a set of bagpipes covered with cobwebs. He shook his head. My parents do that a lot—shake their heads—especially when they’re talking to me or talking about Uncle Jack.

What on earth was he doing with bagpipes? Walter asked.

Maybe he played them, I answered, although I don’t think Walter expected an answer.

Walter turned around and frowned at me. I hope you turn out better than he did.

Why? I asked, though I knew what he meant. I had heard it all before.

Walter opened his mouth to answer but then looked at Eileen and changed his mind. His remarks about Uncle Jack always came up when he and Eileen talked to me about going to college. They thought I should go and get a business degree. I suppose, in their eyes, that way I wouldn’t end up like Uncle Jack.

Facing the clock, I wondered what kind of secrets it hid. All I knew was that it was tall and strange. It had a face that was almost human, and the eyes bulged as if in shock. The black, oval mouth looked like a dark cave. The wooden top of the case had been carved by its maker into thick curls that dropped halfway down the sides, and the bottom had what looked like carved hairy legs. The only nice thing was the brass pendulum, which shined as though it had just been polished.

The clock had a glass door-front, and when I pried it open, I found a large key hanging near the bottom of the case. I inserted it into one of the two holes in the face. After some hard winding it began to tick, but at the same time it made a noise inside that sounded like it was grinding meat for sausages.

Walter heard the ticking and came over to help me with it. We set the hands to the correct time, but we couldn’t get it to chime, which disappointed us.

Needs fixing, just like everything else in this house, Walter grumbled. He gave up on it and went to the other side of the attic to pack some old books into a cardboard carton. Eileen went downstairs to sort through the papers in the roll-top desk in the study.

The clock was heavy. Pushing it around to examine the other side, I noticed someone had burned a message on the back panel. The sun was trying to shed some light through a nearby window, but it wasn’t enough. Eileen had left the flashlight on the top step of the stairs along with masking tape, marking pencils, and some screwdrivers that she had brought from home—home being Brockport, a small town about forty-five minutes from Uncle Jack’s house.

I got the flashlight and directed the beam at the burned message. It read Beyond the Shadows, Time Waits.

Oh, great. If the words were meant to be a riddle, they certainly were. Eileen always said I was good at solving mysteries, but I had no idea what these puzzling words meant. Now Walter would say, It means move your backside and do some work. Eileen, on the other hand, would smile sweetly and say, You know, Daniel, ‘Time waits for no man.’ That’s what it means.

From the corner near the stairs, I heard Walter grunt as he tried to lift a boxful of books.

Putting the flashlight down, I hurried to him. Walter, let me help you.

Thanks, son. Let’s take these downstairs for now—and don’t call me Walter.

The box was heavy, and when we got to the landing on the second floor, we paused before taking it down the rest of the way. My mind was filled with ideas on how to make some kind of pulley or gizmo so we would be able to send things from the attic to the first floor without carrying them and breaking our backs.

Eileen was at the roll-top desk, still going through papers. She inspected us over her Ben Franklin half-glasses. Make sure all boxes are named or labeled, she instructed, or we won’t know what to discard and what to sell.

Sell? I thought of all the wonderful treasures in the attic. All the strange masks hanging from the rafters, the chests filled with things we hadn’t seen yet, and those bagpipes.

Feeling anxious, I said, Eileen, can’t we keep the house? What if Uncle Jack comes back? He’ll be awful mad at you for selling his stuff. And his house too.

She took off the glasses and sighed. That’s another thing Walter and Eileen do a lot of—sigh. Daniel, it has to be done, and as his only sister, I have to do it.

Of course she was right. Uncle Jack had been gone too long, and it was silly to imagine he would have stayed away from all his stuff for so many years if he didn’t have to.

Something must have showed on my face because, as if she could read my thoughts, she got up from the chair and put an arm around my shoulders. I loved him too, Daniel. He was my baby brother.

Walter, who had been listening from the living room, came in holding a small statue of a dog with green stones for eyes. Daniel, you can keep some of his things. Whatever you want. That is—his tone changed abruptly from gentle to sarcastic—if you can find any space in that room of yours.

Eileen sat back down and held her head in her hands. I’m getting a headache from all the dust in this place.

Walter glanced at his watch. It’s almost three. Hadn’t I better go get some groceries for us? He was always thinking about dinner or something to eat.

Suddenly I wished I was back home in Brockport. Only a few hours had gone by, and already I missed my friends. Steve and Chris were probably going over to Patrick’s house right about now to shoot some hoops. I wondered if they’d go to the movies later and chow down on popcorn without me.

Eileen paid no attention to Walter. We may need a cleaning crew to come in, maybe some painters too. This neighborhood’s not a bad one, she said as if to herself. It shouldn’t be hard to sell.

Eileen is in real estate part time, and it’s the perfect job for her. She loves talking about gas-heated houses, mansard roofs, remodeled kitchens, and hardwood floors. I could see her assessing the house every time she looked around.

Eileen, do we have to stay the whole weekend? I asked.

She glanced up at me. This is just the first of many weekends, I’m afraid. And why do you keep calling me Eileen? I don’t understand you, Daniel.

Everybody calls their parents by their given names. This is not the stone-age, you know. Besides, it puts us on a more equal footing.

I’ll give you an equal footing on your backside, Walter said, lunging at me. He had a serious expression on his face, so I ducked and made a dash into the kitchen. He’d never catch me. I’m pretty dodgy and fast, although a week ago I tried out for the football team and didn’t make it—again. I had felt choked up all night and the next day. I didn’t tell Walter about it.

When I went back into the study, Walter jiggled the car keys. Want to come to the grocery store with me?

Walter works in middle management for a food-processing plant back in Brockport. He always tells me, I want you to have a better life than I had. I didn’t see anything wrong with his life. He goes fishing a lot with four friends of his, and he and Eileen belong to a bridge club. He drives a Blazer and has a nice house and two wonderful children, me and my sister, Ruth Ann, who’s in her first year of college.

And while I’m on the subject of Ruth Ann, she’s their favorite child, I’m sure of it. How do I know? Whenever company comes over, Eileen always says, And Ruth Ann is doing so well. She made the dean’s list, you know. I always make a mental bet with myself