Congratulations — you’ve been hired as the watchmaker of Bellgrave Town, a fog-shrouded place where every clock seems older than the town itself. Your new workplace stands on Ashford Street, a narrow cobblestone lane where the air always smells faintly of oil and brass.
The wooden sign above the door reads: “Bellgrave Timeworks — Est. 1892.”
Inside, hundreds of clocks line the walls — tall grandfather clocks, dusty pocket watches, and delicate wall pendulums that all tick together in a strangely hypnotic rhythm.
Your first shift starts at dusk. The previous watchmaker left in a hurry. No one says why.
But pinned to your workbench, beneath a faded photograph, are three rules written in trembling ink.
Rule 1: Wind every clock except the one in the back room.
Every clock repair job begins with patience and precision. You inspect gears, springs, and pendulums, oiling each with steady hands. The tick of a clock is a heartbeat — and Bellgrave Town depends on them to keep its nights steady.
But one clock must never be wound. The large black clock in the back room stands behind a locked glass door. It’s covered in dust, the numbers faded, and the hands frozen at 12:47.
The locals whisper that the clock once belonged to the founder, Edgar Bellgrave, who vanished the night it stopped.
You’ll be tempted to fix it — it’s part of your job, after all. But if you touch the winding key, the rest of the clocks across the shop will pause mid-tick, and for a brief moment, you’ll hear a whisper behind you:
“Too soon.”
That’s why the first rule exists — not to protect the clock, but to protect you.
The Watchmaker’s Duty
Being a professional watchmaker isn’t glamorous. The work is quiet, repetitive, and delicate. Each tick is a reminder of time passing — of lives measured in seconds. Bellgrave Timeworks offers fair pay, steady hours, and more clocks than customers.
The townsfolk still bring in broken watches, though most are antiques — handed down for generations. You’ll repair cracked glass, polish brass casings, and replace gears too worn to grip.
But soon, you’ll notice something strange: Even when the clocks stop, the air still ticks.
You’ll hear it faintly behind your ear, even when you leave the workshop at night.
Rule 2: If all clocks stop at once, hide under the counter.
The first time it happens, it’ll be sudden. Every clock will tick one last time — then silence.
Not the gentle silence of an empty room, but something heavier. The kind that makes the air feel thick.
You’ll look up, confused. The pendulums will hang mid-swing. The second hands frozen. Even the small watch on your wrist will stand still.
That’s when the scratching begins.
It starts behind the walls — a faint metallic scraping, like gears grinding against one another. Then footsteps. Slow, dragging footsteps across the workshop floor.
If you stay standing, you’ll see a shadow move between the shelves — tall, thin, wearing something like a coat of broken clock hands. The ticking will start again, faintly, but it won’t come from the clocks. It’ll come from inside the thing walking through the shop.
Hide under the counter. Do not breathe. Do not move.
When you hear the clocks resume ticking, you may stand up again. But don’t check the floor. Don’t look for footprints. They won’t be human.
Watchmaker of Bellgrave Town
Rule 3: When you hear ticking coming from your pocket, you’re out of time.
By your third week on the job, you’ll start noticing the time doesn’t match between clocks anymore. Some run faster, others slower. Sometimes, you’ll find one rewinding itself.
You’ll also notice you’ve begun losing hours. You’ll start a repair at dusk, look up, and the sun will be rising. Customers will come in saying you’ve been gone for days, even though you swear it’s only been hours.
Then, one night, while closing the shop, you’ll hear a faint tick-tick-tick coming from your coat pocket.
You’ll reach inside and find an old pocket watch that isn’t yours — its glass cracked, its hands spinning backward. The ticking will grow louder, faster, until it sounds like it’s inside your chest.
When that happens, leave everything behind. Run. Because in Bellgrave Town, time doesn’t pass — it feeds.
And when your pocket starts ticking, it means time has found you.
The Legacy of Bellgrave Town
Bellgrave Town once thrived on clockmaking. In the 1800s, it was known as the town that never slept — every house, every shop filled with clocks that chimed in harmony.
But one night, all the clocks stopped at once. The next morning, half the town was gone. The rest never spoke of it again.
Now, only Bellgrave Timeworks remains — and it’s said that the building itself remembers every minute lost.
Locals say the workshop is a kind of anchor — keeping time from unraveling. That’s why the town still hires a watchmaker every decade. Someone must wind the clocks, keep the rhythm steady, and prevent the silence from returning.
But each new hire lasts shorter than the one before.
Inside the Workshop
Your tools gleam under flickering light: tweezers, screwdrivers, magnifiers. The air smells of dust and oil. Every night, you follow routine — polish, wind, listen.
Sometimes, you’ll swear you hear breathing among the clocks. Other times, you’ll see the minute hand twitch before your eyes.
You’ll find notes left by previous watchmakers too — scrawled in ledgers, tucked into drawers:
“It’s not the clocks that need fixing.” “The ticking isn’t real.” “If you see him behind the glass, don’t let him in.”
One entry, dated 1964, reads:
“I wound the clock in the back room. He came.”
That entry ends mid-sentence.
When Time Fights Back
There’s a strange phenomenon only horologists (clockmakers) talk about — something called temporal drift. In Bellgrave Town, that drift isn’t theory. It’s alive.
Sometimes, you’ll hear echoes of conversations that haven’t happened yet. The phone will ring before it’s plugged in. And occasionally, the clocks will all chime thirteen times instead of twelve.
If that happens, don’t answer the phone. Don’t speak. The voice on the other end will sound like yours — asking for help.
You can’t help them. That voice is what’s left of the previous you.
The Job Description
Officially, the watchmaker job description here includes:
Repairing and maintaining antique clocks
Handling mechanical watch restoration
Operating delicate timing instruments
Recording maintenance logs
Unofficially, your duties also include:
Keeping time from collapsing
Avoiding what walks between seconds
Never, ever winding the back-room clock
The town’s mayor says your work “keeps Bellgrave stable.” You’ll start wondering if that’s true — or if the workshop itself is keeping you.
The Moment of Silence
Every night at 3:07 AM, there’s a pause — just half a second — where everything stops. Even your heartbeat.
The first time it happens, you’ll think it’s your imagination. But you’ll soon realize the pause grows longer each night. It’s not silence. It’s expectation.
And when the clocks all stop together for the last time, you won’t have time to hide.
The ticking will move from the walls, to the shelves, to your hands, to your pulse. And then, from your pocket, you’ll hear that whisper again:
“You’re out of time.”
Watchmaker of Bellgrave Town
Conclusion: The Price of Precision
Being a watchmaker demands focus, patience, and respect for time. But in Bellgrave Town, time isn’t a measurement — it’s a presence. You’ll come to understand that the clocks you repair aren’t keeping time; they’re keeping something inside.
When the final chime rings and all hands point to midnight, the shop will fall silent. The door will creak open on its own. And you’ll see another person step in — holding a folded letter with your name on it.
