Mr. Pocketwatch Joins the Show

         I had just taken a nice long nap and was stretching my chimneys when a soft whimpering tickled my eaves. We had just put on a show, and I wondered, to my horror, if one of the guests had gotten trapped in one of the closets beneath the stairway. But no, they were clear, and the rooms were empty. What could that noise be? A pigeon? That rooster weather vane squeaking again?

         Finally I found the source: a silver pocket watch was lying in a drawer in the desk of the study. I opened the drawer to reveal his trembling form.

         “What’s wrong, my dear?” I asked him, trying to calm him. I blew away the dust from the drawer to maybe help clear his mind, but that only made him shake more.

         “I’ve been left forever!” he cried in a breathy falsetto. “He never came back...I thought he would, so I waited…” Then he started sobbing again.

         I thought maybe he meant the last master to leave the house, so when he quieted a little, I prodded, “You mean Mr. Travis left you here? Two months ago?”

         “Yes! I’ve been passed down for three generations, but now I’ll never be a real heirloom or ever see Mr. Travis again!”

         I tried to think of something to say to comfort the pocket watch. Mr. Travis had been the latest in a line of three inheritors of - ahem, yours truly - but had finally left when the ghostly crew had been a little too rowdy one too many times.

         I was saved from my fruitless attempts at comforting the poor watch when little Penelope, the youngest ghost, appeared out of the wall. “What’s wrong?” she asked, looking toward the drawer through her long dark hair.

         “Penny, Mr. Pocketwatch is sad because Mr. Travis left him behind when he left,” I explained, swaying my chandelier in empathy. “What do you say you draw him a picture?”

         Penny smiled with delight. I felt some paper in one of the bottom drawers of the desk and opened it for her, and she spied a pencil from behind our friend the pocket watch.

         “Excuse me sir,” she said respectfully to the watch as she stuck her hand through him and drew out the pencil. She was about to settle on a shelf of the bookshelf to draw when the pocket watch spoke up.

         “Actually, miss,” he sniffed, “if you wouldn’t mind, could you put me on top of the desk so I can watch? I’ve been in that drawer an awfully long time.”

         Penny hastened to his side and cupped him in her hands. “There you go,” she said, setting him gently on the desk top, and flew back to her shelf.

         “Thank you,” he said. “I think I’m feeling just a little bit better. I don’t know why I went off like that all of a sudden. Usually I prize myself on my patience. I’ve never been fast more than a second.” His face was beginning to shine a little.

         I wondered how much he really knew of his housemates since he had probably always been with Mr. Travis at all times. He must be very lonely.

         “You know, Penelope here is the leading lady in our productions. She’s very talented,” I told the watch, hoping to strike up a bit of conversation.

         He took the news worse than I had hoped. “Oh! You mean that ruckus the other day! I was glad to be in my drawer for once. That was frightening!”

         Penny, a good sport, took it as a compliment. She giggled. “I really got that red-headed boy! He ran so fast it was like he disappeared!”

         “Mr. Pocketwatch,” I said to him, “Let me explain what we do in our shows. Our typical audience is teenagers seeking a thrill. Once the guests are inside, I set the mood with a few shutter rattles and a door creak. Arthur whispers some lines from Macbeth from upstairs, and Jed shouts (of his own accord) impromptu lines like ‘Get outta my house!’ and ‘Argh!’

         “The audience is usually pretty riled up at this point, but not willing to quit just yet. Then the big finale (I got this idea from a movie I heard about): Penny appears in a picture frame on the wall and slowly comes toward the guests, growing bigger and bigger. If anyone is still inside at that point, she moves toward them slowly, looking at them with her best evil grin.” Then I added proudly, “We’ve never had anyone make it past that.”

         The watch said nothing, brooding. Penny flew over to him and held the picture up for him to see. It was a likeness of Mr. Travis.

         A little drop of oil squeezed on the watch’s face as he looked at it. “That really means a lot, Penny,” he said. “Did you know Mr. Travis?”

         “Oh yes,” she replied. “I used to appear in his mirror sometimes. And I would watch him in the garden, because he always grew such beautiful flowers.”

         The watch’s hands swirled. “Yes, the garden was always peaceful. But I wish you hadn’t scared him. He had many nightmares.”

         I intercepted quickly before Penny got her feelings hurt. “Well, let’s not get caught up in differences of opinion. The cast is really like a family.” I knew this was a long shot, but I added, “And we would be more than honored for the personal companion of Mr. Travis to join us.”


         Though grateful to finally have housemates and friends, Mr. Pocketwatch refused to participate in the shows, staying put in his drawer whenever we had guests. But eventually he came around, even smiling when we had a successful finale. One day he consented to play a small part that gave the ending a nice flourish, in my opinion. As Penny creeps toward the audience, Mr. Pocketwatch can be seen proudly swinging from her hand as he whispers, “No time, no time.”