Scientists have always raved on about the doomsday clock, as if it was a real physical representation of a timepiece that advances towards an inevitable end. It was however considered as just a metaphor, or that’s what we’d always been told. It apparently showed how close humanity comes to destroying itself and that it should theoretically never reach total annihilation, but no one saw that final tick.
This theoretical clock, that has been re-set many a time stands silent, the symbol once representing the likelihood of a man-made global catastrophe now ticks in a world beyond human sight, between the physical and the spiritual.
We, the people of the world should not in all honesty still be roaming the lands. We should have been vapourised, eradicated, exterminated with the end of time as all good sci-fi stories have warned us, but here we are. Nothing seems very different; in fact everything looks as it did a few minutes ago. Light pollution from the city still blazes, but that won’t last for long. The generators will eventually fail and with the electricity gone, darkness will reign.
Tomorrow the sun will not rise.
The hour of judgement awaits. The forces of light and darkness will determine the advantages to be afforded the weaknesses and strengths of mankind.
I watch the midnight caller blaze a trail across the sky. A crystal carriage drawn by a pure white silver Pegasus, shimmers through the darkness and gently lands at my feet.
“Come.” Just one word from the angel at the reigns is all that is needed. I am the last to board. Once inside the seats span back in endless rows, all occupied.
“Is this death?” I ask.
There is no reply.
A black chariot breaks the tranquillity. The bull-like creatures, breathing fire and sulphuric acid stamp the air with their hooves in frustration. With malicious intent they seek their prey.
Satan, at the helm cracks his whip and cuts lightning into the night, the roar of the thunder shaking us to the very core of our previous existences. Evil and revenge erupt in violent raging clouds.
Her calm voice coloured in hues of velvet and silk whisper through the chaos and echoes far behind as we travel towards the light.
“You cannot have him. This one is not yours.”
Thrumps woke with a start, although he knew he dreamed, well didn’t everyone (?) he was very aware that this time he could remember it word for word, which was strange, very strange indeed.
What he didn’t know though was what it all meant.
Maybe, it was the end of The Emporium or the end of him, he shuddered, he really hoped not on both counts.
Planting his feet firmly on the floorboards he clapped his hands and was instantly dressed. He never had any idea as to what he would be wearing but trusted the magic to make it appropriate to the impending situation. Today he was in a very snazzy dark blue velvet three-piece suit, with a crisp white shite and cravat topped off with extremely shiny black winkle-pickers. One click of his fingers and his cane flew to his hand. He tapped it on the floor experimentally and laughed as tiny rainbow fairies flittered about before shattering into coloured sparks. All boded well for the next adventure, so why was he so anxious?
The dream had unsettled him, but he shrugged and set about the preparations for when the doors opened. To be honest there was never very much to do as he never had a clue as to where The Emporium would be going or what task would unfold, but he tidied the desk anyway. The pens had become used to be being shuffled and always patiently waited until he had finished before putting themselves back in the correct order. The Book of Un-Reality dutifully opened itself to the next blank page and the fountain pen refilled itself in readiness while the mug filled and refilled with steaming hot chocolate.
Thrumps licked the remains of the cream from his lips and indicated that he had finished. The mug disappeared.
All was set.
Usually the shop was just that, a shop, the oak cabinets contained various bits-and-bobs and the shelves were laden with all the trappings of a good old-fashioned hardware shop selling all things kitchen to garden and everything in between. The counter was cluttered with a miscellaneous assortment of bric-a-brac and a huge pair of scales for weighing out the likes of a penny sweets mix.
Midnight.
The doors swung open.
The old guy in the brown coat that Thrumps had not noticed, or maybe he wasn’t there before looked up.
“Now then.” He said as if this was the standard greeting that worked for every occasion.
The young lady smiled.
“I know, I know,” he said almost annoyed. He changed his coat for a dapper jacket and a battered trilby hat. “Do you know where I’m going?” He asked.
She shook her head.
“Oh well, I’ve always loved a bit of an adventure.” He sighed as he took a last look around.
“You!” he said pointing to the desk. “Yes, you’ll do, at least you look the part.”
Thrumps heart missed a beat.
“Take good care of her.” He continued, and taking the ladies arm they disappeared as they walked out across the threshold.
Thrumps slumped into his desk chair.
The pages of the Book of Un-reality fluttered, desperate to get his attention.
Scrolled across the middle of two pages in precise copper plate script …
On this day, The Emporium began a new chapter.
On this hour a new custodian was granted the reigns
On this minute new journeys await to unfold
On this chapter, new adventures
On this page, new words
On this shop … the dark side is never far away
On this watch do not let them catch you
The book slammed itself shut, but when Thrumps thumbed through the pages, the message was gone.