A Short Story by John DeRossett
The little antique shop on the corner of Main and Third had been there for as long as anyone could remember.
So had the old man behind the counter.
Nobody knew his name. Most people simply called him Mr. Tomorrow, although nobody could remember exactly how he’d acquired the nickname.
He sold clocks, mostly. Grandfather clocks, pocket watches, alarm clocks, and wristwatches that hadn’t worked in decades. There were hundreds of them, ticking and chiming at different intervals.
Except for one.
A small silver pocket watch sat beneath a glass dome on the counter. Its hands never moved.
One rainy Thursday afternoon, a young man named Daniel wandered into the shop.
“Looking for anything special?” the old man asked.
“Just killing time.”
The old man smiled.
“That’s a terrible thing to do with it.”
Daniel laughed politely and began examining the shelves.
He was twenty-eight, unemployed, recently divorced, and convinced that life had somehow passed him by.
He’d lost his job six months earlier. His wife had left three months after that. His landlord had given him until Monday to pay the rent.
He wasn’t looking for a clock.
He was looking for somewhere to stay dry.
“How much for that one?” Daniel asked, pointing at the silver pocket watch.
The old man’s expression changed.
“That one’s not for sale.”
“Everything’s for sale.”
“Not tomorrow.”
Daniel looked at him.
“What?”
The old man lifted the glass dome.
“This watch doesn’t tell time. It gives you time.”
“Right.” Daniel grinned. “And I’ve got a bridge in Brooklyn.”
“Would you like to try it?”
Daniel shrugged.
The old man placed the watch in his hand.
“Turn the crown once. Only once. Then tell me what you see.”
Daniel turned it.
The shop disappeared.
He was standing in a hospital room.
An older woman lay in a bed beside the window. Her face was pale, her breathing shallow.
His mother.
Daniel stumbled backward.
“Mom?”
She turned toward him.
“Oh, Danny. You came.”
He hadn’t seen his mother in nearly two years. They’d argued over something so ridiculous he could barely remember what it was.
“Mom, what happened?”
She smiled weakly.
“Nothing that doesn’t happen to everybody eventually.”
He reached for her hand.
It was warm.
“I’ve been meaning to call,” he whispered.
“I know, sweetheart.”
A monitor began beeping.
“Mom?”
The room vanished.
Daniel was back in the antique shop, gripping the watch so tightly that its metal edges had left marks in his palm.
“What the hell was that?”
“Tomorrow,” the old man said.
Daniel stared at him.
“That wasn’t tomorrow.”
“It was a tomorrow. One of many.”
“Is she going to die?”
“Eventually. We all do.”
“When?”
“That’s not the question you should be asking.”
Daniel’s hands trembled.
“Then what is?”
The old man took the watch and returned it to its glass dome.
“The question is what you’re going to do today.”
Daniel didn’t answer.
He hurried out into the rain.
He called his mother from the sidewalk.
She answered on the fourth ring.
“Danny?”
“Hi, Mom.”
There was a long silence.
“Is everything all right?”
He swallowed.
“Yeah. I just wanted to hear your voice.”
Another silence.
Then she began to cry.
They talked for nearly an hour.
They apologized. They laughed. They remembered things neither had thought about in years.
Before hanging up, Daniel promised to visit that weekend.
And he did.
He also found a job, eventually. Paid his rent. Met someone new. Had a daughter.
Life wasn’t perfect.
But he stopped waiting for it to be.
Twenty-seven years later, Daniel returned to his hometown for his mother’s funeral.
Walking down Main Street, he noticed something strange.
The antique shop was gone.
In its place stood a small coffeehouse.
He stepped inside.
“Excuse me,” he asked the young woman behind the counter. “What happened to the clock shop?”
She frowned.
“The what?”
“The antique store. Used to be right here.”
“Oh.” She smiled. “You must mean the old building.”
“Yes.”
“They tore that down in 1978. This place has been a coffee shop ever since.”
Daniel stared at her.
“That’s impossible.”
“Why?”
“I was in that shop in 1999.”
The young woman shrugged.
“Maybe you’re thinking of somewhere else.”
Daniel stepped outside.
For a moment, he stood beneath the awning, watching the rain fall onto the sidewalk.
Then he heard it.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
He looked down.
There, on the windowsill beside him, sat a small silver pocket watch.
Its hands were moving.
Attached to the chain was a folded piece of paper.
Daniel opened it.
Four words were written in careful handwriting.
You spent it well.
He smiled.
Then he turned the watch over.
Engraved on the back were three more words.
Your turn now.
Daniel looked up.
Across the street, a young woman stood alone in the rain, crying into her telephone.
He slipped the watch into his pocket.
And walked toward her.
THE END
© 2026 John DeRossett. All rights reserved.
An original short story presented by Everward Storyworks.
