№19818[Quote]
Be honest, how many of you have actually heard about the Man with the Gold Watch before tonight? Thought so. Nobody ever does. Until they see him. And then it's either too late or you're one of the lucky ones who knew better.
I'm posting this because my grandfather told me this story when I was a kid, and last week I almost ran into the fucker for real. Almost looked him in the eye. My heart's still pounding when I think about it. You need to know this before you walk through any old business district past midnight.
Every city has one. I don't care if you're in New York, London, some shithole in Eastern Europe, or a "nice" little town with one cobblestone street and a clock tower that hasn't worked since the 80s. He's there. Waiting.
They call him different things. The Broker. The Late One. My granddad just called him "The Ded" like the Slavic word for grandpa, because that's what he looks like. Just some old man. Expensive coat, old-school leather shoes polished like mirrors, grey hair combed back like he's about to close a deal. Respectable. Out of place.
But the watch, anons. You'll notice the watch first if you're stupid enough to look up. Massive gold thing on a leather strap. Antique as fuck. And here's the thing - the hands never move. Ever.
Story goes this guy was a ruthless businessman back in the day. Like, industrial revolution level cutthroat. Bought factories, ruined families, never lost a deal because his whole thing was timing. He bragged he never missed a minute in his life. Time was money and he had all of it.
Then one day he fucking slipped. Overslept, carriage broke down, whatever. Showed up ONE MINUTE late to sign the biggest contract of his life. Just sixty seconds. Some other bastard signed it first, stocks crashed, empire gone in a single day. Guy couldn't handle it. Walked into the building with the clock that showed his ruin and blew his brains out right there.
But death didn't stick.
Now his soul's stuck in a loop. Can't move on because he's missing that one minute. He's not looking for revenge or blood. He's looking for something simpler and way more fucked up.
He wants to know the time.
If you're unlucky enough to walk through the wrong alley, past the wrong old building with a clock, you'll hear him first. A little cough. A shuffle. You look up - there he is. Standing in the shadow of an archway, under a dead streetlight, by a door that's been bricked up for fifty years.
He raises his left hand. The one with the frozen gold watch. And he looks you right in the eyes. His voice sounds like dry paper tearing:
"Excuse me, passerby… do you have the time? Could you tell me what time it is right now?"
That's it. That's the whole question. He just wants to check his watch.
№19819[Quote]
Here's why you NEVER answer.
If you tell him the time, you're not just being helpful. You're giving him your minute. He takes that minute from your future and inserts it into his past. Lets him fix his mistake for one blissful second before the loop starts again. But you? You get his minute. The minute that ruined everything.
Exactly one year later (some say on the next blue moon, some say when the clocks go back, depends who's telling it) you'll have YOUR minute. One minute where something kills you. Heart attack while driving. Brick falling at the exact second you walk under it. Random car jackknifing into the cafe where you're sitting. Just one minute and you're fucking dead. Not a second more, not a second less. The trade is complete.
And here's the part they don't tell you in the shorter versions. The real kicker.
Don't look at him either.
Eye contact longer than three seconds and he remembers you. He won't kill you. Worse. He'll start visiting your dreams every single night, standing at the foot of your bed, just holding up that watch, staring. Not speaking. Just waiting. Showing you the time you still owe him. People in the old neighborhood said that drives you crazier than death. You stop sleeping. You start seeing him in reflections. Eventually you go looking for him just to make it stop. And that's when the real bad shit happens.
My granddad's rule was simple. You hear a cough in an empty street near old buildings? You hear shoes on cobblestones when nobody's there? DON'T LOOK UP. Look at your phone. Look at the ground. Cross the street. Walk through him if you have to - feels like walking into a freezer, they say, but better than looking.
And for the love of god, if some old man in a fancy coat asks you what time it is, you don't open your mouth. You don't even breathe loud. You just walk.
Sometimes in the morning they find gold dust on the sidewalk near the old clock towers. Or a leather glove. Old timers say "The Broker got angry again. Turned to dust when nobody answered. He'll be back by evening though. He's always back."
Check your city. You've got an old building with a clock that doesn't work, right? You've walked past it at night and felt that weird cold spot for no reason? Thought it was just the wind?
Yeah.
Maybe check your phone next time. Don't look up. And if you've already looked… well. Enjoy your dreams, anon. Hope he doesn't ask you for the time tonight.