Short-Short Story Contest Finalist

Incident at Crooked House
By Hermine Robinson

 Hickory, dickory dock, the mouse ran up the clock. Mortimer nestled amongst the gears, safe inside the glass fronted case, and tucked his tail in close, careful to keep it away from sprockets and springs. One pinch was enough for this grey mouse. He absently rubbed the nasty kink, keeping time with the clock's tick, tock. It still hurt in damp weather but he could hardly complain, at least Mortimer still had his tail, unlike the poor blind buggers. The clock struck one.

“Lordy, lordy,” chimed three voices from below. “That farmer's wife was so ugly she struck us blind and then maimed us out of spite.”

“Up here,” Mortimer hissed. “Climb the chain. And mind the gears so you don't pinch –. Never mind, just be careful.”

Three white mice with clouded eyes sat across from Mortimer. Two of them faced him, ears forward. The middle one, sat backwards, waving in the general direction of his stump as he addressed the rear of the clock.

“So let's see if we've got this right,” said Eenie, “you can send us back in time, before this unfortunate incident.”

“Yes, this grandfather clock is a time machine,” said Mortimer. “And by the way, I'm behind you.”

Hup! Eenie spun around. Hup, hup, Meenie and Miney spun around too. Mortimer sighed.

“Technically, all clocks are time machines,” said Eenie.

“This one does more than count forward in one second intervals,” said Mortimer. “My clock can send you back in time, to your original state. From there you can choose a new path.”

“A new path?” asked Meenie. Or was it Miney?

“Yes. One with a different outcome. Or not. It's up to you.”

“Who would follow the same rotten path?” asked Eenie.

“You'd be surprised. Jack is forever breaking his crown. Jill isn't much better.”

“Well that ain't us,” said Meenie. “We'll move far away from that knife wielding crazy.”

Mortimer ran a paw over his whiskers and addressed the delicate subject of payment.

“Usury!” declared all three.

“Triple for three of you,” answered Mortimer. “And cheaper than living with the consequences. Ask Humpty. The money he could have saved on King's horses and men.”

“Are you threatening us?”

“Not at all. My friend and I are merely laying out your options.”

“Friend?”

A soft voice purred, “do you need some help boss?”

“Cat! Cat! Cat!”

The blind mice crashed into each other. One squeaked in fright as a thin, bent tabby with crooked claws flicked him towards the mouse hole. Mortimer watched all three disappear in a flurry of whiskers and haste.

“They'll be back,” he said to Puss.

“With plenty of cheese,” Puss agreed. “And speaking of coming back. Jack is waiting.”

“Another water fetching incident?”

“No, Jill demanded indoor plumbing,” said Puss. “This is something with a candlestick. He'd like to keep it hush hush.”

“That boy is a menace. Charge him double.”

“Funny,” said Puss. “Everyone thinks the Old Man is the crooked one.”