In mid-March, I challenged all of you to suggest a conclusion to a short story, the plot line of which was posted: see “Help Wanted–Short Story Department” from March 14. BELOW is the full story as I have completed it.  After the stabbing, the time warp occurs.  Read carefully onward from there–does the ending work?  Is to too opaque?  Too obvious?  Too contrived?

Perhaps starting there, you want to send me your ending?

You can reply by posting to this blog or emailing me at [email protected].  Let me know.

Best, Steve

The Lost Hour

Okay, I am reaching out for help—I admit it. It was dumb. But who knew? Who could know.

What? Oh, right. Gotta tell you what happened. Right.

Last fall, I was down at the Thirsty Lion with the usual guys. Tony—he’s the regular barkeep – he gets antsy around a quarter to closing, afraid he’s going to get in Dutch with the cops for having people on the premises after last call. So anyway, it’s coming up to 3am, it being a Saturday and all, and Tony is all about downing our drinks and not ordering a night-cap.

Tony, I say, you know me, I walk home and I never been any trouble, just gimme another Jim Beam and a Sam chaser, I’m outta here before it’s a problem. So Tony, he knows me real well and knows I always toss a Lincoln on the bar when I’m leaving so he sets me up and I gulp it down, gotta admit.

I stepped out into the street at the stroke of 3, the lights inside click off immediately, everyone is waving good-bye and I’m telling you, standing there in the dark, I feel a little more unsteady than usual. I mean, the cold air really hits my nostrils and runs through my brain and out my ears and I am wobbling a bit. I grab onto the street-light pole on the corner.

I am steadying myself and to gain some time I decide to set my watch back to 2am and, damnedest thing, the winding stem won’t go back a second’s worth. I am stuck at 3am. Then the minute hand jumps and it says it’s 3:04, and I say to myself, Steve you are more than normally into your buzz today, so I sit down on the curb and I am looking at my watch and it is inching up towards four o’clock, one tick at a time.

Some guy from the neighborhood, I know his face, he’s walking towards me and I ask him as he gets near, I ask him for the time. He looks down at me, he must think I am totally drunk. He says slowly and clearly and really loud: “It’s 3.12 in the morning. You should move your watch backwards, it’s the night we change the time.”

I give him a stare, and he’s standing there, so I give him a quick nod and a thank-you, and he shrugs and he’s on his way. I try my watch again; it will not go backwards.

I am sitting on the curb, for a real long time. I must be drunk as a skunk. Then next thing I know, I see this young guy coming down the street, just before 4 o’clock, and I’m still sitting there. I am not paying attention and he stops, sizes me up, lays his eyes on my watch and sits down next to me.

“Nice watch.”

“What? Oh, yeah.”

“Let me have it.”

I am not sure I hear right. “Say what?”

He pulls a buck knife out of his jacket pocket and opens it. “I said, gimme the watch, you stupid drunk.”

I try to stand up but I am not too stable. He is standing up next to me. My foot feels for the sidewalk but I miss and lurch towards him, into his arm. His knife sinks into his stomach and we both look down at it. We are standing there under the street-light, looking at this knife sticking out of his middle, and then he slowly slides to the ground.

I look at him, then at my watch. it is 3:59 am. I look down again, and his body is gone. I blink. My watch says 3:00.

So there is this extra hour I lived, and then it just disappeared; don’t know how or why. And what did I do with it? I sat around drunk and then I killed somebody. Or at least I think I did…. How drunk was I? There’s no body. I went home. What else?

And here’s the thing. I’ve been thinking about that lost hour. Now it’s early March, right? In March we “spring” forward. We get that hour back. What if when we actually get to “spring” ahead, my watch doesn’t, well, spring? What if that lost hour comes back? What if I’m standing on the corner with a dead guy at my feet?

I am planning that weekend to take a bus to Foxwoods, far away from Newton. Sitting at a slot machine when the time comes, hidden in the middle of all the night-owls, a Jim Beam in my hand, neat no ice. Do you think that’s a good plan?