The knocker struck the door three times on its own—a slow, deliberate rhythm. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Uncle Shom smiled, and for the first time, I saw fear behind his bourbon-colored eyes. Uncle Shom Part 1
Uncle Shom finally looked at me. His eyes were wet. The knocker struck the door three times on
“The watchmen of the in-between. They want their toll. They want the memory I’ve been hiding from them for forty years.” His eyes were wet
“Take care of this,” he whispered. “It’s the only thing keeping the late train on time.” That pocket watch became my obsession. Over the next week, Uncle Shom moved into our spare room—the one with the locked closet my mother never used. He kept strange hours. Awake at 3:00 AM, brewing black tea with a single sprig of rosemary. Asleep by noon, only to rise at sunset.
Part 1 of Uncle Shom is not a story with a clean ending. It is a beginning—the opening of a door that can never be fully closed. In Part 2, we will explore the letters he left behind in the attic crawlspace, the true origin of the watchmen, and the reason why Uncle Shom believed that I, and only I, could finish what he started.