The Tic And The Toc In The Clock

By Michael Lagace, written for young people on Jan 20, 2008.

My sister once told me what that ticking sound in the clock was. I thought it was something like a hammer moving back and forth to keep track of seconds, but I was wrong. It was dwarf-elves – tiny little people, the size of a ladybug, with little green hats and big black moustaches. I didn’t believe her, so I investigated, using the Junior Spy kit I’d gotten from Santa Claus. I took the magnifying glass and I took the notepad and I nearly took the fingerprinting kit, until I remembered how small their fingerprints would be.

I watched that big wooden clock all Saturday morning, then all Saturday afternoon, then part of Saturday evening when mom asked me what I was doing.

“I’m looking for the dwarf-elves,” I said.

“Dwarf-elves?” she asked.

I nodded.

“Yes,” I said, “dwarf-elves. Helly told me there were dwarf-elves in the clock.”

“Michael,” she said, “there are no dwarf-elves in the clock.”

I was sad. I wanted to see their tiny little big black moustaches.

“Not any more, anyway,” she said, “The dwarf-elves moved to the egg-timer.”

My sister lied to me! I should have known! So I took my magnifying glass and I took my notepad and I went to the kitchen to find the egg-timer. It was not where it usually was – the back of the stove, right between the salt and pepper. I asked mom where the egg-timer was, but she hadn’t seen it. Thinking that anyone who might have taken the egg-timer would be, if nothing else, timing, I listened for a trail of tics and tocs that I could follow. I listened carefully… very, very carefully…

Tic.

Toc.

I crept towards the sound, trying not to let the floor squeak beneath my steps.

Tic.

Toc.

I was nearly in dad’s study.

Tic.

I peeked inside the doorway. He was sitting at his desk.

Toc.

He stared at the egg-timer, the one with the dwarf-elves.

“Dad?” I asked, only as a warning that I was about to interrupt him no matter what. “Are you done with the egg-timer?”

“Shh!”

Clearly no. I crept closer. He’d look at the egg-timer, then at his watch, then at an hourglass spilling its sand into the bottom, then back at his watch. I asked him again if he was done with the egg-timer, and this time I didn’t get shushed.

“Oh Michael, you made me lose count! One of these faulty old things is off and I’m going to find out which!”

“Dad, I just need the egg-timer for a second. I want to see the dwarf-elves inside.”

“Dwarf-elves?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Dwarf-elves?” he asked again.

I nodded again.

“Why would you think that there are dwarf-elves in the egg-timer?” He shook his head and chuckled. “No, the dwarf-elves are in the VCR.”

“Really?” I asked. He nodded. “But the VCR doesn’t make a tic toc sound. Isn’t that what the dwarf-elves do?”

“Yes, of course,” dad answered, tapping the last bit of sand into the bottom of the hourglass, “but a VCR has to stay clean, so they take off their shoes. They’re very quiet in socks.”

It seemed to make sense, so I left dad’s study so he could compare the egg-timer and the watch and the hourglass, and I went to the television room. The dots on the VCR flashed and the numbers slowly changed. I kneeled in front of it and I listened carefully… very, very carefully…

And I heard a noise.

A sneeze.

I poked the little cassette door open and looked inside. There were spindles and reels and levers and everything else you’d see inside a VCR, but there were no dwarf-elves. I shook my head.

Of course there were no dwarf-elves! It was all a prank! There were no dwarf-elves anywhere, let alone in the clock, or the egg-timer, or the VCR! I was so embarrassed that when I closed that cassette door, I never again believed in dwarf-elves, not even when I heard a mouse-like voice from somewhere inside – by a spindle or a reel or a lever – whisper ‘Is he gone?’ followed by a distinct shush.