Page 123 of The Witching Hours

“What’s your name?”

“Forgive me, my dear. I’m beyond embarrassed and devoid of manners. I should have introduced myself first thing. My name is Rand Huggins Winkleman. You’re welcome to call me Mr. Winkleman. I know people are more casual these days, but I’m the old-fashioned sort.”

“Let’s compromise. I’ll call you Winkleman.”

He raised an eyebrow, but acquiesced. “If you wish.”

“Or Winkie!”

“Definitely not!” He swept his right arm out to the side. “Follow me if you please. Our goal is to pinpoint that one thing at the top of your bucket list.”

I fell in behind him and in no time at all was enthralled in the tale that was taking shape. It was so fun to pretend that magic was real, I decided it was worth playing hooky from work and going along with Mr. Winkleman’s game.

“I don’t have a bucket list.”

“No? Hmmm. Just as well because bucket list doesn’t do this justice. What I mean is that you’re not bound by the usual inhibitors – gender, talent, age, time – things like that.”

“So, I could be an NFL linebacker?”

“You could, yes.” He stopped. “Is that what you want?”

“No.” I was shaking my head emphatically. “That does not exist on my bucket list. Hey.” I smiled. “I made a rhyme.”

“You’ll see your fella before bedtime.”

“Okay. Now you’re scaring me a little.” My dad would always finish my happy pronouncement of having made a rhyme, withthatrhyme.

“Winkleman sees all.”

I thought about the state in which I’d left my bathroom and decided not to think very hard about Winkleman having the ability to “see all”.

“I don’t think I’m a fan of that prospect.” He looked at me curiously. “Like everybody, I have private matters.”

“Well, certainly. A gentleman with the ability to see all doesn’t take advantage.”

“Good to know.”

We began at the front of the store in a corner exhibiting every make and manner of clock imaginable. “As you might guess, this is our time travel section.”

“Time travel?” I said. “No. I wouldn’t have guessed that. I would have said it’s your clock collection.”

Winkleman’s chuckle, friendly and familiar, seemed ever at the ready to put me at ease as if he’d also been ‘custom designed’ for my optimum experience. “Should you choose time travel, you can name the exact date and geographical location. You can visit as an observer, tourist if you will, or you can adopt the persona of a particular historical figure. Total emersion as they say.”

“For how long?”

“Until you’ve gotten what you need from the experience.”

“Sounds a little vague.”

Ignoring that, he continued the verbal reading of the menu. “Travel on the Orient Express in 1883. Travel on theTitanic, first class, of course. We would conclude your trip before the unfortunate end.”

“Winkleman,” I stopped, shocked by the offering. “First, ew. Second, no. Why would I want to spend time interacting with people who are about to drown in freezing ice-cold water?”

“It wouldn’t be for long. The Titanic only sailed for four days before meeting its end.”

“Oh, well, that makes all the difference.”

“Is that sarcasm?”