The Pocket Watch
Clearwater Bay School, Amelia Vogelsang, Fiction: Group 2
I
lie in bed fingering my great-grandfather’s pocket watch, pondering over line and my name.
Ryder. I am still teased about it, to try and help me feel better about it my grandfather told
me that it means “horseman.” Even so, I am still irked at having a name that sounds like it
should be a last name.
I try to shake the memories off but they keep coming back. My grandfather on his death
bed using his the last of his waning strength to hand over his pocket watch to me and then his
funeral. Finally I manage to shake off the memories and concentrate on the pocket watch. On top
it has a button I slowly press it and the pocket watch flips open.
Inside I see a tiny map, a clock face and something engraved below. I reach under my bed
and reach for my magnifying glass. I pull out a flashlight, “nope, that’s not it.” I feel around once
more and retrieve my magnifying glass. I use it to read the engraved words; they read, “This
time is of their time.” I ponder over the possible meaning of the words but they make no sense to
me. Then I remember the tiny map. I bring my magnifying glass over to the map and recognise
the outline of Mongolia. I close the pocket watch and turn it over. On my back I see the picture
of a camel and the camel seems to have words engraved on one of its humps. Again through my
magnifying glass I study the words. I hear loud whoosh and suddenly I realize that I am no longer
in my bedroom but in what looks like a large circular tent. I am still in a daze when I am struck
with a dreadful thought. It is just like the story in my favorite book “Worlds Within” by Margaret
and Steve Larson! It’s about a boy who finds a book; and then he focuses on the pictures and he is
transported to the place in the picture. I frantically try to remember how Toby got back. “Oh right,
looking at the picture again brought him back, let me try that. I stare intently at the map but I
hear no whoosh and I am still in the tent. I decide to explore and hopefully I will find something
useful. I find a cloth, a full water bottle, some dried meat and a glowing purple stone. I dump
everything I find inside the cloth sack that hangs from the door. Cautiously I open the door when
suddenly it whips back and hits me. Howling sand swirls inside. Then it occurs to me, “Could this
tent be in the Gobi Desert?” With all my strength I shut the door. I pull the cloth from the bag and
cover my eyes and nose. Then I go to the door again, open it and head out of the ger. I carry on in
the storm when suddenly I see a figure in the distance. I cry for help, but my call is snatched away
by the wind. I pass out.
I wake up to the gentle breeze of a hand fan and slight tapping on my cheek. I gradually open
my eyes and see a man dressed in a strange attire. He is wearing a plain maroon robe held at the
waist with a bright yellow sash, some pointy leather shoes and on his head a furry hat. He spoke,
flat with no emotion or pitch, “Drink this.” I slurp down some white liquid. It tasted like milk but
salty, I recognize it from my grandfather’s tales of his trips to the Gobi Desert – camel milk. I decide
to trust this man. Something compels me to tell him my whole story. “Can you help me get back?” I
ask the strange man when I am finished. “No.” he replies and my heart sinks. “But I do know a man
who can help.” I jump up because of this great news. “Sit down, or I will not take you to him.”
I obediently sit down and soon an old man arrives. He looks like his is a hundred years old,
his face a map of deep creases. He stares at me as if he is reading my mind. “Where is the stone?”
he asks me. He was reading my mind. I point to the cloth sack, he reaches into it and pulls out the
