[ WP ] You receive a box in the mail , containing a digital clock counting down , and a note , saying `` When this clock hits zero , you will die . ''

It was a Braun clock: Sleek minimalistic design - mostly just an LCD screen on a black polymer rectangle. Before he had opened the box he had been sure it was his latest order from amazon for novels and action figures, but found it instead. 
 
 A missent package. He thought. And clearly broken: The clock was telling the wrong time: 1459 hours. No M or AM. Just the minutes, seconds and milliseconds in white digits. 
 
 When he put the clock away he noticed the type-writer written paper under it. He took it out of the box and read it. 
 
 `` When this clock hits zero, you will die.'' 
 
 There was nothing else but that. 
 
 He stared at the note, feeling blank for a moment. This always happened: No matter how many chain mails he received or comments he saw online saying'If you do n't resend this/read this your family/you will die', he always felt that small fear and dread. There was always that irrational second where he believed it, considered it, but then he would be free of that all. That just never happened. Yes, even if you think ‘ that will never happen ’ it ’ s not the sign that it will. Real life had no time for such nonsense. 
 
 He looked at clock and again, seeing the time. 1458 hours. That was a couple of days. 2 
 months. In two months he would die, apparently. 
 
 `` Guess I ’ ve better make up for the lost time. ” He said. 
 
 He had a strange indescribable feeling of deja vu. It sort of felt like the plot to Richard Matheson ’ s ’ Button, Button. Minus the choice. He had to hand it to them, as far as hoaxes went this one was well thought out. The clock did not look cheap at all. It was such a simple but effective way to screw with somebody, and he knew he'd be playing with the idea in his head even after he threw away and ignored the stuff. 
 
 Strangely, he never got around to doing it. Life got in his way, or rather the glorious world of the internet did. He had guns to shoot, stuff to watch, parties to attend and regret getting too drunk at. Business as usual. 
 
 One month down the line he remembered the clock again and looked at the timer. It was definitely broken. It seemed to have gone down more than before. It claimed he had 321 hours remaining to live. 
 
 `` Huh.'' He said as he took an entire sip of the vodka he had by his computer. He watched as the digital display suddenly paused, and then the number knocked itself down. Now 320. 
 `` What's up with that?'' 
 
 It was unsettling. On a whim, he took another shot, and just like well - clockwork - the timer decreased again. This time by a few minutes. 
 
 It took him another week to figure out that the time decreased or increased according to his habits. They were miniscule changes mostly though, and he tried to ignore it all, put the clock in a corner somewhere. He still couldn ’ t get himself to get rid of it though. 
 
 Frustrated at the claim that he had only 72 hours to live, he tried to open it. And found it was impossible to: Literally. The thing had no screws to be unscrewed, and he knew that something was very wrong when in frustration, he tossed the clock on the floor and nothing happened. It made a loud crack as it went across, but when he picked it up it was completely unscarred. 
 
 `` What the hell.'' 
 
 He started jogging. He stopped smoking and drinking and tried to spend his time outside. There was a mixture of dread and relief as his time went up by 200 hours, but then it refused to budge after that. He gave up and spent his days wasted in his apartment, watching the cursed clock and thinking he ’ d gone mad somehow without noticing. 
 
 As of May 31st, he was going to apparently die in 23 hours. He could n't sleep or eat. Every time he convinced himself it was all a joke he took a hammer, a rock or anything to smash the clock and with his failure realized that something abnormal was going on here. 
 He told his friend Trevor as much. 
 
 `` You seriously expect me to believe this?'' Said Trevor, his friend. He was studying the clock. 
 He wanted to strangle him, `` Do I look like I'm joking? I received this thing back in January. End January, like two months ago. And it's unbreakable. Try it.'' 
 
 `` Unbreakable, huh.'' Trevor said, walking over to the window and tossing it out. 
 
 `` What the hell man!'' He rushed to stop him, but was only in time to hear it smack the pavement. His apartment was on the third floor. 
 
 `` Dude, you clearly need to get out more. ” Trevor said as he kicked an empty pizza box on the floor. `` Plus you stink. This whole room stinks. Get a shower and clean this place up before you make this whole building block a biohazard for godssake. Then, we're going out for some good old socialization.'' 
 
 `` Dude-'' 
 
 `` 20 minutes.'' Trevor said before taking a seat. 
 
 So he took a shower. By the time he was done he felt like his head had broken water. It was all so silly, was n't it? 
 
 `` Wait. Tomorrow is April 1.'' He realized. 
 
 The bastards. They had gotten him for sure. Hook line sinker and bait. This would be a great story to write about later. A definite legend to explain over drinks too. It had seriously messed him up. He laughed out loud. 
 
 `` You ready?'' Trevor said when he was finally done with some rudimentary cleaning of the flat. It had been a pig sty at this point. He needed to sort that out. Maybe even get his life in order. If there was a silver lining to this whole nonsense, was that he could do a better job of taking care of himself. 
 
 `` Let's go.'' He said. 
 
 So they went out and had a great time. But the simple great time turned into a party, and he found himself out all night up until midnight. Business as usual. 
 
 Trevor drove him back and supported him as he stumbled everywhere towards the apartment. He didn ’ t even remember leaving the bar. 
 
 `` You're the best man! The best!'' He slurred. `` I was seriously in the dumps man. That stupid clock screwed with me in more ways than one.'' 
 
 Trevor did n't answer him. Was distracted by something. He was looking up at something in silence. 
 
 “ Hey… ” 
 
 That was when he smelt the smoke. He looked up and saw that the whole apartment block was on fire. Black smoke roiled out of the windows. There were screams, sirens. He'd been too drunk to even notice. 
 
 `` I'm... I'm gon na be...'' He stumbled away and got sick in a nearby gutter. 
 
 He felt a little bit better. Adrenaline was kicking in to mediate the buzz. That was when he noticed the black shape sitting on the pavement. Looking at it, he recognized it for what it was. 
 It was the clock. Damn thing was even sitting upright. 
 
 The hours had gone up by a massive amount. He now had decades to live, apparently. One disaster alleviated, it was showing him the next time he was to die. 
 
 ``... Nope.'' He said. And with that, he slid the clock down the same gutter he had puked in, stood up and stumbled away from it. 
 

