The Clock Tower and Other Stories

By Lynn Woolley

Prepare to be amazed, frightened, and entertained. Imagine clock faces looking down at you from tall buildings while plotting to kill you. Imagine an alien creature living vicariously through your memories. Imagine being trapped inside a radio station where the general manager is the Devil himself. Picture a mystical doorway to heaven

• Language: English
• Publisher: Planet Logic Press
• Release date: Jul 27, 2020
• ISBN: 9781681791845

Lynn Woolley

LYNN WOOLLEY is the author of four books on broadcasting and politics. He hosted the "Lynn Woolley Show" on several Texas radio stations for more than 25 years and currently hosts the "Planet Logic" podcast. His career has included stints as a radio news anchor in Dallas and Austin, a political writer for The Dallas Morning News, and co-host of the Children's Miracle Network Telethon in the Waco-Temple market. He holds a bachelor's degree from the University of Texas at Austin.

Book preview

The Clock Tower

Suppose someone told you precisely how you are going to die. You don’t really believe in that sort of thing, but still you might become a bit obsessive. That’s what happens to a traveling insurance adjuster as he makes a valiant — but failed — attempt to avoid a certain kind of building. This story was written over a four-day period from May 16 to May 19, 2015.

Is it possible to cheat death?

You might as well admit it; the subject has crossed your mind, and that of every sentient human being at one time or another. With me, it became an obsession.

My name is Matthew James Larsen — or Matt as my family and co-workers call me. If you read this — please don’t mention anything to them because they’ll think it’s silly. I’ve been futurephobic since I was twelve years old. I read a story about a young reporter who found a pair of magical spectacles that allowed him to see the near future. Everything he saw through the glasses came true within a matter of hours, and he was scooping every other reporter in town.

But then, the spectacles showed him his own death. He saw himself fishing from a boat, snagging a big fish, and being pulled under after his leg became entangled in the line. In the story, he began to look for a way to cheat the future he had seen for himself. But as the tale progressed, he kept inching his way closer to that fishing trip no matter how hard he tried to avoid it.

That damn story caused me to have nightmares.

As I grew older, it just made me wonder: suppose you knew you were going to die. You knew how it was going to happen, and you knew that it would be soon. You could cheat death! Couldn’t you?

Of course, the situation in the story was entirely fictional, and barring some super computer that could make accurate predictions based on the odds — or some such — no one will ever face that problem.

But, still…

Suppose you knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt that an airplane would crash. Suppose you knew the name of the airline, the destination, the flight number — everything! Could that plane crash be stopped?

It’s a hypothetical question. I know that.

But have you ever considered this: Every time you take any kind of action, you have just changed history. At the very least, you’ve changed your history and that of a few other people. Here’s what I mean: When you drive to work each morning, you typically take the same route. What if you decided one day to take an alternate way to the office — and you slammed into a school bus? By making that decision, you’ve affected the bus driver and his young passengers, caused at least two insurance companies to get involved — and you could be dead!

See what I mean?

You could say that you just won’t ever change your route. But what if it’s not a school bus? What if it’s a tour bus and it’s passing through your town and turns onto the street you normally take, and you slam into it anyway? So you should have taken the alternate route? Maybe so, but…

How do you know? This is the question that has tortured me for years.

By the way, I mentioned insurance companies a moment ago. That’s what I do. I work in the claims department of a large insurance company based in Austin. Once the investigators have made all the reports, and the in-house lawyers have studied the claim and the suits have determined that we can’t get out of paying a settlement — the case goes to people like me. I represent my company and try to negotiate the smallest settlement I can that will keep the case from going to court. The last thing we want is to have a case go before jury because our clients are corporations, and juries hate them.

So my job is to keep us out of court. It can be tedious, but I get performance bonuses and I get to travel a lot.

It was on one of those business trips that my life took a very strange turn. I had to fly to New Orleans to try to work out a deal with another insurance company about a highway accident involving an eighteen-wheeler. The guy driving the truck worked for our client. It’s a long story, but the long-and-short of it is that the driver fell asleep at the wheel on a long haul trip and hit a car — and the survivors were suing us. We didn’t have a leg to stand on, so I was authorized to make a very generous offer. Anything to stay out of court.

As it happened, the offer was accepted following some tough negotiations. Essentially, they took us to the cleaners. But it left me with some extra time to poke around in the city.

New Orleans looks pretty good today, considering it got slammed by a hurricane from hell. It got me to thinking about the little exercise I just mentioned. Suppose – just suppose – that a few decisions had been made differently. Suppose people had heeded the warnings, and gotten into their cars and high-tailed it out of town. Suppose all the city’s buses and all the area school buses had been used to move people out.

And then, it hit me!

This was almost the same situation from the story. The one area of our lives where we can predict the near future with some accuracy is the weather! Forecasters may not have known precisely where Hurricane Katrina would hit land — but they knew a range, and they knew it would still be a powerful storm.

Remember, the reporter in the story did everything in his power to avoid drowning in that fishing accident – and he couldn’t stop it from happening. In the exact same manner, the people of New Orleans were told that they might die in the next 48 hours. Evidently, that was their destiny. They could not — or would not — avoid it.

There is some type of mystical force at work here. I know there is. But what happened next bordered on the bizarre.

I was seeing a few sights before flying back to Austin when I came upon an old house that looked as if it had just barely survived the hurricane. I hit the brakes on my rental car when I saw this sign:

What’s YOUR future?

Madam Theresa will tell you.

I pulled into the small parking lot, killed the engine, and swallowed hard. These fortunetellers were all frauds. I knew that. Yet, here I was (by chance) in New Orleans, a city that had (by chance) been devastated by the hurricane of the century after it had been predicted, and I (by chance) just happened to drive by a fortuneteller. My lifetime obsession took over. I went inside.

The reception area had once been a living room. It was intentionally dark and had been dressed up a bit to appear mysterious; that is to say, there were some portraits on the wall that might have been Edgar Cayce, or Jeane Dixon, or Nostradamus himself. One of them, I thought, might have been of Madam Theresa, carefully juxtaposed with the greats of clairvoyance. If so, she was quite pretty in her robe and headscarf.

After a few moments, I was greeted by a young brunette who got right to the point. If you’re here to see Madam Theresa, you’ll have to wait. She’s with a client. I took a seat on a somewhat threadbare couch and waited for my turn.

Presently, an elderly gentleman emerged from a back room. He had a smile on his face, and a checkbook in his hand.

Well, said the receptionist cheerfully. That must not have been too bad.

Not at all, he said. My future looks bright indeed. Now what do I owe you?

My heart sank. Go ahead — call me stupid. But something in this once-battered city had me under its spell. I was beginning to believe that my being in New Orleans was no fluke; you know, the whole destiny thing, and that I was led in some mystical way to Madam Theresa’s house. On the other hand, the whole idea of an elderly (and moneyed) gentleman emerging from a session with a smile a mile wide screamed of fraud.

Was this Madam Theresa a charlatan who would tell a mark what he wanted to hear? What if this man had cancer or some other terrible disease? What would she tell him? What could she tell him? Any thoughts I was having about a date with destiny were dissipating. But it was my turn.

Madam Theresa will see you now, said the brunette.

I was led through a dark hall to a modest room and told to sit at what appeared to be an everyday card table. The atmosphere was perfect. The lighting was low, the room was festooned by curtains all the way around, and there was a low humming noise. It might have been music, but whatever it was, it helped with the mood. I waited for the Madam to make her grand entrance.

Only it wasn’t so grand. It was a handsome woman who walked into the room, a bit older than the portrait up front, but tactfully made up and resplendent in a modern woman’s business outfit. She extended her hand.

I’m Theresa Thompson, she said. Professionally known as ‘Madam Theresa.’ I’m so glad to be of service.

You could have knocked me over with a feather. Glad to meet you, I responded. I’m Matt Larsen. I’m here from Austin, Texas, on a business trip and thought it’d be fun to have my fortune told.

She might have been reading my mind. Is it that simple? she asked. You’re not looking for something specific — such as how your medical tests will turn out?

No. Nothing like that. I chuckled. I just want to see what you can tell me.

Just a simple fortune, she said, matter-of-factly.

Her mood seemed to change. She was reading me like a dime novel. I could tell that she possessed a sherlockian ability to make split-second inferences from simple appearances.

Your suit is expensive, she said. You travel a lot and you deal in large sums of money. You’re not asking me about something in your life that you’re anxious about. You make a very considerable salary. People such as you rarely stop here, Mr. Larsen.

I had been skeptical of her, but now the tables were turned.

I suppose that’s true. But let’s just say that destiny led me here.

Oh! So you are a believer in such things?

‘Believer’ is a strong word, Madam. Let’s just say that I have an insatiable curiosity about a certain thing.

She considered that for a moment. Then she said, People who are curious about one thing can be divided into three camps. The first wants to know if they will find true love. The second wants to know if they will become wealthy. The third wants to know how long they will live. Which is it with you, Mr. Larsen?

Madam, I’m of camp number three. I would very much like to know how and when I will die. And I would like to know whether I can avoid the circumstances that will kill me. For example, I am scheduled to fly back to Austin tomorrow. What will happen if I take that flight? Or what if I get a text that a seat is available on an earlier flight?

You are not my usual client, Mr. Larsen. She produced a wry smile. At this point, I should put on my robe and headscarf —

Not necessary, I interjected.

As I thought. She rested her chin on her hand, her right elbow steadied by the edge of the table. Suppose we discuss my methodology and the odds that I can tell you something you don’t already know.

I think that would be fine, I said. I liked this woman.

There are three ways to foresee, she said, avoiding the redundancy of the word future. There are tarot cards, palm reading, and the crystal ball. I do any or all, but in the end, it comes down to what I see in my mind. To take my readings seriously, Mr. Larsen, you will need to have faith in my psychic abilities.

Do you have psychic abilities? I asked, looking her straight in the eye.

I see things. The cards, the palm reading, the crystal ball, are mostly for show but they help me to focus. It’s what I see that matters. Shall we proceed?

I told her everything. By the time I was finished, she was aware of the story, my theories on destiny and fate, and my lifelong obsession with the idea of cheating death.

In short, Madam, I want to know details. How will I die? When will it happen? I’m especially interested to know if I will die by violence because that’s the type of death that can be cheated. I’m sure of it! If I just knew the details, I could avoid certain places, cities, even buildings. I could just – not be there – when the time comes.

All right, she said with a big exhaled breath as if she was about to do something profound. Let’s take a look at your palms.

She read my palms. She did the tarot card thing. I couldn’t be sure, but I didn’t think she was getting any vibrations — or whatever she was looking for. Eventually, she produced an ominous looking crystal ball that looked all cloudy inside.

I stifled a laugh. Is that thing for real? I asked.

It’s a real crystal ball, if that’s what you mean. It’s made so that light shining on it makes it change. I can move the light above with a foot pedal or I can simply move the ball itself with my hands.

She was right. The mist or whatever it was inside the ball changed into all kinds of creepy-looking patterns. A gullible person would be very impressed.

I don’t tell most of my clients what I have told you, she said. Most of them prefer the illusion of magic.

She was intent on the crystal ball now. The light seemed to be dimming, but a gleam from the ceiling was dancing on the crystal ball. Every time the light, or the ball moved, the images changed. It was spooky, to say the least. I was waiting for her to say something. She was in the middle of what some might call a trance and then she seemed to come out of it. Was it an act? I couldn’t tell.

Oh, my! she said.

I laughed.

No, don’t, she said. I did see something. Something dark and unsettling.

I wasn’t sure where this was going. The thought crossed my mind that she might be a fraud after all.

Mr. Larsen, are you very sure that you want to know how you will die? She said it slowly and deliberately.

You’re saying that you saw my future? You know how I will die?

I saw something. I can’t say for sure.

Madam, cut the mumbo-jumbo, I said. Give it to me straight.

All right. Your airplane ride back to Austin will be uneventful. However, some time in the near future — it could be days, or weeks but it will not be long — you will die a violent death. I’m so sorry.

I was taken aback. I liked her, but I was still wary that this might be a scheme to get more money out of me. I said, All right, then. Where will this take place?

I can’t say exactly where. But I saw something falling, and then you, dead, on the ground beneath a tower, or some type of tall building.

"Then all you have to do is tell me the name of the building, and I’ll stay away. So is it in Austin, or where?

I truly wish I could tell you, but I didn’t see the building clearly.

I needed something specific if I was going to believe her. Can you describe the building? I asked.

It was hidden in the mist, she said. I got up from my chair, ready to leave. This was going nowhere.

Wait, she said. There is one thing I saw clearly.

I sat down and gave her my full attention.

The tower, she said, …the tower has four clocks at its very top. One on each side.

The lights came on. The session was over.

I walked into the reception area to pay the fee. For this information, I expected it to be quite substantial. But the hairs on my arm stood up when I was told:

No charge.

* * *

My obsession took over. I tossed and turned in my sleep that night thinking about all the dreaded choices the morning would bring. What route should I take to the airport? What might unfold if I miss my flight and have to take another? Every decision spawned a unique pathway. My futurephobia was debilitating.

I rose early, ordered breakfast, and then cancelled it. I dressed, caught my flight, and returned to Austin without incident.

* * *

From my office on the 34th floor of a downtown Austin skyscraper, I have an amazing view of Congress Avenue, the State Capitol, and beyond to the University of Texas campus. Today, I was ignoring it to the extent that I could, and going over my list of assignments with my boss, Lew Lipson.

Good job in New Orleans, Matt! he said. I think that turned out as well as we could expect. He handed me a computer printout. "Here’s your e-ticket