His weapons are time distortion (reverse, pause, forward etc.), hypnotism, and his cane.
The Ticker is dwarfish in height, 2' 35", around a head taller than Ben Drowned. He has straw-yellow, dry, thin hair, a Cheshire cat grin, and yellow, pupil-less eyes. His teeth are pearly white, straight, and square.
He wears a black top hat, a black vest with gold buttons, a black coat, white undershirt, black pants, white gloves, and black pointed shoes. Gold pocket watches adorn his vest, front and back. He wears a monocle over his left eye, which has a hypnotizing red swirl on the eyepiece. He wields a walking cane with a built-in dagger.
Though The Ticker is sadistic, snobbish, and short-tempered, he behaves in a gentlemanly fashion in word and action. When fighting, The Ticker shows contempt towards others and scorn. When not fighting or in a conversation with someone, The Ticker is mildly pleasant and polite. He shows very little care or regard for those around him.
Very easily bored, The Ticker often tags along in adventures that others have to do themselves, assuming the role of the idle observer.
The Ticker often speaks in riddles, starting or ending a sentence with "time." This trait has characterized him as "annoying" among many Creepypasta. He can speak normally, though. He just often doesn't want to.
Part 1 Edit
Once upon a time, during the Victorian Era, in the 1830s, there was an old watchmaker who made his business off of selling clocks and pocket watches to people who wanted them. The watchmaker had a daughter and a granddaughter named Minnie. Aside from occasional visits by Minnie and her mother and the steady stream of customers, the old watchmaker was lonely and in need of company. The need became so strong that he began to look for an apprentice; but it was to no avail.
One day, as he walked downstairs to start a new day (he lived on the second floor of his shop), he saw a watch laying upon the counter. The watch was torn to shreds, gears out of place, the glass surface cracked. Aside from this, the watch was of a magnificent design, pure gold with an engraved design of curling vines. Curiously, the watchmaker turned the watch over in his hands, and began to wonder how it got there, and who had left it. Deciding that one of his customers had left it behind in need of repair, the watchmaker took the watch to his worktable in his room and began work on it at once.
When he was finished with the repairs, the watchmaker left the watch upon the counter, and waited for its owner to come retrieve it. The whole day passed with no results. Customers came and went, but no one came for the watch. Disappointed, the watchmaker closed up shop and went to bed. That night, while the watchmaker was sleeping, the clocks on the walls in the shop began to tremble, their black clock hands spinning out of control. Only the gold pocket watch on the counter continued to move at its gradual pace. It was 12:00 AM.
Part 2 Edit
The next day, the watchmaker woke up to go about his morning routine, but when he went downstairs, he found something most peculiar. Sitting upon the counter, sat a strange, small man. The small man wore a black vest, coat, pants, shoes, and a black top hat. In his hands was the gold pocket watch. Thin, straw yellow hair sprouted out from the man's head. It gave the watchmaker the impression of the dolls his granddaughter would show him whenever she would visit. The small man didn't look at the watchmaker, his head bowed over the watch, inspecting the time. The watchmaker stared at the small man, wondering how he had gotten in, since the watchmaker always took care at locking the shop door each night before going to bed.
A minute rolled by until the small man turned to face the watchmaker, pushing his hat to the crown of his head.
"It's about time you woke up," he said with a smile. "It's 6:00 AM. But don't worry, we have time."
The small man spoke with surly confidence, his tone casual but slightly condescending. The watchmaker said nothing, but continued to stare at the small man. The small man smiled innocently at him and lifted up the gold pocket watch in front of his face like a child presenting his father a new toy.
"I thank you for fixing my precious timepiece. You are quite good at fixing clocks, watchmaker." The compliment stirred the watchmaker from his trance.
"Why, thank you. I'm glad I could be of service. It is quite a wonderful watch. Who did you buy it from?"
The small man laughed, a queer laugh that rose and fell each second. "You, are hilarious old-timer. Bought? Ha ha ha..." The small man stopped laughing and peered intently at the old watchmaker, his clear yellow eyes staring into the watchmaker's murky black eyes. In the small man's hand, the pocket watch swayed leisurely back and forth on its golden chain.
"I heard about you, watchmaker. I heard you are looking for an apprentice, am I right?" Once again, the watchmaker stirred, as if from sleep, rubbing a hand over his face, feeling worn down. I was busy all day yesterday, the watchmaker thought, his vision becoming slightly hazy. But I shouldn't still be this tired.
"An old-timer like yourself shouldn't be keeping shop alone, am I right?" The watchmaker, still rubbing his face, nodded absently and approached the counter where the small man sat. As he walked, the small man's eyes seemed to follow the watchmaker's movements, the gaze unblinking.
Changing tactics, the small man broached the subject directly. "I didn't just come to thank you for fixing my watch, watchmaker. I came to help you save time... by working as your apprentice." The proposition, first startled, surprised, and then pleased the watchmaker. He had searched for so long for an apprentice, that he was left in shock when the wish came true.
"I... I... I don't know what to say..." The small man stood and tipped his hat at the watchmaker, his lips parting in a wide grin, white, square teeth gleaming in the light of dawn coming through the shop windows.
"I believe it is time you and I shake and we make this apprenticeship happen. Shop will be open soon. It's 8:00 AM," the small man said gravely. The watchmaker nodded and gave the small man a hearty, strong shake. For the first time in a long time, the watchmaker was smiling in content. At last he wouldn't be so tired anymore. At last he would have some time to himself.
As he crossed over to the shop door to unlock it, he almost forgot to ask the small man's name. Coming back to the counter, he found the small man sitting on a stool, fiddling with his pocket watch, adjusting the time hands.
"Pardon me for my rudeness. But, I'm afraid I do not know your name, my friend?" The watchmaker addressed the small man. The small man stopped what he was doing, and looked up at the watchmaker. He seemed to be thinking. In his hands, the watch ticked... tick... tick...
"I go by many names, watchmaker. But, never fear, I won't waste your time. My name is Ticker, Mr. Ticker."
Part 3 Edit
The time spent between the old watchmaker and Ticker was precious. The Ticker made pleasant company, and the watchmaker soon became used to Ticker's strange ways. Though the stream of customers never changed, the time the watchmaker and his apprentice shared did. After a long day, the watchmaker would spend some time talking with Ticker, asking him where he lived and how he came to hear about the watchmaker's shop. Ticker spoke in riddles, however, and seldom gave the watchmaker a direct answer. Ticker told the watchmaker he came from somewhere far, far away, where time neither stopped nor moved on. It was just there. As to how Ticker found the watchmaker's shop, he said nothing, but smiled and changed the subject, asking the watchmaker about his own life. Ticker seemed to find great interest in the watchmaker's family life, almost as much as he did for clocks. Ticker showed a great admiration for clocks and would take down and gaze upon the clocks in the shop for hours, opening them up and watching the gears as they turned.
Something Mr. Ticker once told the watchmaker disturbed the old man extremely, something which he later forgot soon after he heard it. It was as Ticker was disassembling and reassembling an old wooden clock, admiring the turning of the brass gears within.
He said, "It's so fascinating." Curious, the watchmaker looked over his apprentice's shoulder at the clock.
"What is?" asked the watchmaker, not really understanding what Ticker meant.
"The gears, the clock, the timepiece. They are all like that of a heart." Ticker's voice was so calm, so straightforward, so... pleased... that it made the old man's blood freeze.
"W-What did you say?"
"Without the working parts, a heart cannot tick. A broken clock is of no use. Unless someone were to fix it, time will remain frozen for each tick... tick... tick..." And Ticker's voice drifted off into silence.
Whenever the watchmaker tried to remember what Ticker had said that was so disconcerting, his head would hurt terribly for a second and then he would forget what he was trying to remember in the first place. The watchmaker excused this as his old age catching up on him and gave up on trying to remember.
One day, on December 23, two days before Christmas, the watchmaker's daughter and granddaughter came by for a holiday visit. The last two customers for the day had departed, and the watchmaker was just about ready to close and lock the door, when his daughter and granddaughter pressed their faces to the glass windows and waved to him. Overjoyed to see them, the watchmaker threw the door open and pulled them both into a bear hug.
As he greeted them, without his realizing, Ticker stared at him and his family from the counter, a gleam of interest in his eyes. He knew who they woman and the girl were from the watchmaker's stories, and he knew that the hands of time were changing from what they had been.
"It's almost time," he whispered to the air, mysteriously, before he vanished completely.
Part 4 Edit
Though the watchmaker's daughter acted cordial and polite enough towards the small man, and he towards her, she still couldn't shake the feeling that something was not right with the small man. Whenever she was sitting down with her father at the table, or conversing with him behind the counter, there was that thing. Always standing behind or in front of her. Just randomly appearing where it wasn't before. It made her blood run cold whenever she looked at it.
After exchanging greetings with Ticker, ten year old Minnie said he looked a lot like one of her dolls, the comment which stirred up feelings of contempt within Ticker for the girl. He often chose to ignore her whenever she was in his vicinity, and this led Minnie to consider Ticker's behavior as rude and ungentlemanly.
The Ticker took rather well to the watchmaker's family, balancing the time he spent with the watchmaker evenly between the other members of the family. He often would spend his time after hours spying on the mother or her daughter for his own entertainment. Eventually, however, he grew bored of this and would sit in the watchmaker's workshop disassembling and reassembling clocks.
As Christmas grew steadily nearer, the comings and goings of the customers began to slowly decrease until there were only a few elderly customers coming in to buy a watch for a husband, a wife, a son, a daughter. On Christmas Eve, as the last customer left, wishing the watchmaker a "Merry Christmas", the watchmaker closed up shop early and huddled up with his daughter and granddaughter around the dining table. Mr. Ticker, of course, sat with them.
His presence clearly made the watchmaker's daughter disconcerted, and she got up and gestured to her father to come also. She told the watchmaker her fears and concerns concerning his apprentice, and The Ticker's inhuman behavior she had been participant of for the past few days. She told her father how she had tolerated his apprentice for so long, but also the headaches and the weariness she had been experiencing every night and day.
"He simply has to go!" she protested. The watchmaker, who had serenely smiled at her as she talked, frowned.
"I can't let him go, my dear. Ticker is the helper I've had for all these months. He is my trusted friend and I will not let him leave me, especially not during Christmas." No matter how much the daughter argued and begged for her father to see reason, see that that thing wasn't what the watchmaker assumed it was, the watchmaker refused to believe it.
Meanwhile, Minnie and The Ticker were alone at the table. Left to her devices, Minnie, despite her dislike for Ticker, decided to try to get in a conversation with the strange being.
"So, what's with all the watches?" she asked, indicating the many gold pocket watches adorning The Ticker's clothes. The Ticker took out his watch, the watch the watchmaker had repaired for him long ago, and inspected the time thoughtfully.
"3:30 PM. It's that time already." He looked up at Minnie, who was staring at him, pouting. He grinned. "Pardon, madam. What were you asking me in your time?"
Minnie glared at him. "What are you talking about?"
The Ticker rolled his eyes at her, waving his watch in front of her face by the chain. "Time, you stupid girl. Time. Time. Don't waste my time having me to explain to you the meaning of time. Time is what makes you tick, why doesn't anyone understand that?"
Minnie had had enough. She was young, and, having never liked being treated like a foolish child, and having to be ignored and made mocked by someone older but shorter than her was not her ideal form of fun. She was upset and in a rage. She was so mad, she did not know what she did, nor remember what happened afterwards. She grabbed The Ticker's watch with both hands and pulled it from his grasp.
With a snarl, The Ticker grabbed hold of the watch, and in that instant, time began to distort around them. The walls around Minnie started to bend around her, and she saw everything like a fish would underwater. She looked at the watch in her hands, and saw the time hands going backwards, time reversing. She saw Ticker's hands close around the watch, and he pulled it from her hands. With a quick, clockwise motion with his hands, Ticker brought time back to what it was.
When the watchmaker and his daughter returned to the room, the found Minnie lying on the table, her face pale and sickly looking, her hands shaking, her hair and clothes unkempt, like she had been tossed about by a great wind. When her mother rushed to her aid, Minnie threw up and then fainted. The watchmaker and his daughter looked at Ticker. Ticker was sitting at the table, winding his watch, seemingly unaware at what had occurred.
That night, after Minnie had been checked for illness or damage and, all signs positive, put to bed, Minnie's mother tried to sleep. But, between sleeping and waking, her mind was enveloped in bizarre nightmares where she saw all the events of her life; her mother hugging her, her baby brother dying of sickness, she and her father grieving at her mother's funeral, Minnie's birth, Minnie going to boarding school, Minnie's father leaving her and her mother... mostly memories that were better forgotten. And every time Minnie's mother awoke, she found herself in a strange part of the house other than her bedroom. And the savage headaches and weariness came upon her. And she felt it's presence, like a bad cold that won't go away.
Many hours later, when the mother awoke again, she found herself in the shop, laying upon the counter. Around her, clocks ticked... ticked... ticked...
The noise made the mother's head ache and she felt sick. Then, she saw it. It stared at her, it's yellow eyes reflecting the moonlight that fell from the glass windows. It's shadow stretched before her, an empty void. Around her, the ticking grew louder and louder, the rhythm matching the quickening beat of her own heart.
The Ticker grinned, revealing his white, straight, square teeth. His yellow eyes gleamed with menace. The mother tried to move, to escape her captor, but something, an invisible force, held her down. She couldn't even speak, or turn her head. Only her eyes moved. The small man approached her, slowly, twirling his pocket watch around by its chain, whistling. A strange aura flowed from The Ticker, an aura that bent time around him. Before her very eyes, the mother saw her father going about his shop, she saw him find the broken watch, she saw him shaking the monster's hand.
"Time was right when it was just me and the watchmaker," The Ticker whispered in her ear. With a flick of his wrist, the Ticker moved his watch back to the conversation the mother and the watchmaker were having. The mother watched in horror as The Ticker replayed the conversation over and over again, zooming in on her words specifically.
"You and your precious daughter are taking that time away." The mother tried to scream at him, tried to claw that smug smile off of his face, but it was like she was bound and gagged by invisible chains.
"I can't erase you and your daughter from time, but I can make you both lose time. How does that sound?" The Ticker chuckled, his voice pausing each second, like a clock ticking. "Time makes every living thing tick. From the moment of birth, to the end of your time. Time is everywhere. Time is like a clock within you, within the world. When the gears break, time stops. Do you understand, time?"
The Ticker laughed maliciously and lunged at the mother, pinning her down upon the counter. Pressing his face close to hers, he pulled his hair back to reveal a black and white hypnotism swirl. "Look into my eye." Against her will, the mother's eyes became glued to the swirl, and her vision blurred. A terrible headache racked her brain. She tried to scream, to alert her daughter and the watchmaker, but her tongue was glued to the roof of her mouth. She tried to close her eyes, but they were forced open. The swirl moved around and around, and then the mother fell asleep.
Part 5 Edit
When the watchmaker awoke the next morning, his daughter and his granddaughter were nowhere to be found. It was Christmas morning. The watchmaker had made his daughter a wrist watch with a gold chain. For Minnie, he had made a small silver watch with her name engraved into the back. He had spent so much time on these gifts and had been looking forward to seeing their delighted faces. But he found himself alone in the house.
He called the police and looked throughout the town, but got close to frostbite and left the rest of the investigation to the police. When he walked back into his shop, crestfallen, he saw a gold pocket watch lying upon the counter. Recognizing the watch as belonging to Mr. Ticker, he began to search for his apprentice.
"He must be looking for my daughter and granddaughter as well," the watchmaker concluded after not finding Mr. Ticker anywhere in his house. Exhausted and worried for his family, the watchmaker sat down at the counter, and prayed. He prayed for his family, that they may come back to him safe and sound. He prayed until weariness overtook him, and he fell asleep.
When he awoke, a snowstorm was ravaging the town, beating against the windows and doors of the houses. The watchmaker stood and was about to head back out again to look for his family, but something behind him caught his eye. It was the pocket watch. It's black hands were spinning out of control, it's ticking loud and incessant. All the other clocks in the room either had stopped or were unheard by the watchmaker. For whatever reason indulged him to investigate the watch, the watchmaker found himself reaching for the watch, and just like Minnie had done, his worn hands closed over the watch.
The watchmaker's blood went cold as the snowstorm, the clocks, and his shop, disappeared before his eyes. Time distorted and twisted in his hands, reversing. The watchmaker couldn't control it, and images blurred and zoomed past him in a frenzied manner. Then, the watchmaker's thumb on his free hand twitched. The twitch, though small, caused time to pause and continue in a slower pace. The scene the watchmaker beheld made him almost drop the watch he held, an action which might have cost him his life and twisted that timeline.
He saw his daughter lying upon the counter, her body motionless, her long brown hair streaming beneath her. Sitting on top of her was The Ticker, a content smile on his face. In his hands, he held two bloodied watches.
- He has a limp in his right leg from the first time one of his clocks were destroyed.
- Since Ticker is not really one to make friends, he doesn't try to keep whatever "friends" he even has. The only person who he actually considered as a "friend" was the old watchmaker (see story above). He still lives with the regret of losing his one and only true friend.
- He cannot abuse time, for fear of time itself going haywire.
- He is scared of beings such as The Slenderman and Zalgo. Anyone more powerful than himself he deems as a threat.
- When distorting time, The Ticker has power over everything under the influence of time itself (mostly humans). Time doesn't seem to affect The Slenderman, Zalgo, and ghosts/spirits.
- When he speaks, he either starts a sentence with "time" or ends it with "time." This makes many Creepypasta view him as annoying, but The Ticker doesn't care much, their annoyance actually seems to encourage him more.
- He has an unhealthy obsession with clocks.
- He can distort time with any one of his watches. If someone were to get a hold of one of his watches, they would have that same ability. But because The Ticker is the only one who can control this power, anyone could permanently damage their own time reality or the time reality of those around them.
- When his watches are destroyed, a fragment of The Ticker's power and/or physical state is broken. When a watch is destroyed, The Ticker cannot fix the damage, or go back to that timeline to fix it.
- His creator is SuperSilverXtreme14.
Theme Song Edit
Echo (Cover) [JubyPhonic]