He was always there, in the corner of the room, by the window, strolling down the street. Well dressed and wearing a kind smile, he spoke like an old friend to everyone he met. He had an old, battered pocket watch, always checking the time, but the hands never turned, always one second to midnight, and no one hears the moving of its gears. Then one day he appears by your side, and no one seems to notice, but you hear the tick as the watch strikes midnight.