The beauty of writing a King in Yellow story is that it barely needs to contain anything from the original stories, since there was so little character crossover. All I need is a few references to the eponymous playbook, and I threw in a shoutout to my fellow Chambers fan, a Mr. Howard P. Lovecraft.

12 KM TO THE HOUSE OF CLOCKS read the sign. It was the third time I had seen one of the damn signs, but it wasn't till then that my curiousity was finally piqued. What exactly might this House of Clocks be? I asked Carol what she thought about stopping the car for a while at this House of Clocks thing. Stretch our legs a bit. Maybe use the toilet. Might be a good idea.

I didn't want to force anything on her, as she was generally right about these sorts of things. I remember once, before we were married, when I wanted to go to a roadside museum of shoes or something like that, and it turned out to be a total bomb. Just as she had predicted. But now that I think about it, I don't see how a museum of shoes could be at all interesting. It had seemed like a good idea at the time.

This time, however, all she said was 'maybe'. I wondered what exactly that meant, but decided not to push it.

Outside the window, the sun beat down on a rocky, hilly wilderness, of the type that is typical to the Shield lands. I wondered what this road would look like from above, with all the little gouges and ridges in the land. Probably too complex a shape to imagine. To think that his place had once been a broad, flat field of sheer ice, carving at the rocks, scraping out ditches, inclines, ravines... and then melting to form more lakes than anyone could conceivably count in a lifetime...

Then Carol said something about the weather, and I lost my train of thought as I was pulled into the conversation. Weather. Hooray.

I remembered the first year of our marriage. We had been young, and stupid, and horny, and we couldn't keep our hands off of each other. As such, these were the happiest day of our lives. But, as all marriages must, the excitement gradually drained out.

7 KM TO THE HOUSE OF CLOCKS...

It had only been two years since the wedding, and the excitement was beginning to vanish. Oh sure, we tried. Twice on this road trip already, we had parked the car down some deserted back road, and let nature take its course. Three times, if you counted the one when we got disturbed by hikers. That could have been a lot more embarrassing than it turned out.

After we got out of that mess, Carol laughed her head off. I had to see the comedy of the situation too, and then we laughed together. Shortly after, we found another, more deserted and abandoned road. That was the second time I referred to, earlier.

But the laughter was becoming rarer, and further between. Since leaving school, neither of us had managed to be as fun, as people. I hated to admit it, but I really missed the old days at U of Therowa. I liked the me of those days better than the me of today. We used to go out drinking in frilly shirts and arguing about literary theory.

3 KM TO THE HOUSE OF CLOCKS...

Among my fondest memories of U of Therowa was the time when Steve Farrell, Janine Richards, Bill Goat, Carol and I had had that Halloween party where everyone had to dress as a character from a terrible movie. I was Torgo, and she was Scarlet O'Hara, that most obnoxious of slave owners. Happy days...

That's what had originally attracted me to Carol in the first place, is her sense of mischief. She really knew how to laugh. And she had a beautiful laugh. Well, that's not entirely true. What had originally attracted me to her were her tits. But still...

Well, now we had gotten married, and Steve and Janine were going to be married within a few days. That was where we were going on this damn trip, their wedding...

"Well, there's that Clock place," I said, jerking my hand in its vague direction. "Do you want to stop there?"

She considered it for a moment, and then said, "Sure."

The House of Clocks resembled one of houses you see in the Alps, with the little lederhosen guys living in it. I wondered what exactly the damn place was. There was a gigantic, horribly tacky sign on the roof, with THE HOUSE OF CLOCKS written in blinking light bulbs, although the 'L' in 'CLOCKS' was out, as Carol gleefully pointed out. There was also some sort of bright yellow logo that looked like a character in a foreign alphabet. There were no other clues at to what exactly the purpose of the entire attraction was.

"What do you figure it is?" I asked.

"Dunno. Only one way to find out," she said, still hesitant.

Together, we slowly walked towards the door, and walked in.

The first thing we saw inside was a large candy counter, which led me, for the moment, to assume that we had simply stumbled onto an egotistic convenience store. The second thing we noticed was the man standing behind the counter. I was surprised to see it being run by a man, since such a quaint little roadside attraction would generally be more to the tastes of a woman. But run by a man it was, or at least he worked here. An old tape deck on the counter quietly playing something. A female singer. A song I didn't know.

Along the shore the cloud waves break,

The twin suns sink beneath the lake,

The shadows lengthen

In Carcosa.

The guy behind the counter was a thin man, of about average height, and greyish hair, although he couldn't have been older than forty. He was slightly unshaven, and, to be honest, quite ugly. A pair of gold-rimmed spectacles rested on his nose. A button pinned to his black shirt greeted the world, and added that he was Godric. On the counter in front of him sat a small volume entitled "Repent Harlequin! Said the Ticktock Man" and Other Tales of the Inevitable Goal. Next to it was a well-thumbed little playbook called The King in Yellow. It looked like he had been reading it before we came in.

"Oh, hello," Godric said, with a voice that reminded one of dusty room, unopened for centuries. "Welcome to the House of Clocks. Would you like to take the tour?"

"Um, sure," I said, gingerly.

"Right," he said. "That'll be five dollars each." I fished in my pocket for the money, and handed it to him. He placed it carefully in the cash register, and led us through a small wooden door, which I hadn't noticed when we came in. Next to it was a picture of the moon sinking into a lake. Like, literally sinking.

It led into a small, dingy corridor. There wasn't much light in here. Up ahead, it spiraled downwards into the earth like a hollow snake.

"Clocks truly are amazing things," droned the man. "They come in all varieties, from the mundane to the fascinating to the utterly bizarre. My name is Godric, and I'll be your tour guide today. Please follow me, and watch your step."

I wondered how exactly they could afford to dig a tunnel like this, and I considered asking our guide, but since he didn't seem the type to give a straight answer, I decided against it. For a moment I also wondered how they maintained this underground spiral, but it occurred to me then that they barely did.

After what might have been thirty seconds but might have been an eternity we arrived at a hollowed-out grotto. Behind a pane of glass was visible a small collection of clocks, many of which might appear on the bedside table of a perfectly ordinary person. There were alarm clocks, wall clocks, grandfather clocks, mounted wristwatches, and a particularly bizarre one that hung from the ceiling like a light.

"These are all ordinary clocks," Godric announced, as if there were any doubt. "Each one is a complex collection of gears, cogs, and dials, carefully calibrated to move at an exact speed. On top of that, is another system, the same in all respects except that it moved exactly one sixtieth the speed. Then, a final system of gears is installed, which works at exactly one sixtieth slower that that. Thus, the gearclocks represent diligence, not giving up till the task at hand is done. Any questions?"

After a moment Carol sheepishly raised a hand. "Who keeps all these wound?"

Godric smiled, although the effect was far from pleasing. His face looked stretched around the one, unattainable goal of shaping his mouth properly, and it seemed to call for muscles he had never used. After that, his fair relaxed into its default scowl, as if he'd tried smiling, and it had been an experience, but wouldn't look forward to doing it again.

"I do," he said, simply.

Carol raised her hand again. "But there's no door."

"What?"

"Well," explained Carol as if it were the simplest thing in the world, "the clocks are all behind a pane of glass. And there's no door. How do you get to the other side to wind them?"

For a moment, Godric looked as if he were about to smile again, but he was merciful and didn't. "That's a trade secret, I'm afraid," was all he said.

I looked through the glass again, trying to take an interest. It was odd. Coming here was my idea, and yet, this awful Godric creature and the horrible knowingness he had about him just... got under my skin somehow. The place was so boring it made my eyes water.

Then I noticed something. The second hands were all moving perfectly in sync with one another. All at the same damn time. Godric had been right to use the word 'exact' so much.

"How do you get them to do that?" I asked.

"Do what?"

"They're all moving at the exact same time. How do you time it like that?"

Godric shook his abominable head. "Another secret, I'm afraid. Any other questions, before we move on?"

This time, it was Carol who asked the question. "Why do you ask if we have any questions, and then refuse to answer when we ask them? Or is that a secret, too?"

Godric tapped his nose, knowingly. "You're a clever one, you are."

The next display was a collection of digital clocks, flashing their horrible stick-like numbers at me. If I had stared at them much longer, I probably would have gotten a migraine. They were all plugged into an outlet on the wall opposite us. There were some words scratched onto the wall, but I couldn't quite make them out, equally due to indistinct lettering and darkness. The first word looked like "Phn'glui", so I assumed it wasn't English anyway.

"These are the digital clocks," Godric said, gesturing. "Their complexity is nowhere near so easy to appreciate, but it's there." He turned and faced us. "Don't listen to those fools who tell you that digital clocks are impious, or blasphemous, or tacky. They're not just a cheap cop-out; they're a quantum leap ahead of the gearclocks. And believe me, they take time to build. Getting all those circuits wired up, installing the little lightbulbs for the letters... it's not a picnic. But more importantly, digital clocks never could have been done in the past. They represent progress, positive change over time. Anyone who says that they're some kind of tacky abomination doesn't even know what clocks are about."

No matter what he said, I still found them ugly. I was reminded of a play I had seen once, which, despite everyone else's praise of it, I had found long-winded, self-indulgent, and to be honest, completely purposeless. Nevertheless, I had felt like I was expected to like it.

And Godric did raise a good point about progress. Still...

No questions were asked this time.

We followed him down the corridor further. I looked around at the hard, dirt walls. We had to be miles down. This time, my curiosity was too great and I asked Godric how they could afford to dig this thing. His answer was surprisingly to the point.

"I borrowed the money. It's all paid back now."

I wondered how one could possibly make a loan of that kind of size, and how such a shabby little attraction could afford to pay it back. I decided not to ask him this one though, in case he got offended.

A few moments later (or was it hours?) we stopped again. However, there was nothing there but for a black rectangular panel on the wall. I glanced at Carol, who bore an expression as confused as my own. Godric, however, looked like he knew exactly what he was doing. He turned and faced us.

"The next type of clock we have would not work down here, so we keep it up on the surface." His last word somehow made me feel homesick.

"It can still be seen from here, however, via this television. It's linked to a camera just outside, behind the building. And as such, for all practical purposes, is kept down here."

"Like in Amélie?" It was Carol. Amélie was her favourite movie in the world, although I had never seen it. She kept recommending it to me, but we hadn't found a video place that had it.

"I beg your pardon?" said Godric, with an air of patronizing politeness.

"In the movie Amélie, there's this guy who has a video camera connected to his TV all the time, so he can see what it sees on his TV. And the camera was always pointed at the neighbour's... clock. He... wasn't able to wind his own."

Godric smiled. I cringed. "Same idea, I'm sure. I myself have not seen the film in question, but it is the same basic principle, you're right."

Godric produced a small remote from his pocket, pointed it at the rectangle, and pressed a button on it. The screen lit up, and displayed a sundial.

"Despite the advanced status of digital clocks, one must not forget the early beginnings of timekeeping. And they all go back to this most basic method. Since the sun is at different points in the sky from one hour to the next, it hits the sundial from different angles, and the shadow of the gnomon is of a different length. Thus, the time can be told. However, can anyone spot the flaw in this system?"

There was a moment's silence, and then I slowly raised a hand. "The seasons?"

Godric smiled yet again, in his merciless way. "You are correct, sir. The sun sets earlier in winter than it does in summer, so the poor old sundial can only go so far. Like most pioneers of any given field, it was imperfect. But it got things going, and now we have... digital clocks." He pronounced the last two words with admiration, even reverence.

"Sadly, all things must come to an end, and this tour is no exception." I stifled a shout of joy. "There's just one more clock I have to show you." I cursed on the inside. "And how appropriate that it is the clock that stresses this simple fact: all things must come to an end."

He flicked a switch on the remote. The picture changed, and, for a moment, I didn't know what it was. Then it focused in my mind. It was a flower garden.

"This," said Godric, who was beginning to creep me out, "is a flower clock. It works on a very remarkable principle: since different flowers open and close at different times, it's a simple matter of planting the right flowers that no two hours are alike in their appearance, flower-wise. For example, since that pink one there is closed, but this blue one is open, I could tell you that it's 3:21. Thus, it is the only living clock, and as such, the only clock that can die. Remember this. All living things die. These flowers will all die, and I will have to replace them. The clock is ticking, as it were.

"I hope you have enjoyed the tour. Please follow me to the exit, and be sure to pick up a souvenir clock, or some candy."

I don't think he's ever sold a single souvenir, or any candy. Ever.

One hour later... I was driving away, Carol beside me in the passenger seat. Neither of us could think of anything to say. What was the point in talking? There was nothing that needed to be said. We both already knew. Finally, Carol broke the silence.

"Godric was right, you know."

"What?"

"He was right. The flowers will all die. But first, they'll fade. They'll lose their beauty, their brilliance. They've got to... oh, I feel so cheesy suddenly." She stopped, humiliated.

"No, go on," I said, encouragingly. "I need to hear this."

She gave an embarrassed, blushing smile. Suddenly, she looked prettier than I had ever seen her.

"They - the flowers, I mean – should be enjoyed as the beautiful flowers they are, while they still are. Otherwise, they'll be faded before anyone knows it, and Godric will just plant some new ones, to take their place."

Just out the window, I noticed something. It was Godric's flower clock, with what had to be the video camera near it. Odd. I had assumed that they, too, were on the premises.

Suddenly, my cell phone started to ring. I took a moment to extricate it from the glove compartment, and then pressed Talk.

"You weren't paying attention, were you? I could tell from the beginning. I said I'd need to plant new flowers. What, you thought I was being metaphorical? Flowers don't grow themselves, my friend."

Two gunshots rang out, and I never found out what Carol was getting at.