The Clockwork Hummingbird

It had been six years since Elias passed, and I had finally started to breathe again. The nightmares had faded, the hollow ache in my chest had dulled to a distant ache, and I had even begun to consider a future with Thomas, a gentle man who worked at the university library. But last Tuesday, as I was dusting the shelves in my small antique shop, I found the clockwork hummingbird.

It was a delicate thing, bronze and brass, with emerald eyes and feathers etched with intricate filigree. I had never seen it before, and I knew every item in that shop. It was hidden behind a stack of old books in the corner, as if it had been waiting for me. When I picked it up, it was cold, and I felt a jolt run up my arm. I heard a faint, tinny sound, like a music box winding down, and for a moment, I thought I smelled cigar smoke and cheap cologne—Elias’s scent.

I told myself it was just my imagination. Elias was gone. I had watched them lower his casket, had thrown a rose onto the lid, had whispered my final goodbye. But that night, as I lay in bed, I heard it again: a faint, scratching sound from the shop, like tiny gears turning. I crept downstairs and found the hummingbird on my workbench, its wings slightly spread, as if it had flown there. On the workbench, in dust that had settled overnight, was a single word: ‘ELIAS’.

Thomas laughed when I told him. He said I was working too hard, that I needed a holiday. But he saw the look in my eyes and stopped laughing. He offered to stay with me, but I said no. I needed to face this alone, I thought. Little did I know that the hummingbird was not a messenger, but a key—a key to a door I had thought sealed forever.

Three nights later, I woke to the sound of the shop door chime. I froze. The shop was closed. I crept to the top of the stairs and listened. There was a low hum, like a hive of bees, and then a voice—a voice I had not heard in six years—said, ‘Lily, I’ve missed you.’

My blood turned to ice. It was Elias. But it couldn’t be. I had mourned him, I had moved on. I stumbled down the stairs and saw a figure in the shadows, backlit by the cold gleam of a streetlamp. He was wearing the same corduroy jacket he always wore, and he had that crooked smile. But his eyes—his eyes were not Elias’s eyes. They were empty, like polished marbles, and they did not reflect the light. He spoke with Elias’s voice, but each word came out with a mechanical click, as if he were reconstructing speech from dust.

Thomas came by the next morning because I hadn’t answered his calls. He found me huddled in the corner of the shop, the hummingbird clutched to my chest, its gears whirring. He tried to take it from me, but it flew out of my hands and hovered in the air, its wings a blur. Then it began to sing—a song I had only ever heard Elias hum when he thought no one was listening. Thomas’s face went pale. He said, ‘That’s impossible. That song was unpublished.

I later learned from an old friend of Elias that he had a secret hobby: he built automata, clockwork creatures. But his last project was unfinished, a hummingbird designed to mimic the voice of the deceased. He had planned to give it to me as a gift, but he died before he could finish. I also learned that Elias had not died in a simple accident as I had been told. He had been working on something else, something dangerous, and that hummingbird was not just a gift—it was a warning.

Now I sit in the shop, the hummingbird singing softly on the shelf. It sings Elias’s favorite songs, and sometimes, I hear it whisper my name. But I know better now. The thing that came to me that night was not Elias; it was a parasite that had hitched a ride on his unfinished invention, a thing that wears the faces of the dead. I haven’t seen Thomas in a week. He left a note saying he couldn’t stay in the shop anymore. I didn’t blame him. The hummingbird’s eyes shine bright, and I wonder if it’s waiting for me to try to leave, to see if it will follow. I have not left the shop since that night. I have not looked out the window. Because sometimes, I see a figure standing across the street, and it is not Thomas. And it is not Elias. It is something that is learning to wear new faces, and it is humming my name.