"I meant the herb actually; I'm baking a chicken and need thyme for the seasoning mix. I'll give you a portion of the meal in exchange?"

Her expression seems almost disappointed. "Ah. Well, that's shockingly mundane. Still, I should have some thyme in the kitchen, just a moment."

The door closes. Some time passes and I hear a "Whirrwhirwhir" noise from deep inside her house as blue light leaks from the windows. Still, a minute later she comes back with a small jar full of ground up thyme, ready to use.

"Thank you, miss?"

"Terry, I'm Miss Terry. I'm looking forward to that baked chicken. It was wonderful."

Somewhat confused by my weird but friendly neighbor, I go home and get to cooking.

The old woman had a thick accent that I could not quite place. She didn't seem to realize the smell of dust surrounding her. Idly, with one of her disfigured, bony hands, she gestured me to come inside the house, as she stood by the door.

"Wh- Oh, thanks but I just- um, so um, do you have any?" I asked awkwardly. I had no idea what she just asked me. What I thought I heard made no sense.

She just stood there, waiting for me to step inside, and said "Hm". It wasn't even a question. She just looked away with glassy eyes, as if trying to catch on to a distant memory; as if it would disappear for good if she stopped thinking about it. Meanwhile, the "conversation" had ground to a halt.

"Um, so, uh- if you had some that would be great..."

"Ha? Hm."

God damn it. I couldn't figure out how much of it she could hear, follow or understand. One last try, then I would ask for my leave.

"Um, thyme? Dried thyme? Green is okay too. You know, thyme, the plant? Lemon thyme? Orange thyme? Lime thyme-"

She immediately came back from her slumber; her glassy eyes widened, and her demeanor changed completely. She said "Lifetime? Hmm yes, I can do that."

Before I could say anything; she shut the door. I just stood there for a while, confused. I tried knocking, to no avail. I went back to my apartment, scratching my head. I never saw the neighbor again. Two weeks later, a family moved in, as if no one ever lived there before.

I didn't think of the incident for the first century. Lately, though, it has been haunting me. What was it that I said, exactly? Didn't I say borrow?

Whom did I borrow it from?

When she first moved in, I had thought she was a body builder. Not because of her physique, I had actually never seen her at this point, but because of the noises that came from her house. Grunts and pants followed by loud thuds that had to be from heavy weights filled my ears almost every night.

It wasn’t until I saw her outside walking her cat that I realized she was definitely not a body builder. She was old, at least 70, with a walking stick and a limp. She wore an overcoat that almost looked like a cape wrapped around her old timey dress and boots. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she was straight out medieval movie.

The cat was a tiny little thing, fully black with bright, green eyes. It seemed happy to stroll down the sidewalk in the little pink harness and leash. This really should’ve been my first clue, but who am I to judge? If the old lady next door wants to walk her cat, so be it.

But then it was Thanksgiving and I was all out of thyme for my dish. I had already tried the other neighbors, a sweet young family, but they were off to enjoy the holiday somewhere else. I was already going to be late, so I definitely didn’t have time to run to the store, so that left me with only one other option.

I climbed up the four wooden steps and gently knocked on her door. No one answered. I knocked again and began to wonder if thyme was even necessary for my dish, I mean surely one ingredient doesn’t matter all that much. When still no one answered, I started to turn around and accept my fate when I noticed a door knocker on the side of the door. It was old, black marble with little cracks here and there, in the shape of a dragon head and claws forming the knocking piece. I picked up the claws and banged it against the door only once. A woman immediately answered.

“Hello?” She was beautiful. Young and lively, with rich black hair that fell to her waist, beautifully framing her dress and corset. I had never seen her before, but suddenly I was glad I had run out of thyme.

“Uh, hello! I’m Michael, I live next door. Happy thanksgiving! Um, anyway, I was cooking and I realized I was out of thyme and I was wondering if you had any I could borrow?”

She laughed and nodded her head. “Of course! Come on in, Michael.” She opened the door wider and gestured for me to enter. It was a quaint little house, a rocking chair and a couch sat in the living room facing an old tv set. The shelves around the room were filled with old trinkets, undoubtedly collected through the years. She walked past the living room through an open door which led to a small kitchen. There was a bit of counter space to the left with an oven and stove and a fridge on the opposite side. It smelled sweet, like chocolate chip cookies were baking all afternoon, but the oven was off.

“How much time do you need? Hours? Days? Weeks?” She looked at me expectantly. I laughed at her joke as I looked around the room.

“About two tablespoons should be enough, thank you.”

“That’s quite a lot. What do you need it for?” She began opening cabinets and taking out a plastic baggie.

“Is it too much? I’m just following a recipe I found online. I’m never quite sure what I’m doing when I cook.” I watched her as she took out a clear canister filled half way with a green powder that seemed to glow when she touched it. “What is that?”

“Time.” She looked at me as if I had asked a stupid question. She began to measure out two tablespoons and poured it into the bag.

“Sorry. I guess I’ve just never seen thyme look like that.” I said. She hummed in response, not bothering to look at me anymore. The awkward silence was getting to me, so I asked a simple question. “Do you live here with your grandma?”

She finally turned around to look at me. She had an eyebrow raised and the baggie of thyme in her hands. “No. My grandmother has been dead for centuries. I live here alone. Well, alone with Salem.” As of right on cue, the small cat I had seen before jumped up on the counter, nuzzling its head against the woman.

“Then do you hire a cat walker? I saw an older woman walking Salem a couple days ago, I guess I just assumed she lived here.” And the fact the old lady literally came out of this house, but I wasn’t going to say that.

“Oh, that was me.” She answered. She seemed so genuine I almost believed her.

“Right…” I tried to laugh it off, but she didn’t seem to be joking.

“Do you think I’m lying? You came here asking for time. If you knew I had some, why wouldn’t you assume I use it?”

And finally it hit me. I don’t think we’re talking about the same thyme.

[Out of Thyme]

"It wouldn't kill me to be friendly...," Alex paused outside his apartment and changed his mind. He planned to run to the grocery store; but, he spotted a different opportunity as soon as he stepped out. His new, attractive, next-door neighbor stood just outside her door saying goodbye to a teenage boy.

"Good luck, Turbo," she waved at the teen and her voice drew Alex's attention. The teen disappeared around the corner and the woman with a brown ponytail stepped back into her home to close the door. Alex moved quickly and knocked on the door before it was closed all the way. She paused and peeked out through the crack.

"Yes?" she asked.

"Hi, my name's Alex, I live right next door," he introduced himself and pointed down the hall.

"I know," she nodded. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm sorry to bother you, but I need some more thyme; do you have any extra?"

"What?" she looked surprised. "How did you...," she lifted her wrist to glance at her watch; then, she shook her head and opened the door wider to invite him in. Her apartment was the exact same as his, including the tight foyer with a 5' square of wood laminate. "I guess that's not important. Okay, how much do you need? Hours? Days?.. Weeks might be pushing it..., but I guess as a favor to a neighbor I can look the other way for a little bit."

"What?" It was Alex's turn to be surprised. He chuckled nervously, hoping that she was just teasing him. The alternative was that she was insane. "I mean the herb, THhhhhhhhhhYME," he stressed the 'th' sound so that it sounded like 'thigh-mm'."

"OOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHhhhh," her tan complexion flushed beet red as she giggled nervously. "Hahaha...," she said.

"OF COURSE! I knew that! The herb, thyme, for cooking. I knew that," she giggled. Then, she shook her head and shrugged.

"Sorry, I don't have any of that," she opened the door again. "Good luck, I'll see you soon," she said. "I really hope you enjoy whatever it is you're making."

"Eh, at this point I might just order pizza," Alex shrugged. After her whirlwind... prank? He didn't know what to make of her behavior; but, it took some energy out of him. "I don't really feel like killing another 20 minutes going to the store."

"Oh, no, you don't have that kind of time," the woman said.

"Yeah, I'm getting pretty hungry already," Alex agreed. "What's your name?" He stepped closer to the open door just so she would see he was on his way out.

"Oh, sorry, I'm Elsa," she introduced herself.

"Well, Elsa, would you care to join me for some pizza?"

"Uhhh...," Elsa glanced at her wristwatch again. Then, she sighed. "... sure. Why not?" she said. "I guess I can give you that much time."

"Ah! I get it! Thyme!" Alex laughed but Elsa only tilted her head at him.

"What?" she asked. Alex stopped laughing when he realized she wasn't.

"You weren't making a joke...?" he asked. "...because I asked for thyme..."

"No," Elsa shook her head. "Okay, I think we need to clear something up or dinner is going to be kind of awkward," she said. "And, I'm afraid it's bad news."

"Oh..okay..," Alex turned serious for a moment; but, he wondered what bad news she could possibly have. She was a stranger that only moved into the building less than a month ago.

"When you came to ask for the herb, thyme, I thought you meant time. And, I only thought that because I deal with time frequently. When I'm working, it's not unusual for someone to ask me for more time...," Elsa said. She reached her hand forward and wrapped her hand around nothing in mid-air. It was as if she gripped a vertical door handle; then, in an instant, she was holding a long, thin black pole with a curved black blade extending out of the top end. "... I'm a reaper," she said. A ghostly black cloak floated around Elsa for a moment; then, she released the scythe. It disappeared along with her cloak. Alex was stunned; it took him several seconds to have a thought at all. Elsa knew it was a lot of information and she stood patiently while he processed what he saw.

"You're..... Death!??" Alex felt like he needed that additional confirmation. Elsa nodded and shrugged.

"I'm a reaper; it's too big a job for a single 'Death'," she explained. Something about the way things happened encouraged Alex to believe her. Thinking back on the interaction, it sounded like a genuine misunderstanding that only someone who dealt with time could make. If she was lying, he was willing to feel like a fool later. But, for now, he might have access to the secrets of the universe. And, he was going to have dinner with her! He chuckled with nervous giddiness.

"Boy, I'm glad I stopped by here for thyme instead of going to the store...," he said. Elsa nodded and gave him a pleasant, but slightly sad smile that he didn't notice.

"Yeah, I'm glad too," Elsa said. "At least this way, you have time to eat; and, you won't be alone for your last meal."

***
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1776 in a row. (Story #331 in year five.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on August 22nd and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until May 26th. They are all collected in order at this link.

"I shouldn't need that much," I chuckle stepping over the threshold, "I hate to be a bother."

"No bother at all," a smile plays across her face as she shuts the door, "I have all the time in the world."

"You must never run out when you're cooking," looking into her light brown eyes I stop. Golden flecks in her eye sparkle giving the illusion of them travelling from the top of her iris to the bottom.

"I am always running out or I have too much. I know it doesn't go bad. But they say it loses its potency. Who really needs a quart of rosemary? Sure I've run out a few times. I don't know what I was thinking when I bought it. It wasn't even a deal," I babble.

"I'm not sure anyone would," her smiles reached her eyes, the flickering gold increases speed.

"How are you liking the neighborhood? When I moved in I wasn't so sure. I used to live on a farm. Well it wasn't really a farm. But there weren't nearly as many neighbors. At least none you didn't have to drive to get to. Ten houses, all within walking distance? Remarkable! It took me two months before I got used to locking my front door. Not that I didn't lock my door before."

She laughs, the gold slows, it feels like a warm breeze has enveloped my body on a fall day.

"That does sound like quite a change. You should slow down, I'm really in no rush."

"Sorry."

"No need to be," she motions for me to walk beside her into the corridor with her hands clasped behind her back.

"I am finding the neighborhood different then anywhere else I have lived. Yet at the same, it feels as if I have always lived her. How long did you say you've been here?"

"Uh," I run a hand through my hair then start counting on my fingers, "About five or six years I think."

"Yet you don't need much time?"

"No, I only need a quarter. I had some at home but not enough."

"A quarter?"

"Yes."

"A quarter century? Day? Millenia?"

"What?" I stop to look at her. There is no movement of gold in her eyes as she pauses walking too.

"You say you need a quarter. A quarter of what?"

Chimes sound in the hallway around us.

I look around to see we are surrounded by clocks of various sizes and makes. Birds begin to chirp shuddering in and out of their clocks. Wooden figures dance to off kilter music in windows beneath their clocks.

Each clock announcing the hour builds to a cacophony of sound. Six chimes later, what may have been an hour itself, the corridor is once again silent.

"What was that? Why do you have so many clocks?"

"How else would I keep all the time in the world?" Her lips quirk in a grin that does not reach her eyes, "Now how much time do you want exactly?"

"I... I only need a quarter teaspoon," I take a half step back, "I apologize for wasting your time. We were talking about two different things."

I continue to back down the corridor, she follows a couple of steps behind.

"I'll just let myself out. I'm sure Mrs. Johnson on the corner has some I can borrow," I begin to turn as she reaches out and takes my hand.

"You haven't wasted my time. I told you, I have it all," she gives my hand a gentle pull as she turns and grasps a clock with her other hand. The clock turns and a door opens beside us.

"Let's get you that quarter teaspoon. Do you have a preference of region?" She asks pulling me through the doorway. Inside the room is another corridor wider and taller. Plants with grown lights above them make up two aisles down the cleft side and the center. To the right are shelves of hundreds of bottles of dried herbs in jars.

I turn to look at her eyes. They are not brown but a deep pine green. Gold still shimmers within them.

"I did say I have all the thyme in the world."

"How much do you need? Hours? Days? Weeks?"

I chuckled at the appropriately time-old joke as she led me to the kitchen. Her house was open concept, and rather than a TV her living room was occupied with a long fold-out table covered in art supplies. She still had a couch. Gotta be comfortable when making art, I suppose.

"Just enough thyme for supper," I responded as she reached the light-colored cabinets of her kitchen. Plates and snacks lightly scattered, otherwise clean, it didn't look too different from my own. Looks like she's well settled in, even if we don't quite know each other very well yet. I hope that changes. It's been a while since I've painted.

She measured out some thyme for me, confirming I had what I needed, then placed it in a little baggy - we both laughed - and handed it over.

"You'd be welcome to come over for supper if you'd like. With the last ingredient," I held up the bag, "there's more than enough for one more person."

She smiled. "I'll think about it. When are you having supper?"

"Just in an hour or so. I can let you know."

"That'd be wonderful. Thank you."

"Of course! Always great to get to know people around the neighborhood. And you got the thyme, after all, be almost unfair if you don't get to eat it."

She laughed at that, and we walked back out toward the front door and said so long, see you at supper.

As I walked back to my house, the air felt a little less chilly.

“P-Pardon me?” The question seemed out of place, and yet it was asked so nonchalantly that I couldn’t think it was a mistake. The lady walking in front of me was easily 70, maybe 80 years old, it felt wrong to call her out on it.

She turned as we stood in her living room, covered in all sorts of collection figures, all very clean and neatly displayed. A bit of amusement was drawn on her face. “Was this your first time visiting? Sorry, my memory is not what it used to be, but the question stands. How much “thyme” do you need?” She smirked at the word thyme, making her giggle in a rather innocent way.

This melted my heart, and at the same time made it ache for her. It worried me that she could be too old to be living on her own. I decided to play along and answer her question in a fitting manner.

“Oh, just a few days is enough, I could use those to help you meet the rest of the neighborhood and maybe mow your lawn…?” As the words drifted out of my mouth, the room felt different, everything was already still and yet it was like the air itself stopped moving. The lady looked at me a bit perplexed, the amusement replaced with confusion, and then joy, the kind of joy only a grandmother would show from seeing her grandchildren.

“You’d do that for me? Oh that sounds wonderful! No one has ever offered to help me when I gave them ‘thyme’.” Her excitement felt like a reward in and of itself, so I couldn’t bring myself to stop pretending. Maybe I wasn’t pretending? Either way, she seemed really thankful for my offer, so I propped my arm, and she held it graciously. “And how many neighbors are there? By the way, you don’t have to worry about the lawn, my children will be here tomorrow to help me with that. You can take those extra days you want all for yourself.” I almost forgot about it but after she held my arm, that stillness in the room faded, and everything somehow went back to normal. It was maybe something minuscule but it registered in my head as she and I walked out of her house, on that sunny afternoon.

Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

Reminders:

>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* See Reality Fiction and Simple Prompts for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

🆕 New Here? ✏ Writing Help? 📢 News 💬 Discord

I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please contact the moderators of this subreddit if you have any questions or concerns.

[removed]

[removed]