With the closing of the door came a silence that lasted for many, many hours. This might seem like a long time to you, but to Swain it was only a moment, for he could not understand how he could feel such distress at Verow’s departure when he had only known her for a single day.

The man with the swirling beard did not mind much. He sat patiently while his beard dusted the walls and straightened out furniture, beaming pleasantly all the while as he stared at the boy sitting before him.

“You will see her again,” said the man finally.

Swain tried, as you might imagine, to remain kept and dignified, but when he lifted his head he could not hide the tears upon his cheeks, for they sparkled so wildly in the firelight. “How do you know? I still don’t know who you are,” he said. “I feel very confused.”

“As you should,” said the man. “You must feel devastated at learning that what you have searched for all this time is not what you expected it to be, and at realizing that you have been lost for so long.”

“I don’t have any memories!” Swain cried. “All I’ve ever done is search for those silly buttons because it was the only thing I’ve known how to do! All because of a story! ‘This is a story about lost things and the place where they end up.’ I don’t even know who told it to me!”

“It was me who told you the story,” the man said. “When you were alone in your room, when you were only a baby, I whispered to you and put a single glimmering button in your hands. Then you fell asleep, and you did not wake.”

“But why?” said Swain. “Why didn’t I wake?”

“You were a little flower of love that blossomed but to die. The world of the living was only a passing dream for you. It was always meant to be that way. I chose you for something else.”

“Why? Why me?” said Swain.

“Because my time is running out, and I need your help.”

The man rose from his chair. Swain could see that he wore a pinstriped suit, and when he walked the great beard separated before him to create a clear pathway to a tall, slim door at the other end of the room.

“Follow me,” the man said, and Swain did as he was told, and went into the room.

Inside was a dim glow that came from a giant hourglass standing on three iron claws. The man moved around the hourglass in slow circles, so that whenever Swain was looking at him through the glass his face was momentarily distorted and golden, and one could not help but notice how solemn he seemed, and tired.

“Nearly all the sand in the hourglass has fallen,” the man said.

“What happens when it’s completely run?” asked Swain.

“I think I will take a long nap.”

“I’m not sure I understand, sir,” said Swain. “Why is it that you told me the story and brought me here? What can I do to stop the sand running?”

“There is nothing you can do,” said the man. “You are not here to save me. You are here to replace me.”

Then he turned and led Swain deeper into the room until they came to a table scrawled all over with drawings of rivers and mountains and hundreds of strangely shaped lands, which were separated by stretches of complete darkness; the more he looked, Swain could swear that the waters ran, and that he could hear the waves splashing; and a soft snow was surely falling over the mountaintops, with thick mist curling up and down its sides.

“Are those people?” Swain asked. He leaned over the table to stare down at one of the lands on the map. “They’re walking!”

“This is a map of all the worlds which I have protected,” said the man. “Everything you see on the map is happening right now, but we are simply watching from above. This land shaped like a left sock is the world of lost things; there is my old dog Chester, running free through the streets.”

“He’s quite a lovely dog,” said Swain. “But sir, do you mean to say that you created all these worlds? How many are there, exactly?”

“They are infinite! How silly to believe in only one or two! If we imagine small things, my boy, then we become small, and there is little worse than that.”

“And they’re all here on this map? All of the worlds?” asked Swain.

“Not all of them,” said the man. “Only the ones for which I am responsible. Whatever else is out there is beyond my reach, but we should still believe in them all nonetheless.”

“Sir,” said Swain, “I’m still not sure what you’re saying. What does this all have to do with me?”

“Don’t you see?” the man asked. “Someone must continue to look over the worlds once my time has run out. It has always been that way: there was someone else before me, and before him; and there will be someone after you, and forevermore.”

“Why did you choose me, out of everyone?” asked Swain. “I’ve never taken care of anything before. How can you be sure that I’m the right person?”

“You are smart, and you are brave, and you have the wisdom to know the darkness when you see it,” the man said. “You are the right one. Once I am gone the hourglass will turn, and your time will begin. You should not be afraid.”

After that the man continued to teach Swain all the things he had to know about the worlds and the spaces in between, until the day when the last grain of sand in the hourglass fell, and the curious old man went into his bedroom and did not come out. When Swain peeked in some hours later the bed was empty, although it had been made neatly.

From then on Swain watched over the worlds and kept the light from the dark, and the lost from the found until months and years had gone by, and his own sands began to run out, and he knew it was time to seek out his own replacement.

And perhaps it was your street which he went to in the middle of the night, and perhaps it was your bedroom he snuck into when he was old and grey and had a lively, swirling beard of his own.

And perhaps if you shut your eyes as tight as you can, you might remember a deep, soft voice that whispered to you:

“This is a story about lost things and the place where they end up.”

Topher Daniel can be reached at [email protected]