Good evening. Welcome to the Just Sleep podcast. I'm Tasia, your host.

Every week, I will read you an old story to help you relax but the stressful day behind you and drift off to sleep.

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Tonight, I will be reading a science fiction story by Edward Page Mitchell,

the clock that went backward.

So lie down, close your eyes, and let me read you a story.

One.

A row of Lombardy Poplars stood in front of my great Aunt Gertrude's house on the bank of the Sheepscot River.

In personal appearance, my aunt was surprisingly like one of those trees.

She had the look of hopeless anemia that distinguishes them from fuller-blooded sorts.

She was tall, severe in outline, and extremely thin.

Her abiliments clung to her.

I am sure that had the gods found occasion to impose upon her the fate of Daphne,

she would have taken her place easily and naturally in the dismal row, as melancholy a poplar as the rest.

Some of my earliest recollections are of this venerable relative.

Alive and dead, she bore an important part in the events I'm about to recount,

events which I believe to be without parallel in the

experience of mankind. During our periodical visits of duty to Aunt Gertrude in Maine,

my cousin Harry and myself were accustomed to speculate much on her age. Was she 60, or was she six score? We had no precise information

...