Ficky22

The old house on Blackwood Lane was notorious. Locals whispered of the previous occupant, a reclusive clockmaker named Mr. Silas, who had vanished decades ago, leaving behind a place frozen in time and a chilling silence. Tonight, rain hammered the cracked windowpanes as I, foolishly, sought shelter inside. The front door groaned open like a reluctant grave. Dust motes danced in the lone beam of my flashlight. The air was thick and cold, smelling of aged wood and something vaguely metallic. I found myself in a parlor dominated by a grandfather clock. It stood nearly ten feet tall, its dark wood intricately carved with unsettling faces. Strangest of all, the pendulum was still. No ticking sound. No movement. I ran a gloved hand over the cold wood. As I did, a sound broke the silence. A faint, dry click. I froze. My light beam swept the room. Nothing. Then, the clock's face glowed—a sickly, pale green light emanating from behind the brass numbers. The hands, which had been at a perpetual 3:15, began to move. Not with a smooth sweep, but with violent, jerky clunks. Clunk... Clunk... Clunk... The hands sped around the dial, faster and faster, blurring into a spinning vortex. The ticking started then, deafening, frantic, echoing the frantic thumping in my own chest. I tried to back away, but my feet felt rooted to the floor. The metallic smell intensified, now undeniably the scent of old blood. The spinning hands abruptly stopped at 12:00. Silence. A heavier, denser silence than before. Then, the carved faces on the clock began to twist. Their wooden lips parted into silent, terrible grins. From the dark space behind the dial, a low, rasping whisper filled the room. "You're just in time." A shadow detached itself from the clock's base. Tall, gaunt, its outline warped and unnatural. It wasn't Mr. Silas. It was what had used him. I didn't wait to see more. I lunged for the door, the whisper chasing me, the last thing I heard as I stumbled out into the torrential rain and the safety of the night being the slow, deliberate TICK-TOCK of the grandfather clock starting its murderous new cycle Stakeuser - Fda22

StakeUser - Fda22

StakeUser : Fda22

Green Box No.2 Stakeid - Fda22