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
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