pekka15

READ AT YOUR OWN RISK The 7th Hour They say time is a thief, but for Lucas, it was a silent predator, always one step behind, waiting to strike at the most vulnerable moments. It started three weeks ago, just as the days began to shrink and the air grew crisper, with whispers of Halloween creeping through the streets. Lucas had moved to a small town on the outskirts of nowhere, looking for a fresh start after the collapse of his life. The house was cheap, a fixer-upper... perfect for someone with a tight budget and a desperate desire to escape the ghosts of his past. The first few days were peaceful. The creaks of the old wooden floor, the draft through the windows, the distant howl of the wind, all felt like the perfect backdrop to forget the life he had left behind. But then, on the fifth night, something unusual happened. It started with the clock in the hallway... an old, brass grandfather clock that had come with the house. Lucas had set it, but every morning, it was off by a few minutes. At first, it was barely noticeable. But soon, it began to drift more. Five minutes, ten minutes, twenty minutes. He had no idea how to fix it, so he ignored it. That is, until the night it struck seven. It was exactly 7:00 PM when the clock made an odd sound. A low, deep groan that reverberated through the floorboards. At first, Lucas thought it was the wind. But then, he heard the footsteps. Not just any footsteps, but the unmistakable shuffle of someone walking around his house. His heart skipped. He hadn’t heard anyone approach. No knocks at the door. No footsteps outside. He wasn’t expecting company, and no one lived nearby. But there it was... shuffling, faint but persistent. He grabbed a kitchen knife and crept toward the source of the sound... the hallway. The grandfather clock stood there, motionless, its pendulum not swaying. The sound had stopped. He stood there for a moment, tense, listening. Nothing. The silence was suffocating. Then, without warning, the clock struck 7:01. It wasn’t the usual tick-tock sound. It was different. The hands of the clock didn’t just move... they jerked forward. And as they did, the air in the hallway grew heavy, like something was pushing against him from all sides. The footsteps started again. This time, Lucas wasn’t sure if they were coming from inside the house or from the walls themselves. The sound was louder now, closer. And then, the whisper. “Come play with me.” His blood turned to ice. He had no idea where it came from. There was no one in the house, yet it was unmistakable... a voice, soft and childlike, but laced with something sinister. He turned and ran toward the front door. But as he reached for the handle, it was as though the door had become glued shut. It wouldn’t budge. Panic took over. He backed away from it, gasping for breath. That’s when the clock struck again... 7:02. This time, the sound wasn’t just a whisper. It was a series of loud, guttural growls, like something was struggling beneath the floorboards. The air grew colder, suffocating, and Lucas felt as though something was reaching for him from the shadows, something intangible, but terrifyingly real. And then, the final realization hit him: The clock had been counting down to something. Something that was waiting. Something that had been there long before he moved in. When the clock struck 7:03, Lucas felt a cold hand grip his wrist. The sheriff found the house weeks later, abandoned, with nothing but a pile of old letters and a thick layer of dust covering the floor. The grandfather clock was still ticking... its hands frozen at 7:03. It wasn’t until after the house was sold again, years later, that another person moved in. A young woman named Lily, looking for a place to escape. She moved in without a second thought, undeterred by the rumors. But on her first night, she noticed the clock. And the footsteps. And the whisper. The neighbors never saw her again. They say time is a thief. But in that house, time is something much worse. It’s a collector. And when the clock strikes seven, it comes for you. So if you ever hear the ticking of a grandfather clock at night… run. Because you’ll never know if it's counting down to the end of your time. STAKE ID: mridul1999

mridul1999