The clock ticks quietly in the old wooden tower sitting in the parlor room. It’s quiet. Too quiet. The girl lays in her bed sound asleep as the soft silk comforter tucks her in nicely, keeping the chill morning air away. The girl sleeps in the old house with little creaks, adjusting to the frosty winter coming soon. This little wood structure seems so small and quaint, yet it’s filled with desire to be awakened again just like the little girl. 

           All I hear is a continuous ticking noise when I shoot up so fast from my deep sleep that I send myself tumbling to the ground. My comforter falls onto me along with my favorite stuffed animal from my early childhood. I am rubbing the spot on the back of my head that hit the hard floor when I notice my door is closed. It’s never closed. The door looks different than usual too; it’s older and more warped than it ever has been. 

            I stand up, stretching my legs as I open my blinds to see the bright sunlight pour into my room, covering me like a warm blanket. When I turn around, I wait to hear my mom walk up the stairs like every morning. But she never does. I get this eerie feeling in my stomach. I walk out of my room, down the wooden steps. 

           “Hello?” I call out, only hearing my echo in return. 

           As I go down the stairs I’m met with cool air as my feet touch the icy tile, shocked by the feel of it. I pass through the hallway when I stop to see the tall grandfather clock and hear its incessant ticking. My body is glazed in shivers from the memory of my dream, feeling so lost and consumed in ticking of the clock.  

           I turn my head away and I swallow the lump of nervousness forming in my throat. I swiftly move to the empty kitchen, which is missing the usual touch of a mother’s warmth. I blink feeling an unsettling churn in my stomach wondering where my family is. 

           “Mom? Dad? Is anyone home?” I shout, cupping my hands at my mouth to be louder. 

           Again, the only answer is the voice of my echo. Where are they? Mom always lets me know if she’s going out. Why do I feel so lost? I sigh unsure of what to do now. I walk over to the wall landline, and I pick it up, dialing my mom’s work. The phone feels heavier than usual. I press it to my ear, hearing the ring.  

           I twirl the old wire cord around my finger when I look up to see the grandfather clock now standing in the middle of the kitchen. I see the clock hands start to move faster than usual. My heart begins to beat as the lump in my throat returns. 

           I frown, then softly mummer, “How did that get in here?” 

           The phone line abruptly cuts, and a loud screech comes through the phone. I toss the phone covering my ears from the intense ring. The screeching noise stops, and I open my eyes to see the clock gone. I blink a few times in shock unsure of what just happened. I rush out of the kitchen and back into the parlor room to see the grandfather clock still sitting in the same position, collecting dust just like before. Once I catch my breath, I see my mom’s car keys sitting on the counter by the large French doors.  

           Tick, tock, tick, tock. The ticking won’t stop. It’s engraved into my mind as I desperately cover my ears, all around me is the constant ticking. I try to yell for help, but my cry drowns in the sound of the persistent clock. I fall to the ground, curling up in a ball as tears run down my cheeks.  

           It’s quiet. Too quiet. 

           Finally, the clock quiets itself, and I sit up off the ground to see the house, but it’s pitch black. I feel almost like a painter has spilled his black ink over a fresh white canvas darkening the spirit. How long has it been? An hour? A day? I’m going insane. Where is my family? My mind is scattered with thoughts I cannot escape.  

           When I finally stand up, I’m only met with the ice-cold air surrounding me. I hug myself, trying to feel warmth, but none comes. I clear my throat and look around only to see nothing but the pure unknown. I drag my feet up the stairs, hearing the wood bend beneath my feet as I open my door to hastily curl up in my bed in hopes of this nightmare to be over. 

           Once again, the house is unbothered by this until the girl awakens again. She’s asleep in her bed, drowning her sorrows away in hopes for her family’s return, yet no one comes.  

           When I wake up, I quickly run down the stairs calling out for my family. 

           “Mom? Dad? Hello? Guys where are you?” I yell for my family feeling an ominous sense seep into my blood and turn cold. 

           No one ever answers. I go into the kitchen, and I decide to make a snack when I hear the sound of a loud ringing chime. I dash to the front door opening to see only the empty porch and lush grassy field. The chime continues but it’s not from the outside. It comes from the inside of my house. I frown in confusion. What could be chiming inside my house? I thought it was just me home. 

           “Behind you,” a soft voice whispers against the back of my neck. 

           I quickly turn around and see the grandfather clock at the end of the hallway staring at me. The large pendulum in the middle of the base swings back and forth stuck behind the faded glass. I study the edges of the carved wood forming old intricate designs. When I take my eyes to the center where the clock rests all I see are the hands of the clock moving way faster than normal, making a full circle every second.  

           This isn’t real. 

           This isn’t real. 

           This isn’t real. 

           My mind goes crazy as the thoughts in my head mix me up. I rub my eyes and head as if it will make this feeling go away. I fasten my eyes to the clock only to find it gone. I sigh as if that’s a relief from this monstrous thing. I frantically run out of the house screaming for help. I run down the street, past house after house, but no one is there. My legs begin to feel like jello, and when I stop in the middle of the street to catch my breath, I hear a sound. 

           Tick 

           Tick 

           Tick 

           I turn around to see the grandfather clock standing in the middle of the road across from me. 

           “No,” I pause. “How? That’s impossible.” 

           The clock only ticks, never uttering a single word. For a moment the clock stops and its complete silence. I gasp when my vision starts slipping. My eyesight is blurring, but I desperately keep blinking, trying to see if the clock has moved. All I know next is the lurking shadows cloud my view sending me into utter darkness. 

           The girl woke up and began to scream and scream for help as she tried clawing her way out of the darkness to be welcomed by the light. But it wasn’t light; it was the four white padded walls surrounding her.