It was supposed to be just another boring babysitting gig—until the old grandfather clock started ticking backwards. She leaned closer, certain the clock’s hands were moving faster with each tick. It felt like the clock wasn’t just keeping time—it was counting down to something.
Somewhere upstairs, a door creaked open—slowly, like it had been waiting for this exact moment. Maya froze, straining to hear footsteps, but all she caught was the faint sound of breathing. It was slow and steady, like someone was deliberately matching her own breaths. The hairs on the back of her neck lifted, and she dared not turn her head.
From the corner of her eye, she thought she saw a shadow curl across the floor. When she turned her head, the shadow was gone—but the air still felt crowded. Then the breathing started again, this time from directly behind her. A cold gust swept past her, carrying with it the faint sound of a laugh. She backed toward the clock, certain now that she wasn’t alone.
The clock’s pendulum had stopped, yet its ticking still echoed through the room. Each tick seemed to come from a different corner of the room, circling her. Her pulse quickened in time with the phantom rhythm, as though her body was syncing to it. She clenched her fists, afraid that if she moved, the sound would swallow her whole.
From the corner of her vision, the clock’s face shimmered—just for an instant—revealing a reflection that wasn’t hers. She leaned closer, and the reflection mouthed words she couldn’t hear… at first. A faint hiss bled through the air, shaping itself into a single, chilling phrase: “You’re already late.”
Before she could move, the shadows on the floor began sliding toward her feet, quickening with each tick. They pooled around her shoes, cold and weightless, but impossible to pull away from. From within the shadows, a pale arm reached up, its fingers curling around her ankle. She screamed, but the sound seemed to vanish before it reached the walls. It was as if the house itself had swallowed her voice, leaving only the relentless ticking.
Then the minute hand struck twelve, and both she and the shadows vanished without a sound.
The End.
The Grandfather Clock