Anonymous
June 27, 2026 at 1:42:44 AM
Once, in my youth. A tremendous clamor woke me from slumber. I arose to overhear an argument between father and our gardener. I tiptoed down the moonlit corridor and peeked my head around the corner as their bickering reached a fever pitch. It seemed the gardener had turned to leave in a huff but the only thing I saw was father's hand snake down and grasp the antique clock that sat on the mantle. I couldn't hold back a scream as I saw that very same mantle become caked with blood in one brutal swing to the gardener's skull. Father looked at me, his face dripping red, but his eyes a disconcerting calm as he spoke evenly- "Go back to bed, my child. Speak not of the nightmare you've had this dreary night"
I never did speak of it, but in the many decades that have passed...I sometimes still hear that clock. I see it's face, still marred by scarlet smudges, yet it continues ticking.
