00:00My grandfather's will was filled with the usual oddities of an old man's life, but one item stood out, an antique mantel clock. It was beautiful, carved from a dark, almost black wood, with a brass pendulum and a porcelain face. The strange thing, it had no hands. The will simply stated, it keeps its own time. I thought it was just one of his eccentric jokes, so I placed it on the mantelpiece in my study and forgot about it.
00:22That first night, as I was drifting off to sleep, I heard it, a soft, rhythmic ticking. Tick-tock, tick-tock, I sat up, confused. How could a clock with no hands tick? I crept into the study. The sound was definitely coming from the clock, a steady, persistent beat in the silent house. Shaking my head, I dismissed it as my imagination, maybe the house settling, and went back to bed.
00:43The second night, the ticking was louder. It wasn't just in the study anymore. It felt like it was right beside my ear, tick-tock. Tick-tock, I couldn't ignore it. It felt invasive, like a heartbeat that wasn't my own. Thudding through the floorboards, vibrating in my chest. Sleep was impossible. I spent the night tossing and turning. The sound an unwelcome guest in my mind. A sense of unease began to creep in. A cold dread that clung to me like a damp shroud. By the third night, the sound was deafening.
01:08Talk, talk, talk. It wasn't a gentle rhythm anymore. It was a percussive, aggressive hammering against the silence. It was the only thing I could hear, drowning out my own thoughts, my own pulse. Panic started to set in. This wasn't normal. The clock felt alive. It felt like it was counting down to something. I huddled under the covers, my heart pounding in time with the monstrous clock praying for morning.
01:30The next day, exhaustion hung over me like a cloud. I stared at the clock, feeling a mix of fear and anger. It was just an object, a piece of wood and metal. What was it doing to me? I considered smashing it, throwing it out, anything to make the noise stop. But something held me back. My grandfather's words echoed in my mind. It keeps its own time. What did that mean?
01:50The fifth night was the worst. The ticking had become a singular, booming thud, thud, thud that seemed to shake the very foundations of the house. I was terrified. I couldn't stay in the house any longer.
02:00I grabbed my keys, ready to flee, to drive anywhere until the sun came up. But as I passed the study, a sudden, complete silence fell over the house. The ticking had stopped. My breath caught in my throat.
02:10The silence was somehow more terrifying than the noise had been. I stood frozen for what felt like an eternity before forcing myself to look into the study. Moonlight streamed through the window, illuminating the mantelpiece. My blood ran cold.
02:23On the face of the clock, where before there had been nothing were two ornate, black hands. They were perfectly still, frozen in place. My eyes traced their position, my mind struggling to understand what I was seeing.
02:34The short hand pointed to 7. The long hand pointed to 32. 7.32, 7.32am, the exact time of my birth. The clock hadn't been counting down. It had been counting up. It had been keeping my time.
02:47All this time it had been ticking away the moments of my life. And now, dot dot dot, it had stopped. I suddenly felt an immense weight, a profound stillness as if the world itself was holding its breath.
02:57The clock had finished its count. My time was up.
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