Ticking Clock

The Ticking Clock is a short horror tale submitted by MerrBearBallet. It tells the story a girl who is about to become the victim of a maniac.

My name is Bridget. I have lived an ordinary life. I’ve never been in any danger before. My parents are quite well-off and I have a lot of friends who care about me. However, I only have an hour to live.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The ticking of the clock counts away the hours of my life. Right now, the clock reads five minutes to midnight.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

How could he have known that my mom and dad went out to a dinner party tonight?

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The incessant ticking of the clock is driving me insane.

It all began with the ornate vase that is sitting in the parlor downstairs. Yes, I know it sounds silly, but all of these events can be traced back to that one piece of pottery. Allow me to explain.

About a month ago, my parents took me to an antique fair. After browsing through the assortment of odds and ends for a while, we came to the auction room. The item that folks was up for bid was a beautiful vase. They said it was from Crete and it was engraved with the image of a Greek lady on the front.

My parents fell in love with the vase and decided to bid on it. The auction went on for a few minutes and the bidding got higher and higher. Eventually, my father outbid all the other collectors and we ended up taking the vase home with us.

As we walked away from the antique fair, a fat man approached us. He was sweating profusely and accosted my parents just as they were about to get into the car. His tone was urgent and he told my parents that he wished to buy the vase from us. He simply had to have it, he said and he would give us anything we wanted.

My stubborn parents refused to give up the artifact. He glared at us and spat on the ground as we walked to our car. I thought that would be the last we would ever see of that unpleasant man, but I was wrong.

Earlier this evening, I was checking my e-mails when I came across a message that read: “Give me the vase, or die at midnight.”

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The ticking clock reminds me of the sound of footsteps, getting closer and closer as midnight fast approaches.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Right now, the clock reads five minutes to midnight… But how can that be? It was five minutes to midnight when I started telling you my story.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

I check the clock. The minute hand is not moving. Taking the clock off the wall, I examine the inside. None of the gears are running, but still I hear the endless ticking of the clock.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Behind me, I hear the closet door swing open. Turning quickly, I see the fat man standing there, a sly smile on his sweaty face. He is tapping two sharp knives together.

Tick. Tick. Tick.