I groaned, standing up from my desk chair. I looked out of my bedroom window and sighed seeing my bins tipped over for the third time this evening. Yet again, the street lamps illuminated a whole lot of nothing. I made my way over to my bedroom door, swung it open, and huffily made my way down the stairs. The front door was directly in front of the stairs, hence allowing me to see the shadow moving outside through the blurred glass of the door.
I froze in place, gripping the banister til my fingers turned white. I lived in a small village in the middle of the British countryside, the community being small and close-knit, so why was somebody now outside my door trying my door handle? I slowly lowered myself onto the stairs, crouching down low, hoping who or whatever was outside hadn’t seen me. To my horror, the handle slid down into the open position, clicking as the lock gave way. I almost screamed yet my throat had tightened to the point of nothing but a pathetic whimper escaping my lips. I brought my hands up to my face, covering my eyes, as I heard the door swing open. My eyes were stinging, tears threatening to tumble down my face; my body was trembling from head to toe, covered in a cold sweat. My mind was racing as I thought of everything I would potentially never see again, my family, friends-
“What on earth are you doing?” a familiar voice called to me.
I slowly lowered my hands from my face to see my father standing in the doorway holding a cardboard box. I was relieved, but also embarrassed, to see it had been him entering the house, not some armed killer. I let go of a breath I hadn’t realised I was holding and struggled to find the words to respond to his question.
“I… uh… was just waiting for you!” I replied, my voice shaking as I spoke.
He looked me up and down, his doubting glare piercing. “Right… And I suppose you have an explanation as to why you look like you’ve seen a ghost?” He questioned.
I gave a nervous laugh, attempting to subtly wipe the tears from my left eye before they escaped down my cheek. “What’s in the box..?” I asked, attempting to change the subject.
He looked down at what he was carrying, a smile emerging on his face. “I just picked it up from your grandma’s house, it’s a beautiful piece. An old grandfather clock she recently took off her wall, said something about not liking the feeling she got from it. I offered to take it off her hands and pay her for it but she insisted I just took it so, here it is.”
I stepped the rest of the way down the stairs and walked over to him, opening the flaps of the box and peering inside. He was right, it was beautiful. Its main body was made of a dark wood, with gold accents and pendulum, the attention to detail was immaculate to say the least. I looked to my father, “she gave you this for nothing? That’s very lucky!”.
He nodded in agreement, closing the door behind him and heading into the living room. “I think I’ll hang it above the fireplace” he said, placing the box down on the coffee table and gently picking the clock up. He turned it over and carefully adjusted the time, comparing it to his phone. Once satisfied, he placed it down on the table and went into the kitchen to, presumably, find a pin and hammer to hang it with.
I approached the clock, admiring it once again. It had to be worth quite a bit in such good condition, I thought, running my finger down the front of it. I suddenly felt a scorching pain in my fingertip and ripped my hand away, holding it with the other. I took a step back, startled. Looking down at my finger, I saw it had a deep cut down the centre of the pad and was dripping blood onto the floorboards. I looked over to the clock, still holding my finger, and saw there was nothing on it that could have possibly caused so much damage with such light pressure.
My dad entered the room with a box of nails and a hammer and paused when he saw my finger. He looked down to the floor, back up at me and sighed “wait there I’ll get the first-aid kit.”, I simply nodded in reply.
A few moments later he returned and sat me down on the couch, taking a seat next to me. He took cotton wool out of the box and held it firmly on the end of my finger. “You’re mopping the blood up. How did this even happen?”
“I don’t know, I touched the clock and my finger just seemed to… cut itself?”
“So you’re telling me the clock did this to you? The clock cut your finger open?”
I bit my lip, realising how dumb I sounded. “I… Yes?”
He sighed again, opening an antiseptic wipe and dabbing my finger. I flinched in pain and he ruffled my hair with his left hand. “You always were a clumsy kid.” he said, taking out a small bit of gauze and wrapping it around my finger before securing it with medical tape.
I lifted my hand away and inspected it. It was very neat, I thought to myself, turning it slowly around to see. My dad packed the kit away and left to return it to its shelf before coming back to continue hanging up the clock. I watched him as he carefully measured the exact centre and placed the nail on the wall, using the hammer to gently tap it into place. Once he had it sat right, he hit it a little harder til it was sufficiently in the wall to his standards. He gently picked up the grandfather clock and flicked the pendulum to begin its never ending swinging before placing it on the nail. He took a few steps back and admired his handiwork, and looked at me with a raised eyebrow. I gave him a double thumbs up, which he seemed more than happy with. He walked over to me and ruffled my hair again before resting his hands on my shoulders.
“You okay?” he asked with a concerned tone, looking me in the eyes.
My eyes flicked from his, to the clock, to the doorway, and back to his. His lips were pressed together in a line of worry and the look on his face told me to tell him the truth. “The bins on the front were tipped over three times before you got back.. when I went to stand them up for the third time I got a bit startled seeing your shadow outside the door.” I admitted sheepishly. I looked down at the floor, disappointed in myself for being such a coward before being tugged into a warm hug.
“It’s probably some kids playing a prank on you knowing you were home alone.” He said, holding me tight. “Do you want some food before we get ready for bed?”.
I nodded, wrapping my arms around him in return and exhaling. Although he was at work a lot of the time, I knew he cared for me more than anything. Hugging him for the first time in a while felt nice, it felt safe. He let go of me slowly and pinched my cheek, winking at me and walking to the kitchen to make some food. I followed him and sat at the table, watching him cook. His food was always amazing so I was excited to see what he was making. After some time, I figured he was making his special lasagne, which was my favourite of his meals. I sat for a while until he placed it in the oven and sat at the table with me and began to ask me about my day.
“Just the usual,” I said, sighing.
“Those kids still bullying you?”
“Mhm..”
“Have you told a teacher yet?”
“I didn’t want to but I did eventually… It only made things worse.”
“So it’s about time you sorted it the old fashioned way, yeah?”
I looked at him, seeing his smirk, it made me chuckle. “Only if you’re willing to apply for a new school when I get expelled for punching some innocent kids.”
“Sure.” He said, standing up to see to dinner. I was shocked by his reaction, but it was worth a try to get those kids off my tail, after all they were probably the ones knocking the bins over and drawing on the fence.
I was caught up in my thoughts when a plate of food was put in front of me. I smiled widely, tucking in and burning my mouth. “AH! That’s so hot!” I exclaimed, making my dad laugh.
“Well of course it is, it’s just come out of the oven, silly.” He put a glass of water in front of me and I chugged it happily. He sat down beside me and began to eat as well, smiling over at me as I sat my glass down.
After dinner, I washed up and got ready for bed, brushing my teeth and washing my face before putting my pyjamas on. I sat on my bed and stretched, hearing a knock at my door. “Yeah?” I asked. The door opened and my dad walked in with his pyjamas on too.
“Goodnight,” he said warmly, coming over and patting my head, “you did good today.”
I smiled at him, we had a great relationship that only strengthened after my mother passed away a few years ago. “Goodnight dad”, I replied, waving at him as he left and closed the door behind him. I let out a big yawn as I pulled the cord on my lamp, turning it off, and snuggled into bed, pulling the covers up under my chin and quickly drifting off to sleep.
* * * * * * * *
I gasped, shooting straight up into a sitting position, sending the covers flying to the end of the bed. Sweat dripped off my forehead and my breathing was fast and irregular. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears as if it were pounding in my skull. My eyes were fuzzy and the room was spinning, causing me to feel nauseous.
“Dad?!” I shouted, hoping it was enough to wake him, “DAD!!” Tears were flowing down my face and my body was trembling in fear. I let out a small whimper as I saw my bedroom door open, the light from the landing flooding in and partially illuminating the room. My dad walked in and sat next to me on the bed, pulling me in for a tight hug.
He shushed me quietly, swaying back and forth with me in his arms. “It was just a dream, whatever happened isn’t real.” he assured me, feeling me shake.
I sobbed for some time before finally calming down enough to speak. I looked up at him and screamed, pulling away from him and jumping back in terror. His face was contorted. Whatever this was, it wasn’t my father.
I kicked and flailed to get away from him, falling backwards out of my bed. I heard a clicking noise, like a clock tick, tock, tick, tock, from the other side of the bed. I cried out in fear as the creature I thought was my dad climbed onto the bed, its limbs were long and deformed, its head looked like it was on backwards and its eyes looked void of any kindness. Its mouth opened and closed, that clicking noise coming from inside, it walked like a spider with four legs over the top of my bed and crept closer to me still. I shuffled backwards, screaming and crying, hoping for this to stop, hoping for it all to be a bad dream. I backed up against the wall and held my legs to my chest, watching as this creature that wore my dad’s clothes hunted me down, painfully slow, as if enjoying every second I shrieked. I shut my eyes as hard as I could, covering my head with both arms and crying like a child in the corner of the room.
* * * * * * * *
I don’t know how much time had passed but when I opened my eyes again it was light outside. I gently touched my face, it was no longer wet with tears, they had long since dried up. I looked around the room slowly, I was still on the floor against my bedroom wall. Had it all been a bad dream?
I shakily got to my feet, my knees threatening to give out at any second. I slowly limped to the landing and looked into my dad’s room. Seeing he wasn’t there and assuming he had gone to work early as usual, I carefully made my way down the stairs when I heard the house phone ringing. I walked over to it, picked it up, and saw it was an unknown number. I pressed the answer button and shakily raised it to my ear.
“Hello?” I whispered.
The sound that was on the other end…
Tick, tock, tick, tock…