There were walls, once.
Plain walls, with pictures of festivals, old calendars, half-faded wedding photographs, and the chalk scrawl where Vyom once measured his height.
Now, the hallway stretched forward like it had forgotten where to end.
The familiar plaster was gone.
In its place: old wood—dark, uneven, groaning with every breath of the house.
Brass nails stuck out here and there like teeth.
Vyom clung to his mother's shoulder, refusing to breathe too loudly.
Dev hung limp in his small hands, its button eyes dim.
Behind them, the window-mouth stayed shut…
but breathing.
The house pulsed faintly with Vyom's heartbeat.
BOOM
...
BOOM
Fifteen hours…
No.
He corrected himself.
Sixteen were left.
One "face" had tried.
But it had not been Hour-3 yet.
So the world was cheating.
His chest felt cold.
"Ma…" he whispered, voice tiny.
His mother held him tighter, whispering shakily into his hair,
"Don't look back, Vyom. Whatever happens—don't."
Her voice was thin—almost breaking.
Not the calm, warm tone she used when telling his bedtime stories.
This was a voice balancing on the edge of terror.
The hall stretched forward like a throat.
Every step she took sounded too loud.
Tak.
Tak.
Tak.
Vyom felt the floorboards subtly shift—almost flexing under their feet.
The house was alive.
It wanted to listen.
But also wanted to move them.
He tried to steady his breathing.
"Ma… where are Baba and Dadi…?" he whispered.
His mother didn't answer immediately.
Her steps faltered for a heartbeat—just long enough for Vyom to feel fear rise in her chest.
Then:
"They're here… somewhere," she said.
It sounded like a lie.
From below, a dull drag echoed—
Slow. Heavy. Searching.
Vyom shivered violently.
He whispered,
"Ma… what if it finds us?"
His mother's fingers dug slightly into his back as she whispered,
"He already has."
Vyom's breath stopped.
She walked faster.
The hallway ahead flickered—
a faint light at its end, like an oil lamp struggling to stay alive.
Dev stirred weakly in Vyom's grip.
Its head tilted toward the distant light.
"Not a lamp,"
it whispered.
Vyom tensed.
"What is it…?" he asked.
Dev's buttons reflected no light.
Its voice seemed to come from inside Vyom's ribs.
"Hours don't burn.
They glow."
His mother stiffened.
She whispered,
"That one is early too…"
The light pulsed again—
a slow swelling of illumination, like a heartbeat answering Vyom's own.
BOOM
...
BOOM
Time was syncing too closely.
Mom whispered, almost to herself,
"It can't… it shouldn't begin yet…"
Vyom asked, "What shouldn't?"
She swallowed hard.
"The third."
The words seemed to make the hall colder.
Vyom buried his face into her shoulder again.
He remembered Dev's words—
"There will be seventeen more faces."
He whispered, shaking,
"Is this the second face?"
Dev answered immediately—
"No."
Vyom felt his stomach twist.
"No…?
Then what is it?"
"…the house itself."
His mother halted.
The hallway ahead creaked—
board by board—
as if something large was walking toward them…
from everywhere.
She spoke in a whisper,
"Vyom… listen carefully."
He nodded against her neck.
"When we reach the end—
you will see a door."
Her voice shook.
"You must not touch it unless I tell you."
"But what's behind—?"
"Hush."
She gripped him tighter.
"There are doors that open only inward.
Those are safe."
Her breath trembled.
"This is not one of them."
Vyom's heart pounded painfully.
The faint glow at the far end pulsed again—
but this time, it seemed closer.
As though distance meant nothing.
His mother walked faster.
The hallway narrowed—
walls pressing in.
Vyom touched one with his fingers—
the wood was cold.
Not like wood should be.
No warmth from the house, no memory of being a tree.
Just cold.
As if it came from somewhere else.
The boards beneath them creaked louder.
Then—
The whisper returned.
But this time—
from above.
"…little clock…"
Vyom jerked, eyes darting upward—
but his mother pulled his face forcefully into her shoulder.
"Don't look," she hissed.
The ceiling groaned—
distending, bending…
like someone was crawling inside it.
Tak.
Tak.
A dragging sound followed—
slow, numbing.
Vyom felt tears well up.
"Ma…"
"I'm here," she whispered.
Her words shook like they were balancing against breaking.
Then—
something tapped Vyom's head from the ceiling.
A slow, playful tap.
Too gentle to be brute force.
Too deliberate to be accidental.
Vyom's breath hitched.
Dev whispered—
"Do not cry."
Vyom clenched his eyes shut.
Tap.
Tap. The soft knocking followed them—
matching their pace perfectly.
Then—
it stopped.
The silence that followed felt heavier than the sound.
Finally, they reached the end—
a wider space where the hall opened up into a small room.
If it was a room.
The walls here were a patchwork of wood and stone and old discolored plaster—
like the house had stitched itself from different times.
Some parts looked decades old.
Some much older.
A singed piece of wall tile had Sanskrit carved into it— Vyom couldn't read it,
but the curves looked strangely familiar.
The faint glow came from the far wall.
Not a lamp.
Not fire.
A clock.
But unlike the others, this one pulsed—
as though breathing.
It had no numbers.
Just a black circle where hands spun in irregular jerks.
Tick—
wrong—
tick—
tick—
wrong…
Sometimes backward,
sometimes forward.
No rhythm.
No honesty.
But it counted anyway.
Mother took a slow step toward it.
Vyom swallowed.
"Ma… is this Hour-3?"
She shook her head.
"No."
She stared at the clock with fear and hatred.
"This one counts what shouldn't be counted."
Wyom's small voice trembled.
"…what does it count?"
His mother's mouth tightened.
She whispered—
"Loss."
Vyom clutched Dev tight.
Dev whispered—
"He is close."
Vyom whispered,
"Who?"
Dev didn't answer.
Because the clock did.
Its center bulged—
—then cracked.
A fine line spread outward like a spiderweb.
The wood floor trembled beneath their feet.
Mother backed away slowly, keeping Vyom pressed against her chest.
From inside the cracked clock
came a noise—
Not ticking.
Breathing.
Slow, wet, heavy.
Vyom's fingers dug into Dev's stitched body.
The breathing stopped.
Silence.
Then—
A hand reached out.
Grey.
Thin.
Wrongly long—
like someone had pulled it from a different shape.
Its fingers crooked like broken twigs—
but they moved like flesh.
Vyom gasped.
His mother whispered,
"No no no…"
The hand reached further—
feeling the air—
Searching.
Dev whispered—
"Close your eyes."
Vyom obeyed instantly.
Mother stepped back.
The wooden floor beneath them suddenly shifted—
dropping half an inch, like a heartbeat slipping.
BOOM
The pulse inside Vyom's chest answered.
BOOM.
The long grey hand instantly jerked—
snapping attention toward him.
It curled its fingers—
like hearing a sound.
Mother stepped again—
but her foot hit something soft.
Vyom felt her freeze.
Slowly, she looked down.
Vyom didn't—
but he felt her body tense.
A whisper crawled into the room—
"…you dropped him…"
The hand withdrew,
and something else began emerging from the clock.
Not crawling.
Not stepping.
Just unfolding—
like fabric pulled from a box too small to hold it.
Something tall.
Thin.
Wearing the suggestion of a shape—
like a human seen through fog…
But unfinished.
Its voice came again—
closer, whispering through a throat that hadn't yet formed—
"…little clock…"
Mother gripped Vyom so tightly he whimpered.
The figure twisted its head—
though it had no face—
toward them.
Breathing.
Listening.
Mother whispered,
"We have to move. Now."
She began backing toward the opposite wall where a thin wooden door waited.
The creature twitched—
a quick, spasmed jerk of limbs—
like learning how to move.
Then—
it stepped forward.
There was no footstep.
No impact.
Just distance shrinking.
Vyom began to cry.
Dev whispered—
"Do not let the tears fall."
Vyom inhaled sharply—
holding his breath, forcing the tears back.
The creature paused.
Sniffed—
though it had no nose.
Mother reached the wooden door—
fingers clutching at the handle.
She pulled.
It didn't budge.
She pulled harder.
Still nothing.
The creature took another step—
and its half-formed face stretched—
splitting slightly where a mouth should be—
No lips.
No teeth.
Just darkness.
It whispered—
"…early…"
Mother slammed her shoulder into the door.
It groaned—
but didn't open.
Vyom clutched Dev so tightly the stitches strained.
The creature tilted its head—
joint cracking—
"…you glow…"
Mother tried the handle again—
desperate, crying silently.
The creature raised its long hand—
reaching.
Vyom squeezed his eyes shut.
His breath came in small, terrified gulps.
"Ma…"
She whispered,
"One more—"
She pulled—
The door burst open—
throwing both of them backward into darkness.
She kicked it shut behind them.
The wood slammed…
And the hallway went silent again.
They tumbled onto cold stone.
Vyom gasped, clutching Dev, chest pounding so hard it hurt.
His mother wrapped her arms around him.
"Are you hurt?" she whispered.
He shook his head.
She felt along his arms, face, chest—panic trembling her hands.
When she confirmed he was whole,
she exhaled, relief breaking into a sob.
"Thank God… thank God…"
Vyom hugged her, shaking.
"Ma… what was that…?
What was that thing?"
She closed her eyes tightly.
"It shouldn't have crossed early…"
She held his face in both hands.
"You must stay awake. As long as you can."
Vyom trembled.
"Why…?"
She swallowed.
"Because dreams invite.
And right now, everything wants you to open a door for them."
Vyom's voice quivered.
"What door?"
She leaned in, pressing her forehead to his.
"The one only you can see."
Vyom stiffened.
He knew which door she meant.
The one in his nightmares.
The one he always stood before,
falling…
falling…
But never reaching.
He whispered,
"Ma…
Why me?"
Her hands trembled.
"Because you were chosen."
Vyom felt his heart drop.
"By who…?"
Her voice was barely audible.
"By the one who fell with you."
Dev stirred lightly.
"Do not ask."
Vyom shut his eyes.
A distant clock began ticking—
Not backward.
Not forward.
Just… ticking.
Wrong.
His mother looked around the dark space—
their new prison.
"We need to keep moving," she said.
"We can't stay here."
Vyom nodded, wiping his face.
"How many hours left…?"
Dev answered—
"Sixteen."
Vyom frowned.
"That… that can't be right… We haven't passed any hour yet?"
Dev's button eyes dimmed.
"The house is miscounting."
Vyom swallowed.
"What does that mean…?"
Mother closed her eyes.
"It means…
we are losing time we haven't lived yet."
Vyom's voice was a whisper.
"…is that possible?"
Dev replied.
"Time is not yours."
The space around them rumbled—
a low growl—
And the stone began to warp.
Not crumble.
Warp.
Like clay under an unseen hand.
A path formed ahead—
narrow
crooked
descending.
Mother lifted Vyom into her arms once more, whispering—
"Stay with me.
No matter what changes."
Vyom nodded, clutching Dev.
As they stepped forward—
the path behind them sealed.
Their only direction was down.
Into the next hour.
Into what waited.
As the darkness swallowed them,
Dev whispered one last thing—
"The second face is watching."
END OF CHAPTER 19 — The Hour That Miscounts