Elias stood in the middle of the cobblestone street, staring up at the church tower. The clock's hands were frozen again—just like yesterday. Just like every day. 11:59. The air was heavy, not just with fog but with something thicker… something he could almost taste.
He rubbed his temples. The dream was already fading, but not fast enough. He could still hear the whispering voice that called his name through the static. Elias… you forgot again…
The church loomed ahead, black against a pale sky that never seemed to brighten past dawn. He stepped forward, boots scraping stone. The square was empty except for the grocer sweeping invisible dust from his doorstep. Elias raised a hand in greeting, but the old man didn't look up.
"Morning," Elias said.
The broom froze mid-sweep. The old man turned his head slowly, eyes hollow as if searching for the word "morning" inside his skull. Then he smiled. Too wide."Morning again, is it?"
Elias frowned. "What do you mean 'again'?"
The man's smile faltered. His gaze drifted past Elias toward the clock tower."It's always morning," he whispered. "Always almost noon."
Elias felt a chill crawl up his spine. The wind carried the faint sound of children laughing — except there were no children in sight. He turned to look, but the street behind him was empty. When he faced the grocer again, the man was gone. The broom lay against the wall, still rocking as if someone had just dropped it.
Elias backed away, bumping into the signpost. His heartbeat drummed in his ears. Get a grip, he told himself. It's just the town being weird again. Maybe everyone's losing it because of the storm last week.
But then the sound came again — faint, mechanical, distant.
Tick.Tick.Tick.
The frozen clock hands twitched.
Later that day, Elias found himself at the diner near the edge of town. Mira was there, pouring coffee that steamed but never cooled. She smiled when she saw him, though her eyes seemed far away.
"Rough night?" she asked.
"Something like that." He slid into the booth. "Mira, have you noticed anything… strange lately?"
She chuckled softly. "Strange? In this town? That's every day, isn't it?"
"No, I mean… different. Like people forgetting things. Like time not moving."
Mira's smile faded. She stared at the coffee pot as if she could see something inside it. "Funny," she murmured. "I was just thinking that I can't remember what I did yesterday. Or the day before. I remember faces, voices, but not what came before them."
Elias leaned closer. "You too?"
She nodded slowly. "Sometimes I dream that we're all waiting for something. That the clock will strike twelve, and then…" She stopped, her lips trembling. "But it never does, Elias. It never does."
A shiver ran through him. "What happens in the dream?"
Mira blinked as though waking from a trance. "What dream?"
Elias froze. "You just said—"
But she was already walking away, humming a lullaby under her breath — the same one from his nightmare.
When Elias returned home, he found the old man's broom on his doorstep. He didn't own a broom.And there was a note, written in trembling handwriting:
"Don't look at the clock when it moves."
The words smeared halfway through, as if the writer's hand had been dragged away.
Elias stared at it until the ink seemed to bleed and pulse like veins beneath the paper. The ticking sound returned — louder now, coming from the walls.
He pressed his hands to his ears, but it didn't stop. The noise wasn't external. It was inside him.
And then he realized something horrifying:The clock tower wasn't broken. It was waiting.
To be continued…
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