The clock tower groaned as the sheriff forced the rusted doors open.A stale gust of air escaped, thick with dust and the faint scent of oil — the smell of something old pretending to still be alive.
Elias Gray hesitated at the entrance, lantern in hand. The interior was darker than it should've been, the stairs spiraling upward into a mouth of shadow.
"Stay close," Sheriff Alden muttered, his voice lower than usual. "We'll check the gears, see what made that bell ring."
The steps creaked underfoot as they climbed. Every sound echoed too long, as if the tower swallowed time itself and gave it back warped. The lantern light flickered, catching glimpses of cobwebs and old carvings in the wood — numbers etched again and again.
Elias paused, brushing his fingers over one. "These aren't just numbers," he murmured. "They're dates."
Alden leaned in. The markings covered the wall — each with a name beside it.Then both men stopped when they reached the latest one.
Elias Gray — November 6.
Elias froze. "That's… today."
Before the sheriff could speak, the bell above them rang again — once.The sound was deafening up close, a pulse that rattled their bones. Dust rained from the rafters. The lantern flickered, sputtered — and went out.
In the darkness, Elias could still hear it — the ticking. Louder this time. Not from the clock above, but from beneath them.
He aimed the faint glow downward. A trapdoor sat half-buried under the planks.The sheriff shook his head. "Don't."
But Elias was already kneeling. His fingers hooked under the handle. "You said you wanted answers."
He pulled. The trapdoor lifted with a shriek. Cold air rushed out like a held breath finally released.
Below was a narrow passage leading down — deeper into the earth. The walls shimmered faintly, as though lined with glass.
"This isn't in the tower's design," the sheriff muttered.
Elias stepped down first. His boots splashed into shallow water. The air grew colder, metallic. The walls weren't glass — they were mirrors. Dozens of them, angled toward the center.
In every reflection, Elias saw himself.Except one.
In that mirror, his reflection was moving on its own.
It smiled.
"You're getting closer," it whispered. The voice came from behind the glass, not from him. "But you'll forget again soon."
Elias stumbled back, heart pounding. The sheriff raised his gun — but the barrel shook. His reflection was gone too. Only Elias's remained, staring back at them both.
Then, slowly, the mirrors began to hum.One by one, they started to crack — hairline fractures spreading like veins.
From the cracks seeped light — faint, gold, almost warm — and then, impossibly, sound. A recording of laughter. Children, bells, music… the sound of a celebration.
The light grew until it filled the chamber. The mirrors shattered, glass raining like tears.
And beneath the noise, Elias heard a whisper — faint, layered over itself like echoes across decades:
"Remember the festival. Remember the promise."
Then everything went silent.
The light faded, leaving them in near-darkness. The sheriff's face was pale, eyes wide."Gray," he said slowly. "There hasn't been a festival here in over forty years."
Elias turned toward him. "Then what did we just hear?"
The sheriff didn't answer. He was staring at the far wall, where something new had appeared — freshly scratched into the stone.
NOVEMBER 7 — SHERIFF ALDEN.
Elias's blood ran cold. "That's tomorrow."
Alden swallowed hard. "If tomorrow ever comes."
The ticking resumed.
To be continued…
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