The Bedroom Clock (Short Story)

3 AM was the usual time I went to sleep. I always slept the same way every night. My face was to the wall, my back to the room. I wrapped the duvet over my head to keep warm throughout the night.

The night was usually quiet, with the occasional fox’s scream in the garden. But this time, I heard the ticking of a clock.

The constant ticking was loud as if it was directly in my room. Each tick wasn’t as perfect as the last as the pitch modulated.

I don’t have a clock in my room.

I removed it years ago for this reason.

My heart was frozen as I kept hearing the ticking. It was loudly standing above me.

I could feel my stomach turn cold as I stayed as still as possible.

I was fortunate to be turned away from it because I knew curiosity would take over, and I’d want to look at it. If I was facing it, I’d want to open my eyes.

A drop of sweat leaked off my back as my hair started to feel fuzzy. The ticking didn’t stop, and it didn’t get louder.

It was as if I could feel it ticking above me.

If I remove the cover, it will know that I’m awake.

I’ve never kept my body so still before.

Even my breathing was slow, like an animal in hibernation. The blood that flowed through my body slowed down as if it knew this was its last moment, and it was making the most of this last pump.

“Please don’t take me.” I thought to myself, trying to think of any other excuse.

But the ticking just stayed for the remainder of the night. It watched me from above like a bug in the night.

It leaned over me but didn’t dare to touch me.

“Please fall asleep,” I said, knowing that was a fool’s wish.

That night, I didn’t sleep. 

My brain was melting from the inside with each tick.

The ticking was too loud.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Over and over again.

The fear made my hair fall out. My brain turned into a paste. It had cleanly cut open my brain and drank each drop until there was nothing left. 

I could feel every moment. 

Every action.

Even now, I still hear the ticking. It never stops.

This isn’t heaven. This isn’t hell.

This is worse.