https://Voice.club - Some whispered of spirits bound to its midnight chime; others claimed it awaited a soul to claim. I held no faith in such fancies, yet as the hour drew near, the ticking crept down the corridors, calling me.
I found myself, almost against my will, ascending the narrow, winding staircase that led to the attic. My candle cast weak light upon the walls, and with each step, the boards groaned beneath me as though the very house lamented my ascent. Yet some unspeakable pull guided my feet upward, until I stood before the attic door, ajar, the darkness within thick as ink, alive with unseen menace.
Inside the attic stood the clock, a monolith of dark oak, its face wrought in glass, misted and clouded by the passing of ages. I felt my heart falter, for I knew, even as my mind struggled against it, that I had seen this very clock in dreams—a familiar shape, a silent watcher.
I drew closer until my visage appeared in the glass. But lo! What horror it was! The face that stared back was mine, yet not—a ghastly version, hollow of eye, lips parted in a silent scream of unfathomable terror. My skin chilled as the clock’s chime rang, each toll binding me tighter, chaining my very spirit to its depths.
The truth broke upon me—a curse woven of blood, binding me to this place as it had those before me. For there, faint as breath upon glass, another face surfaced within the clock’s depths: my mother’s face, a ghostly echo from long ago. Her lips moved soundlessly, but I felt her voice like a whisper in my mind: “Bound we are, child. And so, we wait.”
The clock struck midnight. My vision grew dim, my soul slipping into the glass, trapped within the churning blackness that writhed beneath its surface. The chimes faded into silence. I knew I would linger here, my face forever locked within the clock, awaiting the next unwitting soul to answer its call upon the next All Hallows’ Eve.