After grandmother’s funeral, we’d taken the train to her house to help settle things with her attorney. Before she died, she had been going crazy, never leaving her home, screaming at anyone that came near. The neighbors heard disturbing sounds in the night; one noise being the deafening ticks of an old grandfather clock resonating every midnight. When the neighbors came to ask her to quiet down, they never returned the same. The man quit showing up for work and became a recluse. His wife was a stay at home mother. A week later, a police investigation found the couples baby cooked in the oven. They pleaded they were saving their baby girl before the evil got to her. The couple had to undergo mental health tests; they were then thrown in jail for life.
After that incident, Grandma had shut herself away for five years. No one knew how she got her food. They only knew she was alive from her shadowy figure gazing out the upstairs windows. The week before she died, the neighborhood was shocked when she’d finally left her house. Grandma had her will destroyed, though; her attorney told her it was pointless, the property has to go somewhere. With the fall of the stock market, we needed any money we could get.
The house had no sidewalk leading to the door. We had to march through the squishy ground. I nearly tripped trying to hold up my skirts and keep from dropping my hand bag. It’s hard to believe my mom grew up here. Mom got pregnant with me at fifteen. They said that was the reason she left.
Dark clouds hover slowly past the broken-down chimney. The grass was a rustic brown. Wind blows open the front door, and the creak could be heard for miles. The caw of the crows was helpless, yet scary enough to keep even the bravest of dogs off the lawn. More and more paint chipped off the exterior day by day. There was one window that wasn't boarded up; its blood-stained curtains blew outside in the wind. We enter the house with caution.
There’s something on the wall in front of me, but I can’t be sure what it is. When I get closer, my vision clears. Cats. Dead Cats! Seven of them! All nailed to the walls by their tails! A strangled sound escapes my throat. The cats are in various stages of decay. Some looking to be ancient, like a breeze would cause them to crumble right off the wall…others look only a few weeks old. They all have collars. The oldest of the cats collars lay on the floor, piled in dust. I don’t look close enough to read their names or families. I don’t want to know.

When dad comes rushing in, he gapes at the cats. “She was a mad woman!” He starts talking to himself. “We can’t stay here….but we have nowhere else to go! Not enough money for an inn.” We don’t know anyone around here, mom never brought dad home to meet her parents.

As we take a look around the house, it reveals more and more disturbing things. Grandma’s bed is full of dust and moth ridden, like no one’s slept there in years. In the kitchen, a bloody knife is stuck in the wall that leads to downstairs. Upstairs is a room full of half-smashed porcelain dolls. A particularly creepy doll sits in a rocking chair that seems to move of its own accord. The doll has small red eyes; something is draining from its eyes. Some kind of ink? Red tears… the things crying blood. Its hair looks like it’s been chopped off with garden sheers. The little dress that must have been white, is now stained dark brown with dried blood.

I am drawn between wanting to run from this mad house in fear, and feeding my curiosity.
“I’m going down stairs for some candles. You, stay up here!” My dad shouts the last part. I want to ask him why. What could be worse than the upstairs? I know better than to ask him when he’s in a mood.
When he doesn’t come back for five…ten…fifteen minutes, I start to worry. I scan the kitchen for something. I’m not even sure what. Do I want to find a place to hide or a weapon to brace myself battle? The only thing I can find is a bloody knife stuck in the wall.
Whose blood is it? I almost hope it’s the cats compared to the alternatives. As I reach for the knife, I hesitate. This is real life! Ghost stories are for children! Dad probably just found some old knickknack to distract him. Then the ticking starts…
It begins slowly at first, like a heart on life support. Tick…tick, tick…tick, tick-tick, tick, tick. As the speed increases, my own heart rate matches it beat for beat. Soon, it becomes the heart of a frightened animal. The ticking’s speed increases until a thunderous ‘DONG!…DONG!… DONG!’ breaks the air.

My hand cramps up, the knife drops to the ground. I hadn’t even noticed I’d pulled it from the wall. I pick it back up, clutching it close to my chest. I slowly inch towards the basement door. The door slowly creeks back and forth, daring me to enter. I latch onto the swinging doorknob. I yank the door open and look at the dangerous, dark stairs. A puff of moldy air assaults my nostrils.

“Dad?” My voice trembles. The door has stopped fighting against my grip. Silence drapes the house.

Tick tock

Goes the clock

Counting down your death…

The verses run on a loop through my mind. I test the first step, as if it will crack beneath my weight. My foot shakes as I step down.
BANG, BANG! The knock at the door causes me to jump. My foot slips when I try to recover. I’m tumbling down the stairs.
I lay at the bottom, the wind knocked out of my lungs. My ankle is twisted at an unnatural angle. My arm is wet and sticky. Blood is gushing from the thick slash across my arm. I did this to myself with that bloodied knife! I slowly crawl deeper into the room. My heart beat pounds against my ears. Nothings down here, no dad, no knick-knacks! Nothing but an old grandfather clock.
Tick-tick…tick-tick, tick-tick, tick, tick, tick…
A high pitched giggle radiates from the clock. A little girl stands before me. “Tick-tock! Tick-tock!
You’ve fallen down
You silly clown
You must be eager for death!
“You’re so old! Do you really need to live any longer? I died when I was ten. Mommy always told me I was such a good little girl! Yet here you are, snooping around my house! Taunting me with your life! I didn’t even get a warning, like you do. I was playing in the basement while Mommy napped. I bumped into the dumb old clock. Smack! I was squished like a bug!”


“But…but you’re just a little girl, why would you hurt people?” Dad… what if she killed dad! What did she do to Grandma?

She giggles. “Hurt? No I don’t want to hurt people. I want to kill them! Oh, and Grandma? She’s not your grandma! Your ‘mother’ was adopted after I died! I was her daughter! NOT YOUR DEAD MOM! She stole my life! So I got my revenge. It will finish with you.”

She starts to walk towards me. I turn to run. When I’m about to rush up the steps, she’s there. “No, no, no! You silly girl! I can’t go upstairs. I’ve been stuck down here for years! Mommy never even came to see me. I tried to show her I was still here! When she never came, I got angry. So, I smashed my china dolls and hung the neighbor’s cats! I can control the house even if I can’t leave this room.”

She pushes me back into the dark room. I can barely catch myself. She has way too much strength for any ten year old.

“Good-bye.” She smiles brightly, just before one more shove. I nearly fall into the open face of the clock, which is now ticking wildly. The pendulum has turned into a blade. I twist my body so I just manage to land on the floor next to it. With all my strength I push the clock towards the girl. Before she can get out, I grab the knife, still sitting on the floor, and stab it into the back of the clock repeatedly. With no hammer around, I’m left with kicking and jumping on the clock.

I hope destroying the clock will set her free at last.



When all quiets down, I turn over the battered clock.

“She’s gone… actually gone.” I can hardly believe it’s true.

My body feels drained of any energy. I find myself curling up in a ball on the floor. Soon, I’ve lost track on time as to how long I’ve been down here. The ticking continues in my head. Tick-tick, tick-tick. I squeeze my head in an attempt to force it out. When that doesn’t work, I try lying flat on my back open to danger, open to accepting what has happen.
With shaking hands, I wipe my damp cheeks with the cleaner of my two arms. The cut one burns with agony whenever moved. I pull myself up. I slowly limp towards the stairs. I don’t know how I’ll be able to get up them.
When I take my first hop; my feet fly back out from under me! My jaw smacks into the stairs.
---
Grandma’s Attorney finds me down there hours later. Dad and I were supposed to have met with him to decide what to do with the stuff.

He looks from me to the clock, as if he knew what happened. He supports me as I hobble up the dangerous steps.

When we pass a beheaded doll, he stops. “I thought I saw…” He starts, with fright in his voice. “Nothing…I saw nothing…”
He saw nothing…
nothing but the wink of a beheaded doll.

I’ve become distrustful. I don’t know this guy. Here I am, just letting him lead me through a house of horrors. No way of running with my bum ankle. He leads me casually through the house. I want to yell at him. I’m injured; this is no time for a stroll! A shiver runs through me as we approach the Study.
He pushes me into the dark room that feels like the very center of the house. Evil seems to course in every fiber of the Study. Shadows look as if they are jumping at my feet, sucking me in. In a burst of panic, I run for a light switch. I flip it up and down frantically, but the room remains immersed in darkness. Fear settles in and deep down I know the attorney is somewhere with me in the dark. Something brushes at my back. I turn, but there is nothing. Nothing I can see, that is. Outside I can hear the autumn wind howling, and it almost sounds like laughter to my panicked mind. A low chuckle breaks my thought process, directly in front of me. I scream, but hear nothing in the overwhelming blackness. I’m being drawn in, drowned in slumbering evil, there is no escape...