by Greg Wilburn
ready for bed. As Grandma turned off the television, the lights in the house, including her shining smile, dimmed. I can't really explain it, but a churning feeling in my stomach made me realize that there was something evil in her dimmed smile.
A few moments of silence passed between us, and once I made a forced cough, Grandma faced me and said, "I have something to tell you." I sat back in the padded chair and sunk down until my shoulders were where my butt once was. I think she felt the fear in my eyes because her first response was to come near and place her hands on my head. "Don't be so scared, child" she said with such gentleness that I forgot to be nervous. Then she helped me sit up straight and began to speak.
"You've been afraid of me for so long, but I have to let you know now, near the end of your time, that everything I've done has been for your and my protection." My face contorted in confusion at the ridiculousness of the comment, to which she responded by saying "Truly, everything I did was in your and my best interest."
I told her I didn't really believe her because of all the horrible things she did to me, but she was unphased by my doubts. Instead, she grabbed a nearby chair and sat, grabbed my hands in hers, and spoke with a hushed tone.
"The clock. It's all because of the clock." She clammed up for a second, and her pause let me to ask her what she meant. "I'm warning you. You can't leave here now that you've come. The clock knows you're here. And it won't let you go ever again. That's why I tried to drive you and others away so you wouldn't get hurt. And now that you're back you're in more danger than ever. What you thought--"
I waved my hand and stopped her. I didn't realize I was yelling accusations until after I finished speaking. "What are you talking about? You practically begged me to come!" And protecting me!? What the hell are you talking about, Grandma? You've been trying to scare the crap out of me and run everybody out of my life ever since I can remember! How can you say that you've had any of my best interests in mind during all that hell!? How could all the bad things you did to punish me for no damn reason be anything but hateful? Huh? How!?"
"I never called you here, May." she said with worry in her eyes. "You were never supposed to come back here. That's why I sent you to university. So you'd leave me and your horrible fate behind. This must be the work of the clock. And now its work is complete." I ripped my hands from hers, calling her the crazy woman that I'd always known.
"You don't understand," she said. " I had to push you away because the clock has wanted you since you were a boy. Malen, that clock is no ordinary clock. It takes things. Things that it needs. And it needs you. It tried to take you from me after your parents disappeared, but I was able to stop it. But I can't protect you anymore, just as I can't protect myself."
I couldn't help but look at her as if she'd gone completely insane. My eyes darted around the room as I fidgeted in my chair. Thousands of escape plans flitted through my mind as I stood to leave. I rushed to the room near the middle of the hall and started to pack my things. Grandma came to my side and tried to pull me away from the shirts I was folding. "We can't run! It's too late! All we can do is hope our end is quick!" she screamed while digging her nails into my back.
As those words left her mouth, the demon clock chimed for the first time since me being there, which is strange to notice now. The loud gonging shook the walls, and I swear I could feel the yellow paint peel off of the house. The sounds leaked through every crack in the wooden structure and I tried to yell above them, telling Grandma that I was leaving and never coming back, but a scraping sound stopped me cold.
Grandma and I stood there silently as the chimes died and the sound of metallic sliding filled our ears. It was as if a series of knives and crowbars and nails and forks was running itself along the floors and ceiling, creating a perfectly terrible procession for when the lights began to flicker. At the height of the paranormal phenomenon, a long, slender shadow stretched itself along the floors and crept into the room.
I felt Grandma tug roughly on my shirtsleeve while stepping behind me. I tried to stand tall with the shirt I had clenched in my hand, but I couldn't help but shake. Soon, the whole hallway was consumed by the shadow and a low growl slid into the room and grabbed at my feet.
I stared in awe as a dark mist descended from the ceiling and black tentacles wrapped around our ankles. In an instant, I was thrown to the far side of the room. The cracking of glass and the splintering of wood split my eardrums as I was tossed against a large dresser and a long nightstand covered in photos. Grandma's screams dulled while the tentacles grasped her and pulled her into the hallway. My broken bones prevented me from pursuing the monster that was taking Grandma before my very eyes.
A desperate "Malen! Help me!" reached my ears, and I sucked in a deep breath and dragged my broken leg, split ribs, internal bleeding, and severe concussion after her, pulling myself along despite the pain. The darkness retreated into the clock as I reached the hallway, placing an eerie calm over the house. I looked over at the clock and saw Grandma standing there, shivering in some possessed state.
I called out to her, which snapped her out of the trance and let her face me. "Grandma, are you all right?" I asked, to which she responded with, "Yes, come over here, Malen. I need to tell you about this clock." I protested immediately, saying we had to leave the house as soon as possible before another attack happened, but she was unmoved.
"Malen, come here. There's nothing to worry about anymore. You'll be fine as long as you listen to what I have to say. Come here." The confidence in her voice dispelled any worry and pain that surged through my brain and body, and I slowly dragged myself over to her.
When I reached her, she cupped her hand against my cheek and said, "That's my boy. Now let me tell you about this clock." For some reason, I couldn't pull myself away from her and flee like hell from the horror that would soon take place. All I could do was lie there and listen attentively to what she had to say.
"This clock was finished by a master craftsman in 1738, Malen. And guess who that man was. He was your great-great-great-great-great-grandfather, Absalon Delling. He was husband to Leyana Delling, and father to three boys, Jepth, Jacob, and Raymond. He spent five years building this clock, pouring all the blood and sweat he could into it. But after he built the clock, something horrible happened.
On the night of finishing this clock, Absalon and his family were brutally murdered by an unknown assailant. The only survivor that night was Jacob. The killers were never caught, and Jacob was left the sole heir to the clock. But Absalon hated Jacob. Jacob looked nothing like him and Absalon wanted him killed because of his various deformities at birth. Jacob had stumped legs, one good arm, a misshapen head, different colored eyes, and could barely control his seizures and bowel movements. Absalon was known to say that Jacob was a disgrace to the Delling name, and only served as a shameful reminder of his failure as a man. But Leyana stayed his unrelenting hate until their deaths in 1738.
Although Jacob had such deformities, he made something of himself by becoming a tradesman and starting his own company. He lived in wealth, and was known to be a kind and generous soul. Even though Jacob's life was filled with success, Absalon's rotting soul couldn't find peace. All he desired was to destroy both his killers and his disgrace of a son. That way he could erase his shameful remnants from the face of the earth and truly lay himself to rest.
One night, when your relative, Dinley Delling, was ten, the spirit of Absalon lashed out, killing Jacob and his family, except for Dinley. Dinley escaped and ran far away from the evil he had witnessed, never to return. But the clock waited. Absalon sat quietly, preparing for the chance to destroy its disgraceful lineage forever. He knew that his hate was a dark honey that would slowly attract those he needed to finish his task. He waited one hundred and sixty-two years for this chance.
Your relative, Corey Delling, found the clock in 1900 in the abandoned house and took the family heirloom to his home. Then began the clock's slow consumption of its descendants.
A
bsalon's will drew anyone with Delling blood running through their veins, as well as anyone who had encountered the evil within the clock in any way close, killing them off one by one. It took a long time for such a feat to be accomplished by Absalon's vengeful spirit.
And now we find ourselves here, today, where the goal that Absalon has tirelessly worked for will reach its completion. You see, Malen, it all ends with you. You're the last of the Delling name. And with you here, Absalon can finally put his vengeance to rest. You're the key. You've always been. And your doom will lead to Absalon's salvation."
My eyes grew wide with terror as the illusion of Grandma dissipated before me and I realized I was standing in front of the open-faced clock. Its form had disappeared, and all that remained was a willowy shadow where the clock once stood. I found my hands reaching into it, eager to grasp the nothingness that lied within. I tried to pull myself free, but a fleshy sac, almost like a stomach, was churning and sucking me deeper into its abyss with each undulation.
I screamed in my desolation, cursing and begging for a savior. I was pulled further in, up to my shoulders. My mouth filled with bile as my face and torso were sucked in. I passed through