.
“Moorrrr tuooooos surg ereeeeee” the chiming of my soothing clock allowed me to wake up to a beautiful morning. The birds were chirping, the sun was shining, and I was up. Alternatively, next to me was my fiancee, who was not a morning person. “Babe, you’re going to be late for work!” I yelled. But nothing could wake this tired beast, not even his annoying girlfriend.
“Moorrrr tuooooos surg ereeeeee” the beauty of my peaceful alarm cried for the third time. “I’m up!” groaned Ian. His eyes sparkled and up he went straight to the bathroom. He always found the urge to go as soon as he woke up. He was like a loaded canon ready to blow as soon as a spark appeared. Feeling lazy,I found the will in me to leave the comfort of my an silky sheets and start the day with fresh coffee. Not only is coffee my medicine for exhaustion, coffee is key to life. I started to brew and happily fed my starving stomach with a quick bowl of cereal.
“I don’t understand how you’re so alive every morning, Abbie” said Ian, as he reached for an apple. “I just don’t slave myself at the gym every day like you do” I reminded him. Ian has lost thirty pounds since starting the gym three weeks ago. It sounds impossible, but Ian is so dedicated in everything that he does. “Anyway, are you finally selling that old clock today?” he wondered. “it’s an antique!” I exclaimed, “And it was my grandmother’s clock!”
My old, rusty alarm clock has been faithfully waking me up every single morning. “I know, it has been faithfully waking you up every morning” Ian mimicked as if he could read my mind. “But, so can any other alarm clock that isn’t scary looking like that one!”
That being true, this clock did have a creepy presentation. It was a wooden pendulum clock that had three figures surrounding it. One, stabbing the middle figure, the middle figure disintegrating, and the other feeding the first. The border of the clock is engraved with passages from an old language that I never figured out. Although, its physique is terrifying, I find comfort in having a piece of my grandmother around. Also, having an imperfect eye vision at night does make it easier.
Alas, I had agreed to sell it in a drunken bet, so off I went to the antique store.
I wrapped my grandmother’s clock in an old Adidas shoe box and carried it to the nearest antique shop. At first glance, the store looked small and beat up. Its windows were wrapped in rusty steal bars. I presented myself with a light ring of the bell tied to the heavy metal door. Before my eyes, hundreds of breakable objects appeared. Plates, statues, phones, anything imaginable laid out in front of me. Every space cluttered with expensive antiques. The chaos in this place gave me a head ache. Nevertheless, I made my way through the isle of silver spoons over to the stadium with the cash register.
“Can I help you?” a middle aged man with round glasses and a button up shirt acknowledged my presence. He stepped from behind the counter and waited, “hello sir, I would like to sell this antique clock.” I mumbled. His clean manicured hand reached for the tip of his nose and lifted his glasses. “Well? let me see it” he snarled.
I opened my package and pulled out the thirty pound clock. “Sir, this antique has been in the family for years” I handed him the clock, “I was wondering if you could-”
“GET THAT THING OUT OF MY SHOP!” he exclaimed.
“Sir?” I whimpered.
“HOW DARE YOU BRING THAT INTO MY SHOP! GET OUT NOW!” his face grew hot with fear.
Not knowing how to react, I ran as quickly as I could.
I stayed in bed all afternoon trying to comprehend what exactly had happened that morning at the thrift store. Flashes of the old man rambling like he had seen a ghost replayed in my head. How could a lifeless object cause so much distress in an old stranger?
I tossed and turned and concluded that any lonely person, like the man, could go mad over anything, really. This morning’s episode probably meant nothing and I over thought this meaningless act. I decided to face my nerves and return to the store.
Maybe he just didn’t think the clock had much value.
On the way to the store, I noticed that the weather had taken a drastic change. A once bright and lively sun was over shadowed by the darkest of clouds. A beautiful day turned sad and cold. The first drop of rain landed on my wrist as I reached for the door.
The familiar sound of the door bell sang as I jiggled the knob. I clenched the shoe box which held my clock close to my body and took a deep breath. I walked into the antique shop only to find nothing but a clean table in the center of the room. A once messy and cluttered shop had been replaced with an empty and quiet opening. All the cups and plates and dresses were gone. Leaving behind only the dust that had collected over the years.
I made my way the back of the room to find the counter which, merely hours ago, was the only protection between me and a disoriented man. Flashes of his maddening screams filled my head. I surveyed the empty room once more before finally giving up and starting to head out the door.
When suddenly, in the corner of my eye, I found a small opening behind the counter. A squared shaped cave only big enough to store small items. Curiosity had taken the best in me and finding the courage in me to reach in, my mind had begun to wander. How could a man leave without a trace within hours?
Had I done something?
I closed my eyes and reached in.
What if something pulled me from the other side?
I tapped around and on the far right corner, my skin finally made contact. I pulled out an old, heavy book.
This book was old. Its leather cover was cracked and varied in colors from dark brown to yellow. A beautiful tree with spreading branches gave life to the cover of the book. Its border stitched with phrases in a language that I could not comprehend. I tossed the book from one hand to the other and debated whether or not to open it.
The book contained many hand written phrases and pictures. It was a how to book with step by step passages. It contained a variety of different plants and herbs. I kept skimming the pages finding dead animals and blood.
Was this real?
This book looked like it came straight out of a movie.
As I flipped a final page I realized that I couldnt handle the horror of this intimidating book anymore. I contemplated leaving it or taking it the authorities. As I reached for it one last time, an image made my heart sink. The hairs on my skin shot as high as they could and I forgot how to breath.
My grandmother’s clock.
The title read “Et Facit Vitam Mortui” followed by an italicized passage that seemed oddly familiar. I did what any person with a cell phone would have done. I googled the meaning. The title translated to ‘Raise the Dead’. Followed by a verse that must be said three times.
Mortuos Surgere.
The hairs abrupted in waves.
Realizing that this verse was indeed the melody that played in my bedside every morning, I was determined to find out more.
With the help of Google, I learned that this clock was made of a rare oak tree that only spread life in a garden in Burkittsville, Maryland. It guarded a bone from an infamous witch deep inside the clock. In order for the clock to fully reach its potential, it had been washed with the blood of three separate massacres.
This clock had been used by ancient witches to gain immortality. Being passed along through generations finally landing into my own hands. In order for the spell to completely work, the clock would have to sing its verse three times.
I shut the book and ran home.
I didnt care if the rain soaked me from head to toe. I was terrified. I could feel my heart preparing to burst out of my chest. My eyes became blurry and my shaky hands struggled to carry the shoe box.
Once home I dropped my package to a corner and blocked it from my sight. I took a long shower and contemplated life in general.
Could this be real?
How long could this clock have been working and waking me up?
Should I be dead?
This sudden unraveling led me to daydream about my grandmother, as she had the clock before I did.
My grandmother had lived for a century. But even though she had all those years on her, she had been more alive than most. Her wrinkles were minimal, and she was never bedridden.
“This clock has been my companion since I could remember” she whispered to me, “Keep it as a reminder that life always moves forward.”
“But grandma, what will wake you up in the mornings?” my twelve year old self asked.
“I’ve had my fare share of mornings”.
The next morning, the chimes of the clock sounded darker than usual. I lifted off my bed and reached for the shoe box in the corner.
What are you?
I opened the box and turned off the alarm as it began to sing again. “I thought you sold that thing?” Ian asked with a scratch of his head. Ian appeared tired and frail. His cheeks were sunken in and his eyes were shadowed by dark discoloration.
“You look beat,” I teased.
“You know I’m not a morning person Abby, now come back to bed” he demanded.
I agreed and layed there listening to Ian’s soft snores.
The day passed by in a rush. Ian went to work and I had stayed home and cleaned. I had thought about the meaning of life and how beautiful it really was. Life came and went. And nobody could actually control it. There was only God. Who was I to play with life and death? If this clock was what I thought it was, how could I sin by turning a blind eye?
This was silly. I do not believe in spells.
I grabbed the clock and went to the dumpster.
This is not real.
I held the thing over my head and with a small push I let it slip from my fingers.
You are not real.
I turned around and didn’t look back.
“You finally got rid of that thing?” asked Ian who waited for me under the covers.
“It was time for a change” I replied, looking at the grey digital clock that replaced my grandmother’s.
“I love you Ian.”
“I love you too, Abigail.”
With that, I escaped to another world.
An annoying irking sound woke me up from a dreamless sleep. The new clock was a hundred times louder than the old. I quickly shut it off and tried to return to my sleep.
Wait a minute, I’m alive!
I knew it couldnt be true!
I felt so silly for even considering the possibility.
“Ian, wake up!” I said in between giggles.
“Do I have a story to tell you!”
I pulled the covers off a lifeless body.
“...Ian?”
