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Date Posted: 08:54:12 11/30/02 Sat
Author: Wanda
Author Host/IP: 204-181-87-57.cis.net / 204.181.87.57
Subject: Re: The Clock
In reply to: Fenira 's message, "The Clock" on 12:19:51 09/04/02 Wed

WOW!! This got my attention, and scared me silly. I am glad I read this during the daylight hours. :) Wanda



THE CLOCK
>By Stephanie Rosenblatt
>
> I had never actually stared up at the ceiling before
>like I am now, nor even cared to inspect it. Cracks
>invade the whole ceiling and in one corner of the room
>water slowly drips as a result of the dying storm.
>This house, I realize, is now in a state of ruin even
>though it’s only been four years since it was first
>built and we moved in.
> The only other thing that I can see from this
>position is a round clock mounted high on the wall to
>my left. It is a bird clock, one with different
>species of birds in place of each of the numbers on
>the clock, and it makes annoying chirps on the hour
>for the whole house to hear.
> My eyes seemed to be glued to that damned clock
>ticking steadily on the wall. The second hand clicks
>onto the bird in place of the seven--which was a
>blackbird--then slowly moves past. I had bought that
>clock for her two years ago for her twenty-seventh
>birthday even though I had hated it ever since the
>moment I first saw it. But it was her style, and she
>loved birds. It’s been up on that wall ever since.
> I had given it to her two weeks before I started
>working part time at the horse stables a few miles
>down the road. We really didn’t need the money for
>bills; I just started it, I guess, because I felt that
>I needed something to pass the time. Around that
>point in our relationship, the time she and I spent
>together became less and less frequent, and I felt in
>need of a companion. I wasn’t about to cheat on her,
>though I had been tempted before. Ever since then
>I’ve grown quite close to the horses of that camp.
> About a month after her birthday I had convinced her
>to come in and meet some of the horses. I wanted to
>share my love of them with her and I figured it would
>help keep the marriage together. One of my favorites,
>which was probably the tamest of all of the horses,
>was a purely white horse, very sleek, though not the
>fastest or prettiest of the group.
> I was grooming him that day when she finally came,
>almost an hour late. The moment she stepped foot into
>the stall his ears turned back and fell almost flat
>against his head. He was obviously upset. He bucked
>and whinnied recklessly despite my efforts to calm him
>down, and we both had to leave the stall in fear of
>him knocking one of us over. I had never seen him so
>wild.
> And I never did again.
> She never came back to the horse stables again,
>either.
> I had always wondered why the horse acted that way,
>but now I realize that maybe animal instincts are a
>lot sharper than we perceive.
> Now I wonder how the horses will be without me.
>
> A picture of the night that we first met flashes
>through my mind. I was about twenty-five at the time
>and my partying days seemed to be coming to an end. I
>began to look for someone to settle down with. I
>always dreamed of having a kid too.
> I went to a club with my date, a blond and beautiful
>girl about two years younger than me named Rhonda.
>That name gives me shudders even today. I guess the
>reason I was dating her was because she was pretty.
>That’s all I can remember about her.
> When I came back from the restroom about halfway
>through the night, my date was arguing with another
>woman. What they were arguing about is still unknown
>to me to this day. The other lady was a few inches
>taller than Rhonda and a brunette, standing on a chair
>in front of her shaking her fist menacingly. There
>was a fire in her eyes like I had never seen before.
>It was almost as if I could see the flames flickering
>in them, the force behind them infallible.
> The last thing I wanted was a catfight to ruin my
>date. I broke it up easily enough, though those
>flames didn’t die down until a few hours later that
>night.
> Ironically I went home with the brunette.
> And she’s the one that did this to me.
>
> Seven months later, in the month of November, we got
>married. Ten months after that she told me she was
>two months pregnant with our first child. It was a
>boy, whom we named Jason. She picked the name, though
>I don’t know of any relatives named that. Actually, I
>don’t think I’ve ever met any of her relatives.
>Wonders I didn’t ask about them.
> She had a job as a bird trainer that she had picked
>up a couple of months before we met. All seemed to be
>going well. She had been with the company for about a
>year and three months when one day she came home and
>told me she that she’d been fired. She wouldn’t tell
>me why. Curious and disappointed at the news, I went
>into her former workplace one day during my lunch to
>see why they had fired her so suddenly.
> They led me into a small room with only one door.
>Their faces never cracked any sort of smile, not even
>to welcome me. There was one small lantern in the
>center of the room. Three of them sat at one end of a
>wooden table and I sat across from them. I felt like
>the police were interrogating me.
> They said they couldn’t tell me why they had fired
>her. They wouldn’t tell me why they couldn’t tell me,
>either. All they said was that she shouldn’t get
>another job again, that she should stay home and take
>care of the kid. They told me she “just isn’t fit for
>it.”
> She kept applying for new jobs, and got them, but she
>never was able to stick with one for more than two
>months. Every time she was fired, her excuse was the
>same--she “hadn’t been there that long, and they had
>to cut back.” I didn’t believe it, but instead of
>trying to find out the real reason, I just told her
>she should stay home with Jason. It would save us a
>lot of money not having to pay a sitter and she would
>get more personal time with him.
> She refused.
> Eight months later Jason disappeared.
> Police vaguely explored only two fields: they
>believed he had either been kidnapped or he had run
>away. I only see him for a few minutes in the morning
>before I rush off to the office, so I had no clue
>where he would be or what his schedule was. She
>locked herself in our room and refused to come out for
>two weeks. I slept on the couch cradling my broken
>heart.
> Since she was locked in the room, I was the only one
>that was interrogated. They asked if there were any
>reasons for Jason to run away--did he have a bad
>family household? Did we abuse him? Neglect him? I
>answered ‘no’ to all of these accusations and they
>left soon enough.
> And the job escapade went on, and she continually
>took jobs to keep herself busy. We hardly ever saw
>each other. There was basically nothing left of our
>marriage.
> Then she came home about an hour ago.
> The moment she stepped through that door I know that
>something was different. She had that look in her
>eyes, that fiery glance similar to the one that night
>we first met.
> Except it was even more potent.
>
> For a moment I remove my mind from my thoughts and
>stare at the ceiling again. But now that I’ve seen
>the state of the ceiling, I don’t want to look at it
>anymore. I want to turn away, to get up and walk
>away. The only problem is I can’t. I can’t move.
>I’m stranded here on the tile floor of my living room
>with blood seeping out of a large gash on the back of
>my head that I can’t do anything about. No one would
>be able to hear me even if I could speak. Even
>blinking hurts, so closing my eyes is out of the
>question.
> And yes, the scary part is, she did it.
>
> I had never seen her that way before. She told me to
>strip down to my boxers and pulled out two sets of
>handcuffs from her purse. Finally some action back
>into our marriage, I thought. The sight of those
>manacles and the passion in her eyes almost gave me an
>erection right then.
> I stripped down and she handcuffed my arms to two
>hanging ornaments on the wall of our living room. I
>thought the idea of being chained in the living room
>quite weird, but I didn’t attempt to get out. She
>left the room for a moment and I figured that she was
>changing, and maybe getting more equipment for some
>foreplay.
> Well, she didn’t change, but the more equipment part
>was right. She slowly walked back into the room, her
>eyes wide with a look of insanity, different from the
>inscrutable look she had worn when she walked through
>the door. She had one of our large kitchen knives in
>her hand, pointed at me.
> And at that moment I knew she was mad.
> She kept advancing, yet slowly, to watch me
>frantically struggle to get out of those handcuffs.
>Because of my years of experience nursing and training
>those horses, I was able to beat the dollar-store
>cuffs and break free. But not soon enough; she still
>had the upper hand.
> She slashed back and forth at me and slit a long cut
>all the way across my abs before aiming for my gems.
>Right, like I was going to let her get at those. But
>I ended up backing into one of the brass birds that
>hung on our wall and its beak rammed into my skull.
> I fell.
> My neck landed on something hard and bumpy, which
>probably knocked one of my spinal discs out of place.
>That would explain my inability to move. At least,
>that’s what I’m guessing. I don’t know what that
>object was, though, because I can’t turn to look.
> The cut across my stomach was bleeding profusely, and
>the gash deep in my skull felt like it was gushing
>hard enough to flood the house in a matter of minutes.
> She grinned down at me, her eyes wide and glistening,
>and said something that my brain couldn’t, or
>wouldn’t, process before she left. I knew that I was
>going to die soon enough and so did she.
> Because I can’t move. I can’t yell, or reach the
>phone, or even turn my head. It’s hopeless.
> The only noise in this bloody mess of a house was
>that damned clock up on the wall, ticking away. The
>second hand had circled back around again and seemed
>to move even slower than before. It hit the crow
>again then moved past.
> I won’t be around much longer and I know it, so I try
>to take one last whiff of nature and the life that I
>have lived for the past few years. My chest
>immediately moans its protest. All I can smell now
>anyway is my own blood forming a pool around me and
>that cheap cologne that I wear to work everyday just
>to impress those associates that come to the office to
>offer deals that we both know will never process.
> I suddenly despise that cologne.
> The madness of it all kills me.
> All at once my senses begin to fade out, though the
>most noticeable of them is my eyesight. The world
>seems to turn a fuzzy gray and black, like those
>television screens when the server doesn’t seem to be
>able to pick up the channels.
> Then all went black. My eyes were still open, yet I
>couldn’t see.
> Well, now I don’t have to stare at that infernal
>clock and the cracks in the ceiling any longer.
> As I thought I began to see her ways of madness.
>Would she set fire to the house to hide the evidence?
>I thought to myself. But no, no she wouldn’t. I
>would be smiling right now if I could, because I knew
>it. It just wasn’t her style.
> Many other questions whirled through the only working
>part of me. This body was now only a temporary
>decaying house for my brain until it dies too. But
>only one of these questions rose to the surface of my
>bubbling mind:
> Will I be buried next to my son in the backyard?
> Well, at least we’ll be together again.
> Then all thoughts began to fade out of my mind,
>leaving only the shell of what I was behind.

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