Old Tom watched the clock, dread clawing at his insides. At two in the morning on the night the clocks went back, they always returned to torment him—haunting reminders of the mistake he had made when he’d forgotten, one year, to turn the clocks back.

However, one fateful night, an hour after the clocks had gone back, the spectres faded, but the shadows lingered too long, and Tom never opened his eyes again.

The day before the clocks went back, Monica moved into Tom’s old house, blissfully unaware of the terror that lurked within its walls. Exhausted from the move, she resolved to set her clocks back an hour at dawn.

At 2:00 AM, Monica was suddenly jolted awake by the unmistakable creak of her bedroom door slowly opening. A cold sweat trickled down her brow as she froze in place, eyes wide, witnessing the ghostly figure of an old man twisting and writhing, a cruel smile stretching across his face as he glided towards her.

“What are you doing in my house and in my bed?” the ghost thundered, his voice echoing through the almost empty room, making her heart race.

For what seemed like an hour, the ghost tormented her with the same words until the clock struck 2 AM for the second time, and Tom’s malevolent spirit dissipated into the air. Monica’s pulse quickened, doubt lingering in her mind. Was it all a nightmare, or a malevolent invitation?

She blinked, and the chill of reality sunk in. The bedroom door gaped wide open, the darkness beyond beckoning like an abyss. She was sure she had locked it tight, a protective measure against the night.

As a cold autumnal breeze caressed her bare skin, a frantic shiver coursed down her spine. Heart pounding, she inched to the door and tentatively closed it, sealing herself in with the echoes of her terror.

Climbing back into bed, she pulled the covers tightly around her, desperate for warmth—a futile shield against her fear. But soon, sleep reclaimed her, its sweet embrace luring her into a false sense of security.

When the clocks struck 2 AM for the third time, a bone-chilling rustle beneath her bed shattered her dream. Something slithered just out of sight, a dread revelation that all was not right, confirming that her nightmare was merely beginning.

Monica never woke up from the nightmare until the following year, on the night the clocks went back, when, with Tom, she visited the new owner of Tom’s house to check if they’d remembered to put the clocks back.

Feature image credit: Image by Alexa from Pixabay

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Glimpses

28 short stories and pieces of flash fiction take the reader on a rollercoaster of twists and turns.

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