Whispers of the Clocktower
by A. N. Fictus
In the heart of Elderglen, an ancient town wrapped in fog and ivy, stood a forgotten clocktower. Locals
whispered of its eerie chimes that rang only on moonless nights.
Clara Wren, a curious archivist with a taste for mystery, arrived one autumn evening to catalog the town's
crumbling library. But her interest soon shifted to the tower, whose face bore no hands and whose bell tolled
at inexplicable hours.
One stormy midnight, guided by the chime's echo, Clara climbed the creaking steps inside the tower. Dust
danced in her lantern's glow, and time itself seemed to slow.
At the top, she found an ornate timepiece unlike any other. Beneath its glass was not a mechanism but a pool
of swirling mist that reflected not her face, but fragments of forgotten memories.
A voice-soft as the wind through dry leaves-whispered from the mist. 'Time is not kept, it is remembered. And
you, Clara, are its keeper now.'
The next morning, the tower's bell rang at dawn for the first time in centuries. Clara was never seen again, but
every so often, the clocktower's chime carries a new whisper... of those who listen too closely.