The Midnight Chime
In the dusty corner of her new apartment stood a tall, antique grandfather clock. It was heavy, rusted, and the previous tenant had told her: "That thing hasn’t worked in years." So why did it chime—softly but clearly—at exactly midnight? Every single night. The first few times, she blamed her imagination. But then came the other sounds… At the stroke of twelve, she'd hear a faint click… and then a door opening somewhere in the apartment. Problem is—she lived alone. And all her doors stayed closed. One night, she waited near the clock. 12:00 AM. DONG. A gust of cold air blew from the hallway. DONG. Her bedroom door creaked open, even though it was locked. DONG. And behind her, just a breath from her ear, a voice whispered: "I’ve waited a long time." She turned around—but nothing was there. Except the minute hand—now moving, ticking backwards.And it hasn't stopped since.
