60 Seconds With Sarah

Tick. Tock. The clock struck midnight, its chime reverberating through the stillness of Sarah's grandfather's house like an ominous bell tolling in the night. Sarah lay frozen in her bed, her eyes wide open, heart pounding against her ribs as if trying to escape the confines of her chest. Each beat echoed louder than the last, drowning out the rhythmic ticking of the old mantle clock that had always been a familiar presence in the house. But tonight, that ticking seemed to mock her, a sinister accompaniment to the foreboding silence.

As she listened intently, Sarah's senses sharpened, acutely aware of the peculiar rhythm of the footsteps echoing through the hallway. They were deliberate, methodical, almost synchronized with the relentless ticking of the clock. It was as if the very walls of the house were alive, pulsing with an unseen energy that sent shivers down Sarah's spine.

With trembling hands, Sarah reached for the lamp on her bedside table, her fingers fumbling in the darkness as she struggled to find purchase. In her haste, she knocked over a glass of water, the liquid spilling onto the polished wood surface with a soft splash that seemed to echo in the silence.

Desperation clawed at her throat as she finally grasped the lamp, her fingers wrapping around the cold metal base. But before she could flick the switch, a whispered voice pierced the darkness, sending a chill coursing through her veins.

"Ducky..."

The voice was achingly familiar, her grandfather's voice, but there was something wrong, something cold and lifeless in its tone that sent a wave of dread crashing over her. Sarah's breath caught in her throat, her pulse pounding in her ears as she struggled to comprehend the impossible.

And then, as if in response to her terror, the door to her room creaked open, the hinges groaning with the weight of an unseen presence. With a surge of courage born of desperation, Sarah leaped from her bed, her hand closing around the lamp like a lifeline as she charged towards the door.

With a primal scream tearing from her throat, Sarah hurled the lamp into the darkness beyond, the crash of shattering glass reverberating through the hallway like a thunderclap in the night. But as the echoes faded, so did the oppressive tension that had gripped her, leaving behind only the steady ticking of the clock as a reminder of the passage of time.

For a moment, Sarah stood frozen in the aftermath, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she struggled to make sense of what had just transpired. But then, with a weary sigh, she pushed herself away from the door and began to clean up the mess she had made, the fragments of broken glass glinting in the moonlight as she gathered them up.

As she worked, Sarah's mind raced with questions and uncertainties, but one thing was certain: she was safe now. And as she crawled back into bed, pulling the covers tight around her trembling form, she allowed herself to believe, if only for a moment, that the darkness held no power over her.