Chapter Nine: The Clock Tower
1172 Words
Rowan pressed herself against the cold glass of the library window. She wouldn’t budge.
Rain streamed down her form, but her dress was still dry.
“What—who’s there?” Rowan hissed.
The woman in white continued staring past her.
“You there!” Rowan shook the librarian.
“Who?” The old woman shook her head. “No one’s out there.”
“You’re lying to me.” Rowan leaned closer to the window.
“Who is she?” The librarian shushed.
Rowan pointed.
“She’s pointing at the clock tower.”
“She’s back?” The librarian jumped out of her seat. “Quick, come with me!”
Rowan raced downstairs.
“What do you mean?” She dashed through the front doors.
“It’s time.” The librarian didn’t answer her question. Together they sprinted through the deserted streets of Ashmoor.
They reached the tower just as its clock struck midnight.
The clock tower loomed above the town of Ashmoor.
It had once proudly stood watch over the harbor, but these days everything important happened in New Ashmoor.
“You need to hide up there,” the librarian said, grabbing Rowan’s arm. “I’ll meet you at dawn.”
“What? No! Please, you must stay with me!”
“I can’t.” The old woman handed Rowan a small iron key. “Wait for me…please.”
The librarian stumbled away, disappearing into the night.
Cautiously, Rowan approached the tower door.
She slid the key into its tiny lock and pushed open the door.
It groaned loudly, echoing through the empty streets.
Rowan took a deep breath and stepped inside.
---
That night, Rowan couldn’t stop thinking about Clara Bennett.
If Clara had been Elias’s lover…
Why did he feel nothing but fear when he saw her face? Something was very wrong.
Someone stole Elias’s memories for a reason.
Quickly, she checked her pocket watch.
11:30. She still had fifteen minutes.
Gingerly, Rowan began to climb the narrow staircase that spiraled up into darkness.
The grandfather clock downstairs ticked loudly.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Rowan gripped the broken pocket watch tightly in her palm.
11: 40… Slipping past the library window, she ran.
The streets were empty.
Dark mist rolled between the shadows of abandoned buildings.
Still grasping the broken watch, she sprinted toward the clock tower.
The tower had stood in the center of Ashmoor for generations.
It towered over New Ashmoor’s small harbor.
Its massive clock face glowed softly in the moonlight.
11:44. Damn it.
She was four minutes early.
The old tower door swung open with a loud groan.
Rats scurried away from her feet, disappearing into tiny holes in the floor.
The tower smelled of mildew and rust.
A small staircase curled up into darkness.
Rowan started toward it, then paused.
With each step, she heard someone else climbing behind her.
Slow footsteps.
An even pace.
Not her own.
Someone was climbing the clock tower with her.
“Hello?”
The footsteps paused.
Rowan jumped at every tiny sound.
Why was she so scared?
“This way!” A voice hissed behind her.
She whipped around. No one was there.
The footsteps resumed.
Closer this time.
Was she losing her mind?
Moving as fast as she could, Rowan began the ascent.
---
Slowly, Rowan climbed the tight spiral staircase.
Rounding the corner, she saw the old bell chamber door.
She reached for it.
Just as her fingers brushed the knob…
Footsteps materialized behind her.
Why did it always seem like they were right behind her?
She pivoted to run. Then froze.
The sound of footsteps had stopped.
Rowan peeked her head into the room.
It was empty.
Breathing a sigh of relief, she pushed the door open and slipped inside.
But something wasn’t right.
She felt like she was being watched.
Swallowing, she stepped inside and closed the door behind her.
The tower’s bell chamber was dark and musty.
Small shards of moonlight filtered in through cracks in the window.
Rowan spun around.
Still.
The footsteps had vanished.
Then she noticed the writing carved into one of the walls.
Names.
Hundreds of names stretched across the wooden beams.
Written repeatedly.
One at a time, each name was methodically scratched out…
Except for one.
ELIAS THORNE
His name was still intact.
Below it, new words were carved:
The unfinished remain.
“Who are you?” Rowan whispered.
Pain filled her chest.
Her heart ached for Elias.
His lost love haunted her dreams.
Tick…
Tock…
Tick…
Tock…
Suddenly, the town clock began to chime.
Eleven…
Forty-five…
Tick.
Forty-six…
Footsteps.
Forty-seven…
Closer.
The second, the final chime rang through the bell chamber; her pocket watch sprang back to life.
For the first time in almost a hundred years…
It began ticking again.
Its hands shuddered and started to move.
The room began to shimmer.
The massive bell swung back and forth.
On its own.
A blind flash filled the room.
When Rowan opened her eyes…
She was still in the clock tower.
She was not alone.
Rowan slowly spun around to see who else was there.
The room was filled with people.
Men and women dressed from a bygone era.
Laughing.
Talking.
Elias.
They could all see him…
But he could not see them.
This was his memory.
Young Elias burst through the open tower door.
He was out of breath.
“Clara!” He called out.
The girl in white turned to face him.
Alive.
“Come with me,” Elias reached for her hand. “We have to leave Ashmoor tonight.”
“I can’t.” Tears leaked from Clara’s eyes. “It’s too late.”
Footsteps crept up behind her.
Dark hooded figures flooded into the room.
One of them reached beneath his coat.
Seconds later, a glimmer of metal appeared.
Rowan gasped.
His face.
She knew that face.
It was the man from Ashmoor House’s portrait.
She had seen him staring back at her from the wallpaper.
With tears in his eyes.
Arther Thorne.
Elias’s father.
“No…” She whimpered.
A low click sounded from the g*n’s metal barrel.
Elias stepped in front of Clara Bennett.
“Don’t do this,” He stared down into his father’s icy blue eyes. “You don’t have to do this.”
“You sullied our family name.” Arthur reached for the g*n.
“I love her!” Elias pushed his father away.
“You chose weakness.”
The gunshot rang out louder than Rowan had ever heard.
Eli slumped to the ground.
The memory dissolved around her.
---
Rowan gasped for air.
The bell chamber had gone quiet.
She was alone once again.
Slumped against the cold metal of the clock tower, her breathing began to slow.
Her pocket watch had stopped ticking.
There was fresh blood on its glass surface.
And somewhere far below…
A familiar voice called out to her.
“You’ve only seen half the truth…”
The tower door slammed shut without warning.
Click.
The lock had trapped her inside.
- Writer
