Beneath The Broken Clock

Fog swallowed Vokewood whole. Joe stepped off the old bus, her podcast gear swung over one shoulder, and squinted through the mist. Population 265, that’s what the weathered sign said. The town crouched like a wary animal, Victorian houses huddled tight as if listening. People staring with the eyes of an owl His phone buzzed – a message from his producer: Need creepy audio for the Broken Clock episode. Get the news, Joe Joe glanced up. There it loomed: the clock tower, skeletal fingers of its spire poking the low clouds, Taller than any other building in the village, stopped at midnight. November 17th,1942 Guess that’s… um, atmospheric, she muttered, searching her bag. A guy in a colored shirt appeared like smoke. “You're the podcaster.” Not a question. “Joe” he stuck out a hand. “Raven" Don’t stay out late.” He nodded at the clock. “It’s… Christmas week.” A chill crawled down her neck. “Christmas of…? It's not even Christmas Raven tipped his head. “Just be careful.” He vanished into the fog. Joe shivered. Time to get working. As she walked toward the clock, she swore it hummed. The old town inn, The Raven’s Nest, creaked welcomingly when she pushed the door open. A fire crackled, and a woman with sharp eyes watched from behind the bar. “Hi,” Joe said, approaching. “Room for the night?” The woman wiped a mug. “Depends on what you’re here for.” Joe smiled – podcast charm. “Just researching a story. The clock tower.” The woman’s gaze flicked to the window. Fog pressed against it like something wanting to be there. “Got a room. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Joe got his room – room 17 . News quickly spread that there's a podcaster ready to investigate the broken clock . For some reasons ravens inn became popular,and people started trooping in to see the said investigator It was like becoming a celebrity without even working.... Joe resulted to take a rest and start his investigation the next day