Dong!
A deep, solemn chime echoed through the midnight silence, striking Kelly from slumber as if the sound itself clawed into her skull. Her eyes snapped open. The room—quiet, dim, and unfamiliar in the darkness—felt colder than it should.
She sat up, heart pounding against her ribs like a caged animal. The silence that followed was suffocating, heavy. She rose from the bed, her steps slow, almost hesitant, as if something in the shadows were watching.
Then she saw it—outside the window, rising like a monolith carved from obsidian and time: a clock tower, massive and ancient, its pendulum swinging with an unnatural grace. With every swing, it cleaved the night like a blade through silk it strikes at 12.
Dong!
Another chime thundered, and pain bloomed in her head—first a dull throb, then a sharp, pulsating ache behind her eyes. Her breath hitched. Somewhere in that dark, unfeeling world beyond the window, a voice whispered.
"Amara… help me. Help me… please…"
The words slithered through the air like smoke, distant but unmistakable. Kelly staggered back, clutching her temples. The pain flared in rhythm with the clock's tolling, like nails being driven into her mind.
"Help me… help me…"
The cry bled into the chimes, becoming indistinguishable from them. The shadows in her room crept forward. They stretched unnaturally, clawing across the floor and walls. Her breath quickened.
Then—blood.
Thick, warm. It trickled down her arm in slow rivulets, pooling at her bare feet. It dripped steadily, in time with the pendulum's rhythm. Dong. A drop fell. Dong. Another. Her vision blurred as the room spun.
Dong!
The final chime rang like a scream inside her skull. Her knees buckled—
"Kelly! Kelly, wake up!"
The dream shattered like glass. She gasped, flinching upright as warm hands gripped her shoulders. Jane's face came into focus—pale, worried.
"You had that dream again, didn't you?" Jane asked gently.
Kelly nodded, her voice barely a whisper. "Yeah… the one with the boy."
Jane frowned. "You really shouldn't skip your sessions with Mr. Smith. You're not getting better."
Kelly offered a strained smile. "You're probably right." She rubbed her temples. "What time is it?"
"7:45!"
"What?!"
She shot out of bed, chaos trailing her as she rushed through her routine. By the time she reached her classroom, she was breathless.
"Good morning, Mr. Jones!"
Mr. Jones looked up from his notes, unimpressed. "Late again, Ms. Gomez. Is there a reason this time?"
"I… overslept. I'm sorry."
A sigh. A pause. Then a reluctant wave. "Take your seat."
Later, as the class droned on, Sarah leaned over from the next desk. "Hey. Did you hear? There's a new student in Class A. Super handsome, apparently. We should check him out!"
Kelly shook her head, lips quirking faintly. "I'll pass. I've got an appointment."
Sarah pouted. "Lame."
The bell rang. Kelly made her way to the art room, picking up supplies Jane had asked for. The room smelled of old varnish and linseed oil. Dust floated lazily in golden afternoon light.
Then she saw him.
A boy stood by the window, his back to her. A paintbrush moved in his hand with graceful certainty. The canvas before him was a portrait of the same clock tower from her dream—imposing, shadowed, surreal. No blood. But haunting all the same.
Pain stabbed her temples. She winced, hand flying to her head.
The boy turned.
Blue eyes, like frost under sunlight. Bronze skin, tousled hair that framed a face too perfect to be ordinary. His expression was unreadable—detached, as though he already knew who she was.
Kelly stared.
Her breath caught. Something deep inside her stirred—a flicker of memory long buried. Her chest tightened. The room seemed to fall into silence.
Then—the bell rang.
The world snapped back. Kelly stumbled backward, muttered something resembling a farewell, and left the room in a daze.
---
Jane was waiting at the gate. "Took you long enough! You're gonna be late for Mr. Smith."
"Sorry… got distracted."
"By what?"
Kelly hesitated. "Never mind."
Mr. Smith's office was warm, lined with bookshelves and worn furniture. The scent of old paper filled the air.
"Good afternoon, Kelly," he greeted, folding his hands.
"Hi," she replied, settling into the chair.
"Still having the dreams?"
She nodded. "They're… getting worse. The pain, too."
Mr. Smith's eyes sharpened slightly. "And the boy?"
"He's… closer now. Today, I saw someone at school. He was painting the same clock from my dream. He looked familiar, but I swear I've never seen him before."
A pause.
A flicker of something passed over Mr. Smith's face—surprise? Fear?
"Mr. Smith?"
He blinked. "Ah… it's nothing. Just a strange coincidence, I'm sure." He smiled—forced. "We'll talk more next time."
Kelly stood slowly. "Right… okay. Thank you."
But as she left, unease coiled tight in her chest.
That evening, Jane was giddy. "Kelly! Did you see the new guy from Class A? Oh my God, he's so dreamy."
Kelly didn't answer.
"You're thinking about your dreams again, aren't you?"
"Yeah…" Her voice trailed off, haunted.
"Well, tomorrow, you are meeting him. No excuses!"
Kelly gave a soft laugh. "Alright."
That night.
Dong.
She awoke, drenched in sweat. The sound had returned. She rose, almost against her will, and peered out the window.
The clock tower loomed—taller, closer, impossibly real.
A voice whispered in the dark:
"Amara…?"
Her heart stopped.
"Who are you?" she whispered.
"Remember…" the voice breathed, growing clearer. "Remember me…"
Pain stabbed her mind, fierce and sudden. She collapsed to her knees.
---
At 4 a.m., unable to rest, she wandered the quiet campus. The art room called to her again like a siren's whisper.
Inside, the air was still.
Her eyes fell on a portrait—an elegant woman in flowing robes, her gaze wise and commanding. The name beneath it was smudged.
Suddenly—bang!
A canvas hit the floor. She whirled around.
The boy stood there.
His bronze skin seemed to glow faintly in the moonlight.
"Oh. Hi…" she said, awkward. "You're… up late too."
He didn't answer. He only watched.
"This… this painting's yours, right?" She gestured at the fallen canvas. "It's beautiful."
No response.
A chill traced her spine.
"I… I should go," she mumbled, backing toward the door.
The boy remained still. His eyes followed her as she slipped into the hall.