Ara Velyn hated clocks.
Not because they ticked too loudly, or because they reminded her that time never waited for anyone.
She hated them because every clock eventually pointed to 11:59 PM.
The room was quiet—too quiet for a boarding house filled with students. Her phone lay on the bed beside her, screen glowing softly in the dark. The digital numbers burned into her eyes.
11:59
Ara's chest tightened.
She sat up slowly, fingers curling into the blanket. Her breathing became shallow, as if her lungs already knew what was coming.
"Not again," she whispered.
The first time it happened, she thought it was a dream.
The second time, she screamed.
By the seventh death, she learned not to panic.
The clock changed.
12:00 AM
The air in the room shifted.
The light flickered.
Ara felt it before she saw it—the pressure, like invisible hands wrapping around her throat. Her heart slammed violently against her ribs as the temperature dropped.
The shadow appeared in the corner of the ceiling.
It did not crawl.
It did not move.
It simply existed.
Ara's vision blurred. Her body froze, locked in place as something cold pressed into her chest. She tried to scream, but no sound came out.
I don't want to die, she thought.
Pain exploded.
Not sharp.
Not sudden.
It was slow—deliberate—as if whatever was killing her wanted her to feel every second of it. The pressure crushed her lungs. Darkness crept into her vision like spilled ink.
Her last thought before everything went black was the same as always.
Why me?