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The Final One

  By Greg Wilburn

  Copyright 2015 Greg Wilburn

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  THE FINAL ONE

  The grandfather clock at the back of the hallway is possessed. I know because I've seen the shadow that's inside of it. Something has always been weird about that clock, and now I've discovered its terrible secrets all too late. Like the others before me, I've been consumed by this evil creation, left as a forgotten shadow doomed to the bowels of its hunger. And in this hellish sac, I only hear the unfeeling ticking of the clock's face over the gurgling of its bile.

  And the bell! Don't ever let me forget this bell! Every half hour, agonizing groans fill this putrid space and make the fleshy walls quake. Each slow, drawn-out chime is a dirge grating against the bones of this cemetery, lamenting the horrid existence that those who've been eaten must now live.

  The first time I saw the glass door open and reveal the evil entity within was on my seventeenth birthday. The family dog, Lilo, was trotting her fat pug belly around in the hallway as I stood guard over her. I was forced to this menial task because Grandma wanted me to take care of her while she was in the bathroom. As Lilo scampered about, nearing the clock, its hands struck 4:30 and its wailing chimes scraped against the walls of the house.

  I covered my ears to dull the piercing noise, but Lilo seemed to be fond of the sounds bellowing from the clock. She danced against its aged wood in excitement, her yipping overpowered by the powerful voice of the clock. As if nothing to hide, the clock's wooden body opened slowly, and I saw a darkness that surged behind the swinging pendulum within. A withered black tentacle reached out, grabbed Lilo by her fat little face, and dragged her into the hungering darkness. Then the door closed gently with a soft click, letting the rhythmic ticks of the clock soldier on.

  My astonishment paralyzed me and I couldn't find the strength to move. My eyes glued themselves to the evil clock, unsure of what happened a moment ago. Once I felt blood return to my limbs, I ran over to the clock to inspect it, more scared of what Grandma would say after finding out I lost Lilo than what had happened to the dog itself. I pulled open the wooden door and felt inside, but the faded wood at the back of the clock stopped my hand from exploring further.

  I ran my hands over the grimed wood, looking for some secret lever or button. I shut out my surroundings, focusing on finding a way to explain what I just witnessed. I didn't realize I was gathering splinters in my hands until the long, brass pendulum within the clock thudded against my arm. The cold metal drew my attention, and I felt the warm throngs of pain the splinters made under my skin. I pulled myself away from the clock and gave it a long look. Not a thing seemed out of the ordinary.

  I walked away slowly, deciding that what had happened a moment ago was an illusion due to my own tiredness. I'd been up late the night before drinking red wine with Landon and Emma and Diana at Caf? Elemir?. We'd gotten an older gentleman to get it for us after Emma flirted with him for a while. Still dumbfounded at the magic of the clock, I left the hallway in search of Lilo hoping that I simply hadn't recovered from my hangover.

  I searched carefully through the house, checking every room for the stupid dog. After they had been scanned thoroughly, I walked outside and looked around the neighborhood for any traces of her. After ten minutes of useless searching, I gave up and returned to the party. The vanilla cake and chocolate ice cream cooled me off, but I almost choked on my last piece when Grandma pulled me aside as the family chatted amongst themselves.

  She had a look on her face that came before every scolding and beating I received when I was a kid. I knew she would still hit me if she could, but once I passed her five-foot, four-inch height and put on thirty pounds of muscle, her blows became ineffective. Instead she resorted to psychological and emotional warfare, which often felt much worse than any spanking could have.

  When I did something she disliked or she didn't approve of the girl I was seeing, she would act crazy to force my life to obey her will. I remember when I was a sophomore in high school and was seeing a girl named Rachel. When she walked into the house to meet Grandma for the first time, she found Grandma standing there in nothing but her underwear.

  Grandma was lubed up with baby oil and tried to give the girl a glistening hug. She was also holding a cleaver in one hand and a large kitchen knife in the other. Grandma chased the girl down the street screeching wildly, and I found Rachel in tears at the end of the next block. Our relationship fizzled out quickly after that.

  This kind of incident happened on more occasions than I care to recount. But when Grandma saw that I hadn't completely lost my resolve, she turned her sights on breaking my will directly. I would wake up in the middle of the night to find her standing over me with a knife or gun pointed at my throat. She would whisper softly towards me, saying, "Sshhh. Don't be scared. I promise it won't hurt." and then walk out the door. That would keep me on my toes for weeks at a time.

  I didn't believe Grandma would ever try to kill me, but it was the possibility of her doing so that forced my obedience. I didn't find freedom from her insanity until I left the house for university at eighteen. I still remember how happily I slept without her creeping after me.

  The only difficult part of being away from her for so long was that she would call me too often. She would give ominous warnings in her messages that still carried the same fearful effect as before. Broken phrases, such as "It's happening" or "I fear it's near" or "Upon your return" filled my voicemail, and I did my best to hide them from my roommates and friends.

  I didn't know the importance of those messages until I returned for a visit after I got my Bachelor's degree. I only planned to stay a week and then move into an apartment close to the graduate school I was accepted into.

  I arrived at the nicely kept house a little after seven a night ago. It looked exactly the same as when I'd left years earlier. The cracked porch boards and unnaturally clean windows sitting underneath the brim of the roof looked like a crooked smile from the sidewalk. As I neared the front door, ignorantly walking into the snarling mouth, something in the air felt heavy. My lungs found themselves gasping for air, but I tried to ignore the instincts my body felt as I approached. I reached for the aged knob when I came to the door, but my hand shook with anxiety and kept me from turning it. After a long pause, the door flung open and there she was, standing in the doorway with a big toothy smile on her round face.

  Grandma hadn't aged a single day since I last saw her. She wore a blue and white polka dot dress, faded white shoes, and a blue bandana that wrapped around the bun of silver hair atop her head. She was eighty-six this year, but she didn't look a day over seventy-two. Her crow's feet were barely visible, and the wrinkles on her face portrayed wisdom more than age alone. She was glowing with excitement as we embraced.

  She invited me into the house and helped me find a place to set my bags down. I glanced nervously at the clock when we entered the hallway, but the dauntless ticks of its face gave nothing away. After placing my bags on a bed in a nearby room, we walked to the kitchen where she had my favorite meal, poached salmon over a rice and vegetable pilaf, steaming on the checkered dining room table. I lost myself in the delectable flavors the food had to offer, which made it hard to focus on the conversation we used to catch up the time we'd lost.

  It was a nice little interview that made me recount my adventures in college and the relationships that I formed during my absence. Her brow lifted in su
rprise when I told her I'd been dating Krista for a year and three months and that we were planning on marriage. I was afraid she would do something crazy to scare me out of it, but she retained complete composure. After my recollection of the time apart, she spoke about her experience in the house alone.

  Grandma was always a strange lady, but the way she described her life during that four-year period made her sound as sane as can be. She told me how she'd taken up gardening and won a few awards for her beautiful achievement, how she'd joined the bridge club at the senior center and had made a few friends, and she also told me about her volunteering at the local homeless shelter while still finding time to be involved with the choir at church.

  It was very entertaining for me to think that that lady had any ounce of normality within her. But I soon found out that all of this had been a ruse to occupy her time as she waited for me to return.

  After the dinner was over and she made me watch her favorite soap opera for two hours, I told her I was