When Grandpa died, he asked us to keep his old wall clock. A peculiar artifact with an engraved skull that seemed to stare at us.
-It's a reminder that time is limited, -he told us in a solemn voice.
We didn't think much of it at the time.
But soon strange things began to happen. Footsteps could be heard in the night, as if Grandpa was wandering the halls of the house.
At first we thought it was just our imagination playing tricks on us. Until one day we all agreed that we heard the same noises.
My mother insisted that Grandpa's spirit was wandering, returning to his old ways. We laughed at her witticisms, although part of us began to believe that there was something sinister about that old clock.
The years passed and deaths in the family followed one after the other in inexplicable ways. First the eldest uncle, then my mother.... Every five years on the dot, one of us would depart this world.
The noises intensified, objects moved by themselves, as if the clock came more alive with each death. We began to fear that it was cursed, that it was somehow feeding on our souls to keep running.
It has been five years since the last death. My brother and I glance sideways at each other every night, terrified at the possibility of being next. The leisurely ticking of the clock grows more unsettling with each beat.
Which of us will depart on this new round? Its inexorable mechanism will give no respite. The grandfather clock always claims its tribute every five years.
