Khudeeja Begum - Aged 15 - Winner

The Clock

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The house had always been quiet. Too quiet. It sat hunched at the end of Ashgrove Lane like a forgotten thought—its windows dusty eyes, its roof a crooked grin. Ivy strangled the brickwork like green veins, and the garden was a jungle of secrets. But inside, in the hallway, ticked the clock.

 

It wasn’t just any clock. It was tall, ancient, and carved from dark wood that seemed to whisper when the wind blew. Its pendulum swung like a heartbeat, slow and deliberate. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. The sound echoed through the house like footsteps in an empty cathedral.

Twelve-year-old Elsie had never liked the clock. It made her skin crawl, like spiders tap-dancing on her spine. Her grandmother, who owned the house, said it had been in the family for generations. “It keeps time,” she’d say with a wink, “but not just the kind you know.”

 

That was the sort of thing Gran said often—cryptic, half-joking, half-serious. But Elsie had noticed things. Shadows that didn’t belong. Whispers when no one was speaking. And the clock… the clock sometimes ticked backwards.

 

One rainy afternoon, Elsie and her older brother Jamie were stuck inside. The storm outside was biblical—lightning forked across the sky like angry handwriting, and thunder shook the windows. Gran was asleep in her armchair, snoring softly, a book open on her lap.

 

Jamie, ever the explorer, had decided to investigate the attic. “Come on,” he said, flashlight in hand. “Let’s find something cool.”

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Elsie hesitated. “I don’t think we should.”

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“Scared of dust?” he teased.

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“No. Scared of… something else.”

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But curiosity is a powerful thing. It pulls you like a magnet, even when your gut screams no. So up they went, creaking stair by creaking stair, until they reached the attic door.

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It groaned open like a mouth waking from sleep.

 

Inside was a world of forgotten things—trunks, cobwebs, old portraits with eyes that followed you. And in the corner, covered in a velvet cloth, was another clock. Smaller, but identical in design. Jamie pulled off the cloth.

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The clock began to tick.

 

And then everything changed.

 

The air grew heavy, like breathing through syrup. The light dimmed, though the bulb still

glowed. Elsie’s heart thudded in her chest like a trapped bird. Jamie reached out to touch the clock, and the moment his fingers brushed the wood, the attic vanished.

 

They were standing in the hallway again—but it was different. The wallpaper was peeling, the air smelled of mildew and something worse. The grandfather clock ticked furiously, its pendulum swinging like a guillotine.

 

And Gran was gone.

 

“Jamie?” Elsie whispered.

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He didn’t answer. He was staring at the clock, eyes wide, mouth slightly open. Then he turned to her, but something was wrong. His eyes were too dark. Too still.

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“Jamie?” she said again.

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He smiled. But it wasn’t Jamie’s smile. It was cold. Crooked. Like the roof.

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“I think,” he said slowly, “we’re not in our time anymore.”

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DUN DUN DUUUUN.

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Elsie backed away. “What do you mean?”

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He stepped forward. “The clock… it’s a gate. Gran knew. That’s why she kept it locked. But now it’s open.”

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“Where’s Gran?”

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“She’s here. Somewhere. But she’s not… herself.”

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Suddenly, the hallway lights flickered. A shadow moved across the wall—tall, thin, and wrong. It slithered like smoke, but with purpose. Elsie grabbed Jamie’s arm, but he didn’t flinch.

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“She’s coming,” he said.

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“Who?”

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“The Keeper.”

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The name hung in the air like poison. Elsie felt it in her bones. The Keeper. The one who watched the clocks. The one who fed on time.

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A low hum began, like a thousand clocks ticking at once. The walls pulsed. The floor trembled. And from the end of the hallway, the Keeper emerged.

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She was tall, draped in robes that shimmered like oil. Her face was hidden behind a mask of gears and cogs, and her fingers were long, jointed like clock hands. She moved without walking, gliding toward them.

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“You’ve touched the timepiece,” she said, voice like grinding metal. “You’ve entered the corridor of lost hours.”

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Elsie stood her ground. “We didn’t mean to.”

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“All who touch the clock mean to,” the Keeper hissed. “Now you must pay.”

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Jamie stepped forward. “Take me. Leave her.”

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But the Keeper laughed—a sound like clocks shattering. “You are already mine.”

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Elsie’s mind raced. She remembered Gran’s words: It keeps time, but not just the kind you know. There had to be a way out. A way to rewind.

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She turned to the grandfather clock. Its pendulum was slowing. She reached out, grabbed it, and pushed it backwards.

Time screamed.

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The hallway twisted. The Keeper shrieked. Jamie collapsed. And then—

 

Silence.

 

Elsie opened her eyes. She was in the attic. The velvet cloth was back on the clock. Jamie was beside her, blinking.

 

“Did we…?”

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“I think we did,” Elsie said.

 

They ran downstairs. Gran was still asleep, book on her lap. The house was quiet. Peaceful.

But the clock ticked.

 

And somewhere, in a corridor of lost hours, the Keeper waited.

 

Elsie didn’t sleep that night.

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She lay in bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, listening to the tick… tick… tick of the grandfather clock downstairs. It was louder now. Like it was inside her head. Like it was counting down.

 

At 3:17 a.m., she heard footsteps.

 

Not soft ones. Not the creak of Gran going to the loo. These were deliberate. Heavy. Like boots on stone.

 

She crept to the landing and peered down. The hallway was dark, but the clock glowed faintly, as if lit from within. And standing in front of it—was Jamie.

 

But not Jamie.

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His head tilted unnaturally. His arms hung limp. And his eyes… his eyes were mirrors. Reflecting nothing.

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“Jamie?” she whispered.

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He turned slowly. “She’s waiting.”

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“Who?”

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“The Keeper. She wants you now.”

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Elsie’s breath caught. “Why me?”

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“Because you rewound time. You broke the rule.”

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Suddenly, the clock chimed. But it wasn’t a normal chime. It was a scream. A long, metallic wail that made the walls shudder.

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The air split.

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And the Keeper stepped through.

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She was taller than before. Her mask now shimmered with spinning gears, each one etched with symbols Elsie couldn’t read. Her robes dragged across the floor, leaving trails of frost. And her voice—when she spoke—was no longer metal. It was many. A chorus of whispers, sobs, and laughter.

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“You meddled,” she said. “You touched the pendulum. You rewound what was meant to decay.”

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Elsie backed away. “I didn’t mean to.”

 

“All who touch time mean to,” the Keeper hissed. “Now you must choose.”

 

“Choose what?”

 

The Keeper raised a hand. A second clock appeared—floating, glowing, its hands spinning wildly.

 

“One path returns your brother. The other traps you in the corridor forever.”

 

Jamie’s body twitched. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.

Elsie’s heart thundered. She looked at the two clocks. One ticked forward. The other ticked back.

 

She remembered Gran’s words again: It keeps time, but not just the kind you know.

And then she saw it—on the base of the grandfather clock. A carving. A tiny symbol. A spiral.

She’d seen it before. On Gran’s necklace.

 

Elsie ran to Gran’s room. The necklace was still on the bedside table. She grabbed it, raced back, and held it up.

 

The Keeper recoiled.

 

“That symbol,” Elsie said, voice shaking, “it’s older than you.”

 

The Keeper snarled. “It is forbidden.”

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“Then let me go.”

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The Keeper paused. Her gears slowed. Her mask cracked slightly, revealing a glimpse of something beneath—something ancient. Something afraid.

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“You are clever,” she said. “But cleverness has a price.”

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Elsie stepped forward. “I’ll pay it.”

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The Keeper raised both hands. The clocks vanished. Jamie collapsed, gasping.

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“You will forget,” the Keeper said. “Everything. The clocks. The corridor. Me.”

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Elsie nodded. “Just let him go.”

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The Keeper leaned in. “Time will forget you too.”

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And then—

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Darkness.

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Elsie woke in her bed. Sunlight streamed through the window. Birds chirped. The storm was gone.

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Downstairs, Gran was making toast. Jamie was at the table, yawning.

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“Morning,” he said.

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Elsie blinked. “You okay?”

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“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

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She looked at the clock. It ticked normally. Peacefully.

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But the spiral was gone.

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And somewhere, in a place no one remembers, the Keeper turned her mask toward another ticking world.