SHORT STORY LINKS

How often have I spoken of my exploits—my deep delving into the realities of men and women, who wander this ethereal existence in search of existential truths—low, ne’r oft enough to dull my senses to the exploits of the realms.  Ha—you laugh and mock my misery!  You dare mitigate this magic—the purity of my movements?  Ha!  Ha!  Fools of frivolous lives long lost to the fathomed depths of the mighty deepening.  Hear these soft words woven sweetly by my forked, deviled tongue.  Father of insanity you have claimed—claimed!  Ha!  This fortnight passed, swoons the mind, it teases the daring depths of you teetering soul.  Come listen to my lucid tale.  I have woven its weave so many times.  So many times have I woven this weave—breath taking it is still.  Ha!

            It was by passing of thy (the clocks) pitiful tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, which my insanity—purity is—was ripped from my bosom.  For fourteen times this fortnight passed; by these tick-tocks, tick-tocks, tick-tocks I have sworn the sweet tale of illusory visions long passed.  My dread is of the nights ringing, repetitive chimes, have reaped my kempt act of deviousness.  Thy tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock does tempt!  Ha!  There, again it rings; it pounds its metrical magic into my swollen mush of flesh.  So, fierce it is—was, that I scantly whisper the tale you ask!  Ha!  Fool of the forlorn day:  I do tell my dear tale.

            I lived above the humble abode of the haughty clockmaker and his chiming contraptions of whirring gears and precision chiseled metal gaskets.  Nestled within the confines of the four chipped, plaster walls—beneath my poorly thatched roof—my silhouette wrought its ghastly image upon the rough pinewood, planked floor.  By my solitary candle, whose wax bled willingly down the empty candelabra’s tarnished silver masterwork, I lay in my infested bed, listening for the dreaded tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock of the fool’s vile clock!  It came, pounding, beating its repetition into my muted brain matter.  My mouth twisted into a contorted scowl of rage—Ha!  The corners of my lips curled in devious plotting, my brow sweat with the perspiration of the dire evil plodding within my brains madness.

            I tell you still, that my hand guided steady enough that last hour, so I did not pour the melted wax from the lonesome guiding light.  My wits remained within my grasp, as I clung with a grasping clutch to the thin wisps of my swiftly fading identity.  By silken thread, by spider spun, I teetered on the methods to silence the putrid clock.  It tortured me to think of the infernal sounds, which had vexed me. 

And so, I made a pact:  I swore, when the tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock ceased its hideous repetition that I would never listen to the tick, or tocks of any clocks.  For if by chance I failed this pact sealed in blood and so witnessed by the scripter of Hell, my eternal soul would be condemned to the sulfurous fires of the deepest pits of Hades. 

You would have marveled at my detailed scheme.  I planned every moment of each passing second, of the plan I was about to put into intimate action.  With a delicate hand and precision work, I removed the planks of the floor.  I tore up a hole, with the careful removal of the rough lumber.  See—here on this floor, there is not a single sign, there is not a mar of imperfection in the reset flooring.  I took such care, in the onset of my plan that even the keenest eye would not take not of my workings.  The simple iron nails, were pounded back in place, through the prior holes, to form an original look.  The planks of pinewood, reused, in their original lying places!  Perfect!  Ha! 

Once below the floors skin, I found the simple backside of the plastered ceiling of the clockmaker.  Moments that passed, moved slowly, as I managed my plan and moved with a caution, a caution beyond all required.  A tiny file I used as I slowly, very, very slowly filed away the thin ceiling that separated me from the vile clock and their evil master.

I used a damp rag to remove the silted dust created by the filing.  For a fortnight I filed the floors underlying plaster.  For fourteen days I worked the nights, filing, filing, and listening, bearing the horrible tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock of the clocks below!  How daring my deed would be, how astute of my planning, what care I had taken in his demise!  It was on that fourteenth night, about midnight I would say, for I recall the echoing melodious chime of the churches bell that I penetrated into the room below.  Here is where I had to be careful, careful enough to not be noticed. 

I laid prone on the dingy floor, pausing to listen between the ticks and tocks.  The slightest rustle could be heard, for a moment and then departed swiftly into the all-consuming silence (except for the clock).  I extinguished the solitary burning flame, and embraced the exiting light.  In my darkness, I worked with purpose, driven by perfection to succeed.  Within this darkness, in which I was consumed, I saw the pale, gray, silhouette of my hands working.  The deeper darkness of the hole expanded by my expert hand, until it was large enough for my torso!

I thrust my head down into the inky depths.  And you should have seen me do it!  Even the shadows did not move in my wake.  With my extended head, lowered into the room of the evil clockmaker, I saw the soft outlines amid the darkness, marking the objects scattered about the scant workshop below.  A pale outline on the far wall marked the simple bed within the tiny corner.  Clearly I saw the darkened frame resting, sleeping on its offered false security. 

My keen ears picked up the tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock of the large clock immediately, though it took my impaired eyes, ever longer to see the massive beast.  It rested leaning against the wall, so very incomplete.  It was gutted still, and hollow it remained. 

Slowly I lowered my frail body through the scissure, slowly, very slowly, I lowered myself, until I dangled midair from the ceiling.  My blood froze as the clockmaker stirred amid his slumber.  A slight creek issued forth from the worn pinewood floor, sent him bolting upright in the makeshift bed.  Distinctly I saw the figure, distinctly searching the darkness utterly distraught.  I watched, him remain tightly upright on his mattress, rigidly he waited, listening, prying with his eyes into the enveloping darkness.  Securely I hung, without swinging or sway, from the ceiling as a chandelier, forged of human flesh.  Hundreds of agonizing ticks and tocks later, the pitiful fool remained upright in terror, though I could take this no longer! 

What?  Do you mock my inability to restrain my inner motives?  Ha!  You shall see my levelheaded mentation—watch you hypocritical, wayward observer as my ironic tale of deviousness unravels into true perfection of genius.  The delicate manner, in which I distributed the silencing blow, was profound; it was quick, quick and fast.  A pinnacle performed, acted out, in such pure perfection—perfection, yes, perfection!

I dropped as a bat from the ceiling, sailing heavily to the ground.  Thump!  Ha!  The very crash caused him to jump in horror.  He slammed his back against the pale ivory, plaster painted wall, in terror!  I watched his trembling silhouette against the pale wall— I heard his heart pound!  Steadily, calmly, so steadily I did approach.  The thick scent of sweat permeated the air, filling my breaths with nauseating waves of fear, which emanated from his defecating form.  What foul odor it was indeed, which drifted from his shaken form. 

I tell you surely, he must have been dead before I struck him—dead by the failure of his ill-fated heart— or dead by the terror of his stricken brain.  Still, my planned blow, crushed his skull.  The hammer lodged stiffly within his head.  After a slight tug, I left it there:  since it did not really matter. 

I found the grandfather clock, his greatest creation—his masterpiece still incomplete.  I dismembered the body, removing the arms, legs and head.  I used his presses, to squeeze every last drop of blood from him, squeezing every fluid from each orifice.  I had to make him fit, and he barely fit within the tight confines.  But I made his shriveled body fit, by wrapping it around the gears, meshing it into the mechanics of the clock!

I drug the chestnut clock back to my feeble room. The evidence of this extraordinary deed must be secretly concealed!  Clever indeed was my deed so bold!  For no one knew, of the task now done.  So, swiftly with care, I replaced the floor— rebuilding as it was before.  No one could tell the entrance I made, and no one could see the deed that I did.

Ha!  See how easy this deed was!  See the clever deviousness of the thoughts that provoked the initiation of such a task.  What fool he was to think that the tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock of his clock would not drive one to insanity! 

But, as I tucked myself into my still infested bed, in my quiet loft, I slept soundly.  A soft echo, of the tick awoke me with a start.  I listened, straining to hear—but nothing was to be heard.  Erectly I sat, listening to the ever pounding of my heart, listening for the tock that always followed the tick, listening for any semblance of sound or click from the clock.  My keen ears discerned not a single disruption to the air.  It must have been a foul dream, an aberration of the deep darkness it seems.

As my head settled, softly on the feathered pillow—another tick struck my ear and rang aloud so clear!  Foul naïve! I screamed at the shadowed walls, which confined me.  Then—I heard the sound—the devils crescendo arising from the depths.  Barely could my straining ears discern the soft tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock of the infernal clock. 

I strained with awakened ears for the softest sound of vile evil I could hear—and hear it still I did.  My vain ears heard—my soul’s remorse cursed the abhorrent sound.  Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock grew the sound.  It pounded louder still, it pounded harder still, it pounded—it pounded!  Still it pounds, nearly deafening me and drowning my fleshless soul. 

But, this exploit, my perfect plan was implemented with purity and perfection.  Ha!  You mock my misery, mocking you smile at me with your twisted perversions.  Damning is this tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock—damning:  make it stop!  Echo’s within my head, cause it to hurt under the pressure of the pounding.  Still it ticks louder, still it tocks louder!  Make it stop, stop that tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock! 

Softly and quietly the vile wooden tower sat idly—its face frozen in place.  Not a gear in whirred, not a single mechanical device moved within its hallowed space.  Though, the smell of the crushed flesh and bones within offered a vague hint of death.  It could not be that clock!  There is nothing within it to tick or tock—it could not be that vile clock.  Still, my keen ears discerned that it did tick and it did tock. 

I pushed that chestnut creation, the unconventional coffin, across the rough pinewood floor.  I pushed it to the edge of the window.  I threw it wide—the tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock never ceased:  still it pounded louder.  In a single thrust, the masterwork plummeted to the ground with a thunderous boom!  Splinters both large and small scattered about the cobblestones.  The glass of the face, smashed and tinkled about the ground, till they came to rest.  The dehydrated and mangled parts of the body of the clockmaker spilled from his resting place—his tomb of my perfect plan!

Still I heard the tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock!  My voice rose as I screamed at the night, as I howled at the heavy pounding clock.  This must stop, stop it must!  I tore at my ears, clawed at the flimsy cartilage and skin.  I only stopped when I held my ears, battered and tattered within my blood soaked hand.  Silence. 

You still feel as if you must ask—as if you do not know!  Ha!  Though destroyed it was that day, destroyed was that evil clock and the master maker, torn and battered are my ears now removed, and still I hear—still I fear— the ever tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock within my ear!  My actions, of which you have accused—as you surmise and assume, delve deep into my inner personalities.  I finished his clock—with his foul and foolish blood.  By, pact I swore, by pact I lost my soul, by this tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock that I still hear!