The Clock (a Ghost Story)

Kerry listened to the carriage clock ticking in her darkened bedroom. The clock her mother proudly had above her fireplace, the one Dad bought for her on their silver wedding anniversary, the day before he died in his sleep. It was custom made, with a photo of them on their wedding day, behind the clock face, with their names engraved in the base.

Of all her mother’s possessions, it was the only thing she really wanted. A symbol of the love her parents had for each other. It still upset her that, in her will, her mother insisted that the clock be put in the coffin, along with Dad’s favourite tie and his glasses. Naturally, she told her brother that’s exactly what happened. Mark had no desire to see his Mum in the funeral home, all grey and still. He avoided seeing her when she was alive, so convincing him she had followed Mum’s request was easy. Kerry knew how much that clock meant to her parents and there was no way it was going to be destroyed when Mum was finally cremated.

It had been a lovely funeral though. Aunt Valerie cried throughout, as usual. Mark got drunk and hit someone in the pub. Apart from that, Mum would have been proud. Although Kerry hated the black shoes she felt obliged to wear; they were so uncomfortable. Removing them before bed was like an orgasm. Not that she remembered what they were.

Over two years of Kerry’s life had been taken by looking after her mother. Once the cancer took hold, there was little point in pretending to even have a life. She did her best, made her comfortable but it never felt enough. She quit work, even quit Richard (her last chance of a family, he said as they split up. Bastard.) However, Kerry had accepted her responsibility, and even felt that it brought her closer to her mother. Not forgetting that Dad would have wanted her to look after Mum, since he was not around to do it.

There was plenty of resentment, of course. Kerry wanted to kill her on a few occasions; when the soiled bed sheets needed cleaning AGAIN; when the wailing would not stop; when she just wanted to sit in the fucking garden but could not leave Mum alone. A pillow. That’s all she would have needed. Would have been so easy. Surely no-one would have blamed her.

The thoughts swirled in Kerry’s head over and over. Listening to the clock ticking, feeling her eyelids getting heavier. Thinking to herself: Tomorrow, would be the start of Kerry Mitchell’s second life. Job hunting, making contact with old friends, maybe even see if Richard was still single..? She even felt the tinge of a smile as she began to drift off.

“Kerry. You’ve ruined everything.”

Suddenly, Kerry’s eyes were anything but heavy. She sat bolt upright, scrambling for her phone, anything for a bit of light. The time was 1:03am (why did that time sound familiar?). She was home alone; hell, even the cat was outside. Did she imagine it? Was she dreaming? Was she half-asleep? Faint yet deep. It was a voice, it WAS.

The clock continued ticking, almost in rhythm with Kerry’s breathing.

Shining the little light from her phone around the room showed nothing. She expected to see nothing; her rational mind had kicked in now and, yes, obviously it was just in her mind. A little ‘jolt’ one gets just before sleep embraces for the night.

She turned her phone off, put it back on the pillow next to her, and laid down. Why was 1:03am bothering her? The answer was there, in her mind. Just out of sight. She sighed, and decided a glass of milk was in order.

She opened her bedroom door and made her way to the kitchen. It was a bit colder than usual, probably needed to stop being so tight and use the central heating once in a while. She smiled as she remembered the only argument her parents had, over the thermostat. Dad was never cold and Mum was never warm; perfect for each other, they used to say.

The thoughts of her parents, happy and alive, filled Kerry with more happiness than she had felt in a long time. She took the glass of freshly poured milk, took a sip and made her way back to bed.
As she entered the bedroom, she froze. 1:03am. That was the time of Mum’s death, 3 weeks ago to the day. How could she have forgotten? She turned and closed the door.

“Kerry. You’ve ruined everything.”

The glass of milk fell to the floor. That was no dream, no sleep related illusion. That was real. And behind her.

She turned around. She was still alone, the barest amount of light trickling through the curtains showed nothing. Her breathing was rapid, her heartbeat racing. She reached for the light switch and the room was instantly bathed in light.

Her logical mind was trying to tell her not to worry, there was a perfectly simple explanation. Just needed time to work out what it was, that’s all.  She sat on the bed, looking around. Was there a radio on? Next door’s television?

Minutes passed. She looked at her phone. Call someone? Like who? Anyone she called will be asleep and even the ones that did answer will just say “You’ve cremated your Mum today, your mind isn’t in a good place, blah, blah.” And they were probably right.

But still. That voice. So dark, so… Familiar.

She looked at the glass of milk on the floor. “Stupid bitch” she whispered quietly.

It was then she realised. The clock was silent. She stood up, and walked to the shelf. Picking it up, she let out a silent cry. The photo of her parents was gone.

“Kerry. You’ve ruined EVERYTHING.”  She turned quickly around.

“Dad?”

She knew the answer. It was him. Standing there, towering over her, looking so angry, so furious. His face contorted with rage.

“YOU’VE RUINED EVERYTHING!”

“Daddy? You… You’re dead. I… I… I don’t…”

“Your Mum asked you to do one thing for her. ONE THING. And you failed her! Now we can never be together again!”

Kerry was sobbing, “I don’t understand?”

His hand raised up, pointing. “That clock! That clock was supposed to be with your Mum forever! But you’re selfish! SELFISH!”

“Dad, I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

She closed her eyes and crumbled to the floor, feeling the tears fall down her cheeks. Clutching the clock to her chest, she felt him approach. She could not look. She would not look.
“You’ve ruined us. Are you happy? ARE YOU?”

“Daddy,” she cried out, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She could hear him breathing. Heavy, hard, wheezing: The breath of a smoker. The pungent smell of the cigarettes that she had almost forgotten; the cigarettes that killed him.

His voice was trembling, “Mark was always my favourite…” Then silence.

The clock started ticking again. She opened her eyes, her father was gone. She looked at the clock, the photo was back but now her Dad was missing from the picture. Just her Mum, in her wedding dress. And even though Kerry’s eyes were soaked with tears, as she stared at the picture, she could clearly see her Mum was crying. She stood up and put the clock back on the shelf, feeling more alone than ever. She walked to the door, picked up the glass of milk and closed the door behind her.

She never returned.