Ultraviolence by Jaclyn Lowe

The faint noise of the Grandfather Clock  interrupted my thoughts. I faced away from the glare of my laptop to finally observe the room that I ran into. All I had cared about when I stormed in was that I had a quiet place to write this damned story. It was due in a few days and I had absolutely no fresh ideas. For the most part the walls were covered in an old but taken care of wallpaper that had a repetitive design but in some places the wallpaper was left out and there were dark columns of wood decorating the wall. Deep red velvety curtains lines the large windows, making sure that a minimal amount of light shone through the windows. My eyes lazily found the source of the ticking. It was an aged Grandfather Clock that towered over everything in the room. It seemed to be radiating power; although the room was grand everything seemed drab compared to the Clock. The room was quiet in every aspect except for the constant ticking. I couldn’t help myself and I felt my feet dragging across the thick oriental rug. My eyes glazed over the clock. The dark mahogany reflected what little light there was in the room. My hand was rising to the Grandfather Clock. I wanted- no needed to feel the smoothness underneath my fingertips. I could only imagine.

“She’s a beauty eh?”

“Huh?” My hand hovered above the Clock, until it slowly retracted, but strangely enough I didn’t want to pull away. I looked over to my right to see a haggard old man

“The Clock. Been in this inn since 1924.” He said looking up at the face of the Clock.

“Oh. Oh the Clock. Yeah.” The man eyed me warily. He didn’t look like he belonged in this place. It was too elegant for an old wrinkled man in a flannel shirt. He shifted his weight and the floorboards creaked with displeasure.

“So do you own the inn?”  I hated small talk. The only thing I needed to do was forget everything and finish my story. I had two more days to finish it and at this rate I would never finish in time. The frustration was already getting to me.

“I inherited it. You know I used to be the lobbyman, but uh since Mr. Chessman passed away, bless his soul, he gave it to me.”

“Oh, that’s nice of him. I really wish I could stay and chat but I’ve got to keep writing.” I pointed my thumb back towards the glow of my laptop. I just needed to finish this story then I could leave this inn that I had only come to for peace and quiet.

*****

The once bright room, was now completely dark aside from the glare of my computer screen. I looked at what I had written. I couldn’t even remember what I had wrote. I scrolled through my word document. Twelve pages of absolute shit. It made absolutely no sense. It looked like it was mostly latin. The whole freaking story. I didn’t even know any latin. My eyes were entranced on one paragraph in particular. It was different than the rest.

Tick Tock. Tock Tick. Tick Tock. Tock Tick. Tick Tock. Tock TIck. TICJHTR TIFSJZ TOCK TICK TICK TOCRYI TOCK TICK. TICHKEKOPREOPTSJOPAFDIOSDFATICK TOFOCJPSDJOP

My mind was drawing a blank and all I could hear was that fucking clock. It was calling my name. First it came as whispers. Little nothings, but now it was screaming at me. It felt like a slap in the face. I had to write but I couldn’t. If only that Clock would stop yelling. It must have been past midnight, which meant I had been sitting here for hours. I slammed my fragile laptop shut and threw it on the floor. It was still in one piece so I picked it up and pulled. The top detached with a snap and the screen that was once bright and luminescent was now blank. Rage was coursing through my veins.

Tick Tock, Tick Tock. The Clock was mocking me now. The golden pendulum was swinging back and forth in a current motion. Back and forth. There was nothing else I could do. It was the Clock’s fault. If it weren’t here I would have written a perfect story, went back home and carried on. What would my boss do if I had no story. That was just it, this was the last straw. I wouldn’t let my career wither because of this fucking Clock. The Clock was laughing at me. Tick Tock, Tick Tock. Mocking my failure. I was not a failure.

I didn’t even remember how I got there, but I needed to finish the story. My fist smashed through the face of the Clock. The intricate golden details stopped my fist from going any further. The hands were still moving so I went for them next. They snapped off easily like twigs. I held them in my hands and hurled across the room. The raging monster inside of me was still hungry. I remembered the pleasure I felt when the laptop broke. I had powerl. I needed to feel that again. It felt like all the force that the Clock once had was coursing through my body. The only thing left to do was to push the Clock. My rough hands gripped the curves of the wooden Clock. They fit perfectly in my hands. With all my might I shoved the Clock. All at once the body of the old Grandfather Clock reached the floor. The glass encasing the gears and pendulum smashed from impact. Glass was scattered all over the floor. I walked over towards the Clock and the glass underneath my shoes crunched. My breaths were ragged but I listened. The ticking was gone. I let out a sigh of relief and collapsed to the floor. I didn’t care about the glass.  Once I fell the ticking began, this time louder and more aggressive than the others. I closed my eyes and hoped for it to be over but it was taking over my thoughts. It was all I could hear, it was dictating my thoughts. The Clock had won. The Clock would always won against us.