Clock, Lamp, Figurine
For Mother Combs Campfire Stories Challenge
Clock, lamp, figurine.
9 pm.
No change. I need to get through the next three hours. I need to keep grounded.
Clock, lamp, figurine.
9.30 pm.
God, I’m hungry. No change.
I can do this; we just need to make it to midnight. Stay focused.
Clock…l-lamp, fi-fi-figurine.
10 pm
No change, but I’m starting to spiral a little. Who am I talking to? No-one else is here. Everyone is safe. I just…just need to stay focused until midnight. Then I can sleep.
Clock…figurine…wait…where’s the lamp?
Oh, phew. Over by the door…I don’t remember it being there, was sure I left it on the fireplace…oh well, brain’s getting foggy in my old age.
10.30 pm
Just an hour and a half to go and then we are free from danger for another night. I was nervous about being left alone at this time of the night. I need to learn to control it, though.
Clock, lamp…now where’s the figurine? The lamp is flickering a little and the figurine’s missing. Where has it gone?
Ah, there it is? No, that’s different…I need to stay grounded, or I’ll spiral.
11.30 pm
This is going much better than I thought.
11.59 pm
Clock…where is the clock? Oh…no.
“Oh Charles…over here in the mirror” I recognise that voice.
“Time to let me out...I have the clock! You didn’t think you keep me locked away, did you?” as his hands pull me towards the mirror, smashing my head in the process. We are one again.
Author's Note: This weird lil story is my entry into Mother Combs' Campfire Stories, which you can read more about below:
For more scares and weirdness, take a look at these:
You can also take a look at the rest of my work here.
About the Creator
Paul Stewart
Award-Winning Writer, Poet, Scottish-Italian, Subversive.
The Accidental Poet - Poetry Collection out now!
Streams and Scratches in My Mind coming soon!
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More stories from Paul Stewart and writers in Fiction and other communities.
A Journey of Pickles
Stuart looked at his hamburger. “Perfect, except for one detail.” He walked to the pantry, looked at the shelves for a few long moments. He sighed. “We’re out of pickles.” He sighed again. Deeper. “I hate the basement.” He looked at the door leading down to the deep, dark basement. “Fine.”
By Jamais Jochimabout 3 hours ago in Fiction
Comments (8)
Why is it always that last minute that gets us?
The tension in this is really well-written! I felt on the edge of my seat. Nicely Done!
Oh this was so good! And the suspense added with the time, and the "Clock, lamp, figurine" added so much to the story
That was soooooo creepy! And now I can't stop saying clock, lamp, figurine in my head! Lol
Freaky and fragmented. That figurine knew what it was doing all along. Fine work!
That was great, in a psychotic way. Well done.
Nice touch of psychosis! You cranked that one out pretty quick! Well done my friend!
Really good