Feliz Cumpleanos GREYMOR

The rain fell softly over the old town of Greymor, a quiet village tucked between misty hills and forgotten forests. The cobblestone streets were slick with water, reflecting the dim golden light from the antique lamps that lined the main square. It was a peculiar night—November 7th—the one day each year when the town seemed to hum with something strange, something alive.

Everyone in Greymor knew that the town had a secret. They just didn’t talk about it. Not out of fear, but out of respect. Because on this night, the clock tower in the center—frozen since 1825—would tick once. Just once. And those who heard it said it sounded like a whisper.

This year, it was Sofía’s birthday. She had just turned seventeen, though she wished she hadn’t. Her grandmother always said, “In Greymor, your seventeenth birthday is when the town remembers you.” Sofía had never understood what that meant.

Her friends had planned a small party at the bakery, complete with candles and pastel-colored cupcakes. But Sofía wasn’t in the mood to celebrate. She was drawn, instead, to the clock tower—an ancient structure wrapped in ivy, its face darkened by time.

“Don’t go there tonight,” warned her grandmother as Sofía tied her coat. “That place doesn’t keep time. It steals it.”

Sofía laughed softly. “It’s just a clock, abuela.”

But as she walked through the rain, a chill ran down her spine. The tower loomed larger with every step. Its hands still pointed to 11:11, the same time they had stopped almost two centuries ago.

When Sofía reached the door, she saw something carved into the stone: “Feliz Cumpleaños, GREYMOR.”

She frowned. “Greymor’s birthday?” she whispered. The town had a birthday?

Then, the door creaked open.

Inside, the air smelled of iron and old wood. The floor was littered with clock gears and silver dust. Sofía climbed the spiral staircase, guided by faint blue light seeping through the cracks.

At the top, she found a round room. In the center stood a table with an old music box and a note:

“To the one who was born when the clock stopped. Play the song.”

Sofía hesitated but wound the key. The tune began—slow, eerie, yet beautiful. It sounded like a lullaby she had heard as a child. The clock tower began to tremble. Dust fell from the ceiling as gears turned for the first time in nearly two hundred years.

The hands of the clock moved. 11:12.

Then she heard a voice.

“Happy birthday, Sofía.”

She spun around. A young man stood in the doorway, dressed in clothes from another century—gray coat, high boots, and eyes like melted gold. He smiled, though his face carried sadness.

“Who are you?” she whispered.

“I’m Elias Greymor,” he said. “The one this town was named after.”

Her heart raced. “That’s impossible. You died long ago.”

“Time doesn’t die,” he replied softly. “It only waits.”

He walked toward her, each step echoing like a heartbeat. “When the clock stopped, it trapped me—and the town—with it. Every hundred years, one soul is chosen to wake the clock and remember the truth.”

“What truth?”

“That Greymor was never just a town,” Elias said. “It was my dream—to build a place where time couldn’t hurt anyone. But dreams have a cost. I tried to control time, and it cursed us instead.”

Sofía’s eyes widened. “And me? Why me?”

Elias smiled sadly. “You were born at 11:11. The same minute the clock froze. You are its echo.”

The tower groaned again. Outside, thunder rolled over the hills. Elias took her hand. “You can free us, Sofía. But it means giving up your own time.”

She stared at him. “You mean… I’ll vanish?”

He nodded. “You’ll become part of the clock—its guardian. Then Greymor will live again.”

For a moment, Sofía thought of her grandmother, her friends, her little world. But then she looked at Elias, at his lonely eyes that had waited centuries for redemption.

She stepped closer. “Show me what to do.”

Elias placed her hand on the clock’s heart—a glowing sphere of blue glass. It pulsed beneath her touch. Light spread through the tower, flowing down the streets like rivers of starlight.

“Say it,” Elias whispered.

“Feliz cumpleaños, Greymor,” she said.

The world stopped.

When the light faded, the town was quiet again. The rain had ceased. The clock tower stood tall, its hands now moving freely for the first time in ages. It was midnight.

People emerged from their homes, confused but smiling. The air felt lighter, the streets brighter. The curse was gone.

At the top of the tower, there was no sign of Sofía—only the faint hum of the music box and a new inscription below the old one:

“Feliz Cumpleaños, Sofía Greymor — The Keeper of Time.”

And from that day on, the town’s clocks never stopped again. Each year, on November 7th, they all gather by the tower and sing “Feliz Cumpleaños”—not just for the town, but for the girl who gave her time so Greymor could keep ticking.

Because in Greymor, time doesn’t forget those who remember it.