Stories for 100 Days of Writing

The Clock

For many years, the same dream would come calling repeatedly. In our house was a cellar and at night, it haunted me.

In the dream, I always found myself in the dark, cool cellar, looking out through the door. I could see the kitchen in front of me, the back door was always open at the other end of the kitchen; I could see Mum hanging up the washing in the garden. I was a child, both in reality and in the dream, in the dream, though, I found myself standing next to a very large, and old Grandfather Clock; I remember the awful sinking feeling I had when I looked at the time.

I would yell out as loud as I could, 'Mum, Mum the clock needs winding, you know what happens if you don't wind the clock at midday'. Mum would always say, 'I know, I'm just hanging up the washing', she wasn't at all worried, the sun was shining outside but it was dark and scary in the cellar, with the clock that I knew would explode if it weren't wound up every day at midday and midnight. I couldn't get across to Mum the urgency of the situation.

Eventually, there were only two minutes left and she was still hanging up washing, apparently completely blazé to the danger I was in, for that matter the danger we were all in. It wouldn't be just any explosion, it would take out the whole street; I pleaded with her until I thought there was no point, it was going to explode. It was only then she would come and wind the clock up, with seconds to spare, and I would wake up.