When Ashton stepped into the apartment, a wave of familiarity hit him, warm yet unsettling. Was it nostalgia? He couldn’t quite place it. Maybe it was the creaky wooden floor, eerily similar to the one in his family home, the kind he used to lie on during stifling nights when even breathing felt like a chore. His mother’s voice echoed in his memory, brushing off his complaints: “It’s the humidity that kills, not the heat.”
Or perhaps it was the faint briny scent clinging to the eggshell walls, so much like the sea-salt tang his father carried home on his coat after months aboard the fishing boat. Then there was the light filtering through the tall windows, flooding the room with a golden glow reminiscent of mornings on the farm where Ashton had grown up.
But none of that explained the unease churning in his stomach. His gaze landed on the clock. It stood on a metal pole in the middle of the living room, its design strangely at odds with the rest of the space. The hands of the clock were frozen, unmoving, yet the longer Ashton looked at it, the more it seemed to sap the warmth from the room. A faint dizziness washed over him, and he shut his eyes tight. As long as I get rid of that thing, he thought, this place will be perfect.
He still couldn’t figure out how he’d stumbled across the listing for the apartment. A random newspaper ad? A stroke of luck? Whatever it was, it had felt almost too good to be true. A knock at the door snapped him out of his thoughts. His friend Kyle walked in, balancing a box of clothes with a potted plant precariously perched on top. He stepped over the threshold, froze, and stared at the clock.
“So this is the place?” Kyle asked, his voice tinged with skepticism. “Weird vibe. You sure about this place? you can always stay at my place you know?”
“It’s a bit odd, I know” Ashton admitted, “but I need my own place and I’ve seen worse. I can’t afford to be picky right now. It’s cheap, and once I get a steady job, I’ll think about upgrading. Though honestly, I doubt I’ll find anything this decent for the price.”
Kyle set the box down and wandered through the apartment. The layout was simple: a living room connected directly to a small, a kitchen to the right, and a bathroom to the left. none had doors.
“It’s better than my place, that’s for sure,” Kyle said, stopping in front of the clock. He crossed his arms and stared at its unmoving hands. “But the rent being this cheap? That’s suspicious.”
“Probably some plumbing issue,” Ashton answered, rummaging through the box. “Or the roof leaks. Or maybe the insulation’s terrible.”
“Or it’s a murder apartment.”
Ashton froze, looking up. “A what?”
“You know,” Kyle said casually, “places where a murder or suicide happened. Or maybe some weird stuff went down with the residents. People don’t want to live in them, so the rent drops—and the whole building gets a bad rep.” then leaned closer to the clock, fiddling with the glass face trying to pry it open.
“That’s city-folk nonsense,” Ashton scoffed.
“What, you don’t have ghosts and creepy stories out in the sticks?” Kyle smirked and made a mock throat-slitting gesture with his hand. Then he wandered over to the window and looked out at the street below.
“Sure, we have ghost stories,” Ashton said, laughing. “But it’s mostly girls talking about haunted houses, and guys use it as an excuse to take them to abandoned places, drink, and try to impress them. Nobody actually admits to believing in that stuff, and they sure don’t sell land for cheap because of it.”
“Figures,” Kyle said. “Not enough people dying out there to build up a reputation, huh? Here in the city, people die every day, and half the time the cops don’t even bother investigating it. If you don’t solve your own murder, nobody else will.”
Ashton grabbed the screwdriver and hammer from the box. Approaching the clock, he studying it for a moment before attempting to unscrew the glass cover. After several failed attempts, he stepped back, frowning.
“What the hell?” he muttered.
Kyle glanced over. “What is it?”
“It’s built into the wall,” Ashton said, pointing at the pole, which extended seamlessly into the floor and ceiling.
Kyle frowned. “Weird design choice. You sure the landlord’s okay with you messing with it?”
“He said I could do whatever I wanted. Actually, he said it was mine. this clock. Weird phrasing, but whatever.”
“That’s... unsettling,” Kyle said, his voice dropping. He crossed his arms, staring at the clock as if it might spring to life. “What if there’s a camera inside? It’d explain a lot.”
“You think so?” Ashton asked, narrowing his eyes.
“Could be,” Kyle replied. “Let’s break it open and find out.”
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