PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
The clock struck 11. Then, mysteriously the pendulum bounced off its perch.
“That’s it!” She’d hollered. “Shove it in the junk room; I’ve had enough of it disturbing the tranquillity!”
I did as bid. I remember it vividly.
As I went to resurrect the faithful old timer, a familiar shiver coursed through my whole being violently spiking every hair, tugging the skin from my bones.
The door’s always bolted.
(Keeps meddling small hands and curious minds from trouble.)
Nobody but me has a key?
Then I remembered…
… that was the time she passed away.