The 6:30 Wake-Up

August 21, 2012

by Rodger

2 min read

Story Premise 2 min read (361 words)

"I was in my apartment, trying to finish the second verse of my latest song. The hum of the city was a distant murmur, and my room was silent save for the occasional tick of my vintage clock. Then, a faint whisper, like a cat’s meow, slipped through the crack under my door. I smiled, […]"

I was in my apartment, trying to finish the second verse of my latest song. The hum of the city was a distant murmur, and my room was silent save for the occasional tick of my vintage clock. Then, a faint whisper, like a cat’s meow, slipped through the crack under my door. I smiled, thinking of the stray tabby that often wandered the hallway.

I turned back to my notepad, scribbling lyrics, when my alarm clock—a retro model with a recording function—blared at 6:30 PM, not AM. I had set it for 6:30 in the morning, but there it was, screaming my own voice: ‘Time to get up, sunshine.’ I froze. The chill that swept past me felt like a cold breath, and then the alarm stopped on its own, not repeating as it should.

Heart pounding, I stumbled into the living room where my roommate, Jamie, was reading. ‘Did you hear that?’ I gasped. Jamie looked up, puzzled. ‘Hear what?’ he said. I told him about the alarm, and he just shrugged, saying I must have set it wrong. But I knew I hadn’t.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. I kept replaying the event. The next morning, I went to check the alarm. The recording was different. Instead of my voice, a soft, distorted meow played. I almost dropped the clock. I ran to Jamie, who was now in the kitchen. ‘Look at this!’ I said, pressing the play button. The meow echoed, and Jamie’s face paled. ‘That’s not yours,’ he whispered.

We did some research. The apartment building had a history—an old woman who lived here in the 1950s, a recluse who kept dozens of cats. She died in this very room, and they found her with a cat by her side, both starved. The story was in the local archives.

Ever since, I’ve been waking up at 6:30 every night, hearing that meow, feeling that cold chill. And my alarm clock—it’s always set to 6:30, no matter how many times I change it. I’ve considered moving, but I realize now that the meow isn’t coming from outside. It’s coming from inside me.

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