The Basement Clock

When I turned twenty, I thought I’d left the oddities behind in my dad’s old farmhouse in rural Nebraska. But life had other plans, and now I’m living in a small Iowa town with my mom, my stepdad, and my little sister, in a house that feels too quiet. I’ve had experiences here, too. I try to ignore them, but they keep happening.

One evening, I was lying in my room reading a prayer out loud, the Lord’s Prayer, just to calm myself before sleep. As I said the final amen, a loud knock came from right above my headboard, as if something had thumped the wall from inside. I froze, my heart hammering. I convinced myself it was just the house settling. But shortly after, I noticed my floor fan, which I’d left on my dresser, not rotating, had somehow turned to face the door and was oscillating. To do that, you have to pull up the tab on the base, something I never do. Everyone else was asleep, and the house was silent, but the fan hummed as it swung back and forth, a silent accusation.

The latest incident happened this summer. To escape the heat, I moved my bed and belongings down to the basement room, which stays cool. The room had a musty smell, but it was bearable. I set up my alarm clock, a digital model with a red glow. I wanted to set the alarm for 5:15 AM, when I get up for work. I carefully pressed the buttons to set the time first, then the alarm. I double-checked the alarm by pressing the display button to see what time it was set for. It read 5:15. Satisfied, I set it down on the nightstand and went to sleep.

The next morning, the alarm went off at 5:15, and my day started normally. But that evening, when I came down to my room, I noticed the alarm clock on the floor. It had fallen off the nightstand, but that wasn’t the strange part. On the display, in bright red, was the time 3:33 AM. I hadn’t touched it. I picked it up, and the time flickered back to the correct time, 7:47 PM. I didn’t put much thought into it, figuring I must have knocked it off in my sleep.

But over the next few days, the clock kept changing. Sometimes it would be 3:33 AM when I walked in. Once, it was set to alarm at 3:33 AM, even though I never set that. I’d reset it, but it would revert. I started to feel uneasy, as if something in that room was fixated on the number 3:33.

One night, I woke up to a strange sensation, like someone was watching me. I opened my eyes to darkness, save for the red glow of the clock. It read 3:33. A soft whisper emanated from the clock, not words, but a sound like static. I sat up, my skin crawling. The clock’s numbers flickered, and then the alarm began to ring, a piercing beep that echoed in the small room. I tried to turn it off, but the buttons did nothing. The alarm wouldn’t stop. I pulled the plug, but the clock kept glowing and beeping. In a panic, I threw it across the room. It hit the wall and shattered, and the sound cut off.

Then, from the corner of the room, I heard a low, guttural chuckle. I scrambled to turn on the lamp, but it wouldn’t turn on. In the faint moonlight from the small window, I saw a figure crouched in the corner, its face hidden. It was wearing an old-fashioned suit, and it held the broken pieces of my alarm clock in its hands. It seemed to be laughing, a dry, rattling sound. Then it spoke, in a voice that wasn’t quite human, ‘You tried to silence me, but I have all the time in the world.’ It melted into the shadows, and I was left in silence, my heart racing.

The next morning, I told my mom, but she said I had a nightmare. She bought me a new alarm clock, but I didn’t use it. Instead, I went back to using my phone, with its silent vibration. But even now, I sometimes catch a glimpse of a red 3:33 on any digital display in the house. Last night, I passed by the basement door, and I heard a faint ticking sound, coming from inside. The door was locked, but the ticking grew louder, until it was like a pounding on the wood. I stepped back, and the door rattled. I could have sworn I heard a voice, muffled but clear, say, ‘I’ll see you at 3:33.’ I haven’t slept well since, and I can’t shake the feeling that the basement clock is still counting down.