The clock is alleged to move swiftly at night. But at that peculiar hour, at that time of the night, it stopped..
Warning: This post contains sickening and vomitous material. This post should be read only if you are 18+ and have an appetite for vile horror stories.
In the peaceful bliss of the winter night, when the breeze fleeted sneakily in the dark chilled air, his snores were the only disturbance in the otherwise solemn environment.
Jack had fallen asleep as soon as he lied on his favorite bed after a long, tiring week. He had been out roaming different cities and places since a month now, adverting his new idea, and seeking investors. But he hadn’t been in luck so far. His last visit to a desolated area outside the big city of Gregstone was … eerie.
The place was nothing like he had seen before. There were old, dirt-filled houses with broken windows and extended yards in the front, all houses in one single row. And opposite to the lane of these houses, across the road, were three stores for necessary items, two of which were degraded and closed. And that was it. That was all of the town. (Can’t even call it a town, can we?)
But one of those houses was in perfectly good condition. The lawn was evenly mowed, windows were clean and curtains stretched, and the gate had a big, steel name-plate, reading “Raecherr House”. The owner had personally invited Jack to come present him his idea. And so Jack had been there for this whole week, trying to convince the man about his idea. The deal didn’t go so well he thought, as the man hadn’t given a final answer. So, Jack was holding on to that last bit of hope.
He couldn’t remember much from his visit to that place, but only glimpses and pieces. But he could never forget that man, and his scarred face. The scar went down from his left eye all the way to his neck. Jack had been too frightened about his project that he never brought this topic to discussion about how the man got the scar.
Jack was watching a nightmare. It was about the man, his scar, the man hitting Jack hard on his head, then tying him up to the doctor’s table and putting various scars on Jack’s naked body, scars similar to that the man had on his face, and then finally pushing the sharp knife down on his heart with both his hands’ might… He woke up with a big cry and he felt a staggering, but slowly disappearing, pain in his chest. He held his heart with his hand and felt the racing heartbeats, pounding against his ribs.
He got up and moved towards the Kitchen to drink some water. He washed his face and moved back to his bedroom. His body ached and he felt a dire need to fall asleep again, but there on his bed… in the same clothes that he was wearing, looking just like him, it was him… He saw himself sleeping on the bed at that time. He rubbed his eyes, as if wanting that image to be erased from his mind and in reality also, but it didn’t. As soon as he opened his eyes, there it was… Himself right in front of him.
He looked around the house. It was normal. It wasn’t a dream, that was for sure. But then, what was it? How can he see himself sleeping in front of him?
At the bedside table, the clock had stopped exactly at 3:07 AM with the second’s hand quivering and juddering, back and forth. He felt lightheaded and weak, and his legs seemed to give away. He fell, the room spinning in his eyes, his vision turned blurry and he passed out.
His head was throbbing. He felt a sharp pain on the front of his head. He had fallen on his forehead last night. He woke up to see the bright sunlight, filtering inside from the tinged blue window glasses. He immediately got up and saw the bed. It was empty. He exhaled a big breath of relief. All that he saw in the night was probably just a bad dream.
He turned to go to the bathroom, when the door to the bathroom opened and he came out of the bathroom in towel, all cheered up and excited.
Jack immediately moved out of the way of the other Jack. The other Jack couldn’t see him probably, as he just went past him without giving out any bewildered expressions as he was giving out that time.
The other Jack went on to get ready. He pulled out a bag from below the bed and started loading it with different pairs. He was packing as if he had to go somewhere, probably for more than a few days.
Jack was totally lost. He didn’t know how to react, what to do or whether to do anything at all in the first place. He shouted to see if the other Jack could here him out. He couldn’t. The other Jack was busy packing and seemed excited. He then brought out a file and put that in the bag too. On this side, Jack knew exactly what that file was. It was the file he had prepared for presenting his idea to that man in that odd town. But he had already been there. Now he remembered, this all had already happened. And he was watching the whole episode again!
He hesitated a little, and then gathered all his might, and went on to see if he could touch him. But as soon as he touched him, he felt a sharp pain in his head and he fell on the ground. Darkness started to spread before his vision, slowly it all disappeared.
When he woke up, he was in the basement of a house he didn’t know. He walked around the basement. There was no blub or any source of man-made light. Only a tiny crevice on the outer wall brought some daylight into the basement. His leg hit a large table in the almost darkness. He strained his eyes to see what it was. It was a body of a man lying before him.
He gasped and fell back, while tripping on some equipments scattered on the floor. He fell on his behind and got himself hurt a little. But that didn’t matter to him. What took all his interest, or all his fright, was the man lying on the table.
The door to the basement hurled open. A shadow of the man was visible, and it grew into a more humanly form as the man climbed down the stairs and let the light spread evenly in the basement. Jack saw him and instantly felt a sense of danger. It was that Raecherr man again. He moved towards the table while Jack sat on the floor, stunned, watching the man. The man lifted the damp cloth covering the body and Jack saw to his bewilderment that it was his body, all tied up in tapes and plastic. The man opened the tape covering Jack’s body’s face and Jack screamed loudly that his scream continued to ring in that basement even after he had stopped, or was stopped by the man’s knife against his cheek.
The man forced a piece of white cloth into the mouth of Jack and started removing skin from his face. It left several, dirty scars on his face. On the other side, Jack got up to see his full body and saw that some parts of his body – a part of his hand, a portion on his left thigh and some flesh from his shoulder were removed. The wounds were all cleaned clumsily, he could see, but were not bandaged. He felt disgusted! Who keeps the wounds open like that. But he knew what was happening to him on that table. He was gonna die. The man was gonna cut him into pieces for his dark experiments and he could do nothing.
When the man finally popped out the right eye of Jack on the table, it slipped from his hand and rolled, bouncing like a tomato, spitting some liquid on to the floor and came wheeling towards Jack’s feet on the other side. The man turned from the table and looked at the eye at the feet of Jack. He came towards it, took it from the ground and pierced his sharp knife into the eye, popping it open directly from the cornea. Pulpy stuff came out of the eye and some of it splattered on the face of Jack. The man couldn’t see him and he felt like vomiting. His head began to spin and he fell on the ground, his mouth on the splattered pulp of his eye on the floor.
He woke up again but didn’t open his eyes. He knew what was happening to him now. He understood why these images were visible to him. The man had killed him. And now, somehow, he went back in time when he was leaving from his house for his trip to the house of that man. He couldn’t stop him at that time. He understood that the dream he saw on the first time, where the man had thrust a knife in his heart. It wasn’t a dream, but a memory from his visit.
His incision and images of him being operated by the man, his eye, they weren’t all bad dreams. They were his memories from the time he was alive. Those images just came to him to remind him how he died. And that was why he saw himself in third person.
He thought of opening his eyes, but then feared what he might see next. He wasn’t strong enough to see any of his butchery. And yet, he knew he was being slaughter, slowly, painfully. He repelled at the idea of it. All the images of that massacre in the basement started filling up his mind. He could see the limbs scattered on the floor in blood, his parts cut and forged into something loathsome. And his mutilated, dismembered body on that table, lying in the open. Flies and insects having a feast at his flesh. That rotting smell and the yucky, disgusting pulpy substance spread everywhere on the floor.
He stood up shouting on his bed. He had wetted his bed and was soaked in his sudor. He wiped his face off the sweat and took several deep breaths, and could only lower his dread by a negligible bit. He saw around the room. It was a shabby bedroom, which had not been used since a long time. The curtains were dusty, and were withdrawn out. The fan was noisy and the furniture was the only good thing in the whole room. It might have been recently replaced. There were traces of hauling on the floor. And the wall were painted with a cheap brand. He saw the bedside table. His phone and wallet were there. He saw his luggage stacked in the far corner of the room near the cupboard. And the wall clock ticked loudly, showing current time as 3:06, oh 3:07.
Just when he wondered whether all he saw was a disgusting dream or what, a shadow appeared outside his door. It moved back and forth, and then stopped right outside his door. There was a sound of something being dragged, some metal, something heavy. The door knob turned and clicked, and the door opened slowly. It was the Raecherr man. He was holding a heavy wrench. He came into the light of the moon and Jack could see the horror on his scarred face…