The clock in the hall had no hands, only a voice, and every night at the same unmarked hour it would tell her how many days she had left.
She had stopped believing it — until the morning the number matched the date carved, freshly, into the inside of her own front door.
By the third night she understood the house was not counting down to her death. It was counting down to her arrival, and she had not yet come home.
Call the third contact in your phone and tell them, completely straight-faced, that you've decided to become a professional clown. Stay on for 30 seconds.
drawn live by the AI · scaled to “spicy”, avoids your off-limits list