Every evening at precisely 7:07 PM, the old clock tower in the center of the town of Elmsworth would chime, though no one had ever seen anyone wound it. The townspeople had long since stopped questioning it, treating it as a part of the town’s strange charm. But there were those who whispered that the clock wasn’t just a timekeeper—it was a gateway. Lila had moved to Elmsworth to escape the noise of the city, seeking peace and quiet. She found a small cottage on the edge of the woods, its windows fogged with age, its garden overgrown. It had been abandoned for years, but the realtor had assured her it was “perfect for someone looking for solitude.” Lila believed him, until the night she heard the clock. It was the first full moon of the month, and the sky was clear, casting silver light through the trees. As the clock tower struck seven, Lila felt a chill crawl up her spine. She looked out the window and saw a faint mist swirling around the base of the tower. Then, without warning, the clock hands began to spin backward, faster and faster, until they vanished into nothingness. The next morning, Lila found a single white feather lying on her doorstep. It was soft, almost too perfect, as if it had been placed there deliberately. She kept it in a jar on her desk, unsure what to make of it. But the events didn’t stop there. Over the following weeks, Lila noticed small things—objects moving when she wasn’t looking, shadows flickering in the corners of her vision, and the faint sound of laughter echoing from the empty house next door. She started keeping a journal, writing down every odd occurrence. The entries grew longer, more frantic, as the strange occurrences became more frequent. One night, she woke to the sound of the clock chiming again. This time, it wasn’t just the chime—it was a voice. A woman’s voice, soft and melodic, whispering something in a language she didn’t recognize. When she turned on the lights, the room was empty, but the air smelled faintly of lavender and something else—something metallic, like blood. She searched the house, finding nothing, but the feeling of being watched remained. That night, she dreamed of a woman in a white dress, standing in the mist by the clock tower. The woman reached out, her fingers brushing against Lila’s cheek before vanishing into the fog. The next day, Lila went to the clock tower, determined to find answers. The path to it was overgrown, the stones cracked and moss-covered. As she approached, the mist returned, thick and cold. The clock tower loomed ahead, its face dark and silent. She stepped inside, the wooden floor creaking beneath her feet. Inside, the air was still, heavy with the scent of old wood and something sweet, like burnt sugar. The walls were lined with clocks, all broken, their hands frozen at different times. At the center of the room stood a mirror, its surface rippling like water. Lila hesitated, then stepped closer. Her reflection stared back, but it wasn’t quite right—her eyes were darker, her smile too wide. Suddenly, the mirror shattered, and the room filled with the sound of the clock chiming. The voices returned, this time louder, overlapping, speaking in a language she could almost understand. She ran, heart pounding, out of the tower and into the woods. The path behind her had changed, leading her deeper into the trees instead of back to her house. When she finally stumbled free of the forest, she found herself back at the edge of the town, the clock tower now silent. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the cobblestone streets. She looked up, expecting to see the familiar clock tower, but it was gone—replaced by an empty square, as if it had never existed. Lila returned to her cottage, shaken but alive. She opened the jar where she had kept the feather, only to find it gone. In its place was a small, handwritten note: *"Time is not what you think."* She never saw the clock tower again, but sometimes, when the wind blew just right, she swore she could hear the chime of 7:07 PM. And in the silence between the echoes, she wondered if she had truly left the tower behind—or if it had simply taken her somewhere else.