Every evening at exactly 7:43 PM, the clock in the old library of Eldridge College would stop. Not just stop, but freeze mid-tick, as if time itself had been caught in a net. No one could explain it—no one except the librarian, an elderly woman named Mabel, who had worked there for over thirty years. She never spoke about it, but those who passed through the library often claimed to hear a soft whisper when the clock stopped, like someone was calling their name from behind the shelves. The library itself was a relic, built in the early 1900s, with high ceilings and stained-glass windows that cast kaleidoscopic patterns on the floor. The books were ancient, some bound in leather so worn it looked like it might crumble at a touch. Students avoided the third-floor reading room, where the air always felt colder than the rest of the building, even in summer. They said the silence there was too perfect, like the world had paused just to listen. One day, a new student named Elias arrived, drawn by the rumors. He was a quiet, observant person, fascinated by the strange history of the college. He asked Mabel about the clock, and she simply smiled, saying, “It’s not a clock, dear. It’s a door.” Elias didn’t understand what she meant, but he began spending more time in the library, hoping to catch the moment when the clock would stop. He noticed other oddities too—books that moved slightly when no one was around, shadows that stretched longer than they should, and once, a faint sound of pages turning by themselves. On the seventh night he stayed late, he finally saw it. At 7:43 PM, the clock froze. The air grew still, and a low hum filled the room, like the sound of a distant train. Then, from the far end of the library, a figure appeared—tall, draped in a long coat, its face obscured. It walked slowly toward him, not making a sound, but Elias felt its presence like a weight pressing against his chest. He backed away, heart pounding, until the figure vanished as quickly as it had come. The clock ticked again, and the library returned to normal. But something had changed. The books on the shelves now seemed to shift subtly, rearranging themselves into different orders each time he looked. Over the following weeks, Elias became obsessed. He started keeping a journal, documenting every strange occurrence. He found old records in the archives that mentioned a forgotten professor who had disappeared decades ago, rumored to have dabbled in forbidden knowledge. The last entry in his notebook read: “The clock doesn’t stop. It opens.” One night, he decided to stay past 7:43 PM, determined to see what happened. As the clock neared the time, the temperature dropped sharply. The whispers returned, louder this time, and the light from the windows dimmed. The figure reappeared, this time closer. Elias tried to speak, but his voice wouldn’t come. The figure raised a hand, and the books around him began to float, turning pages in unison, as if they were alive. Then, without warning, the clock shattered. A gust of wind swept through the library, carrying with it a scent of old paper and something metallic, like blood. The lights flickered, and for a brief moment, the entire room was bathed in a pale blue glow. When the lights came back, Elias was alone. The clock was gone, replaced by a single, blank page on the wall. He reached out, touching it, and felt a cold, smooth surface beneath his fingers. As he pulled his hand back, the page began to write itself in elegant, flowing script: **“You are not the first.”** Elias stumbled out of the library, his breath ragged, his mind racing. He told no one what he had seen, but the next morning, the third-floor reading room was locked, its doors sealed with a heavy padlock. The students whispered about it, but no one dared to go near it. Mabel, the librarian, was gone. Her desk was empty, her name removed from the staff list. Some said she had left quietly, others claimed she had never existed at all. And still, every evening at 7:43 PM, the clock in the library stops. Some say it's just a trick of the light. Others say it's waiting.