Every evening at exactly 8:17, the old clock in the abandoned library on the edge of town would chime, even though it hadn’t worked for over thirty years. No one knew who had built it or why it was placed there, but the townspeople had long since stopped questioning the strange occurrences that followed. The clock was a relic, its brass face tarnished and its hands frozen in place, yet somehow, every night, it rang with perfect precision. Eleanor had moved to the town to escape the noise of the city, seeking peace in the quiet countryside. She found a small cottage near the library and began to settle in, only to notice the clock’s peculiar habit after a few weeks. At first, she thought it was a trick of her ears, a lingering echo from the wind. But as the days passed, she realized it wasn’t just a sound—it was a signal. One night, curious and unable to sleep, she decided to investigate. The library was locked, its heavy wooden doors sealed with a rusted padlock that had never been touched. Yet, when she approached, the lock clicked open as if expecting her. Inside, the air was thick with dust and the scent of aged paper. The shelves stretched endlessly into the darkness, their contents untouched by time. She stepped forward, the floorboards creaking beneath her feet. As she reached the center of the room, the clock tower above rumbled, and the chime echoed through the silence. It wasn’t just a sound—it was a presence, something watching her. She turned slowly, scanning the shadows, but saw nothing. Just the endless rows of books, their spines cracked and faded. Then, she noticed a door at the far end of the library, hidden behind a stack of books that hadn’t been there before. It was small, barely noticeable, and made of dark wood that seemed to absorb the light. Her heart pounded, but curiosity pulled her forward. She pushed the door open, and a gust of cold air rushed out, carrying the faintest whisper of voices—too soft to understand, but unmistakably human. Inside was a narrow corridor lined with mirrors. Each reflected not the room behind them, but different scenes: a forest at midnight, a train station filled with empty seats, a street corner where no one walked. As she stepped further, the mirrors began to show her own reflection, but her eyes were wrong—pale and lifeless, staring back without blinking. A sudden crash echoed from the other end of the corridor. Eleanor spun around, her breath catching in her throat. The door behind her had slammed shut. She ran toward the exit, but the mirrors now showed her running in place, her legs moving but never reaching the door. Panic surged through her, but she forced herself to stay calm. She reached for the nearest mirror and pressed her hand against it. The surface rippled like water, and for a moment, she saw a figure standing behind her. It was tall, draped in tattered robes, its face obscured. Then, the mirror shattered, sending shards flying across the floor. She stumbled back, clutching her arm where a shard had cut her skin. The lights flickered, and the clock chimed again—this time, louder, more insistent. The corridor began to shift, the walls bending inward, the mirrors distorting. Eleanor felt herself being pulled backward, as if the space itself was trying to swallow her. She closed her eyes, willing herself to wake up. When she opened them, she was back in the main hall of the library, the clock still silent. The door behind her was gone, and the books had returned to their original places. She ran outside, gasping for breath, the night air cool against her flushed skin. The next morning, she asked the townspeople about the library. They looked at her strangely, as if she had spoken in another language. “That place has been empty for decades,” one said. “No one goes there.” But Eleanor remembered the clock, the door, the mirrors, and the face in the glass. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she had glimpsed something real, something waiting just beyond the veil of the ordinary. That night, she didn’t go to sleep. Instead, she sat by the window, watching the sky. At 8:17, the clock chimed once more. And this time, she heard a voice—soft, familiar, and calling her name.