Every morning, the old clock tower at the edge of town chimed precisely at 7:03 a.m. It had stood there for over a century, its gears creaking like a tired man stretching his bones. Most people didn’t notice it, but for those who lived nearby, the sound was oddly comforting—a steady, familiar rhythm in a world that seemed to be constantly shifting. Lena had moved into the small cottage across from the tower a few months ago. She was a quiet woman, a writer by trade, though she hadn’t published anything in years. The town was slow, the people were kind, and the silence suited her. But something about the clock tower unsettled her, though she couldn’t quite place why. One evening, as she walked home from the market, she noticed that the clock’s hands were frozen. Not just stopped—frozen in mid-motion, as if time itself had paused. She blinked, thinking it was a trick of the light, but when she looked again, the hands remained still. A cold shiver ran down her spine. She turned away and hurried home. The next day, she saw the clock ticking normally again, but something felt off. She began to keep a journal, noting strange occurrences. On the third day, she noticed that the shadows of the trees outside her window stretched unnaturally, as if they were moving independently of the sun. The air felt heavier, like the world was holding its breath. She started to hear whispers in the wind. At first, she thought it was her imagination, but the voices grew clearer. They spoke in a language she didn’t recognize, yet she understood them. They told her things she had never said aloud, secrets she had buried deep inside. One night, she heard a voice say, “You are not where you should be.” That night, she dreamt of the clock tower. In the dream, she stood in front of it, the door slightly ajar. Inside, the walls were lined with clocks, all set to different times—some ahead, some behind. A figure stood in the center, cloaked in shadow, watching her. When she tried to speak, no words came out. The figure raised a hand, and the clocks began to tick in unison, each one louder than the last. She woke up drenched in sweat, the room filled with an eerie silence. The clocks on her walls all showed different times, some even going backward. She checked her phone, but the screen was blank. No signal, no time. Panic surged through her, but she forced herself to stay calm. Over the next few days, the anomalies worsened. People around her began to act strangely. A baker would suddenly vanish mid-sentence, only to reappear moments later, confused and disoriented. A child would run past her, laughing, but when Lena turned to look, the street was empty. Time felt fluid, bending and twisting like a river with no clear direction. One afternoon, she decided to investigate the clock tower. The door creaked open without a sound, as if it had been waiting for her. Inside, the air was thick with dust and the scent of old wood. The walls were covered in strange symbols, glowing faintly in the dim light. At the center stood a large, ornate clock, its face cracked and broken. It had no hands, only a single, hollow eye staring back at her. As she stepped closer, the floor trembled beneath her feet. The whispers returned, louder this time, surrounding her. “You are not where you should be,” they repeated. She reached out to touch the clock, but before her fingers could make contact, the ground gave way, and she fell into darkness. When she awoke, she was back in her cottage, the sun setting outside her window. The clocks on the wall now all read 7:03 a.m. She checked her phone again—it was 7:03 a.m., exactly. But the date was wrong. It was the same day she had arrived, but somehow, she knew it wasn’t. She had spent weeks here, yet the calendar showed only a few days had passed. Lena sat on the edge of her bed, heart pounding. She had no memory of what happened after falling into the tower. But as she looked around the room, she noticed something new—a small, ancient key lying on her desk, its surface etched with the same symbols she had seen in the tower. She didn’t know where it led, but she felt a pull, a whisper in the back of her mind. The clock tower still stood, its hands frozen, waiting. And somewhere, deep in the silence between seconds, time was shifting again.