Every evening at precisely 8:17, the old clock in the town square would chime, but no one ever heard it. The townspeople had long since stopped questioning this peculiar phenomenon. It was just one of those things—like the way the leaves on the trees always turned gold before the first frost, or how the well in the center of the village never ran dry, even in the driest summer. No one knew where the clock came from, only that it had been there for as long as anyone could remember, standing silently beside the stone fountain that never flowed. The clock tower itself was a relic, its iron frame rusted and its face cracked. Most people avoided the square after dark, not because they feared anything, but because the silence that settled over the area felt too heavy, like the air had been pressed down by something unseen. Children were warned not to play near the fountain, though no one could say why. They just knew that if you stood too close when the clock struck, your reflection in the water would move a second before you did. Lena had always been curious about the clock. She was a quiet girl, the kind who preferred the company of books to people. Her grandfather, who had lived in the town all his life, told her stories about the clock, but he always ended them with a shiver and a warning. "It's not meant to be understood," he'd say. "Some things are better left alone." One rainy afternoon, Lena found herself wandering through the square, drawn by the sound of the clock chiming. She had never heard it before, but she felt an odd pull, as if the sound was calling her. She stopped in front of the fountain, watching her reflection ripple in the water. As the clock struck 8:17, she saw her own face blink before she moved. A chill ran up her spine, but she didn't leave. Instead, she leaned closer, trying to see if the reflection was truly moving on its own. That night, Lena dreamed of the clock. In her dream, she was inside the tower, walking up spiral stairs that led to a room with no door. The air was thick with dust and the scent of old wood. At the center of the room stood a mirror, and in it, she saw herself—but not quite. Her eyes were hollow, and her mouth moved without sound. She tried to speak, but no words came out. When she reached out, the mirror shattered, and the clock began to ring again, louder this time. She woke up drenched in sweat, the sound still echoing in her ears. She couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed. The next day, she returned to the square, determined to find answers. She noticed that the clock’s hands had moved slightly, as if someone had adjusted them. But no one else seemed to notice. Over the following weeks, Lena began to see strange things. The shadows in the square seemed to stretch longer than they should. The wind carried whispers that weren’t there. And every night, at 8:17, the clock would chime, and the world would pause for a moment, as if waiting for something. One evening, she decided to stay until the clock struck. She sat on the edge of the fountain, her legs dangling above the water. The sky was clear, and the stars blinked slowly, as if blinking in unison. When the clock rang, she closed her eyes and waited. For a brief second, she felt weightless, as if she were floating in the air. Then, a voice spoke, soft and distant, like a memory. "Time is not what you think it is." She opened her eyes, and the square was empty. The clock stood silent, its hands frozen at 8:17. The fountain no longer reflected her image. She ran home, heart pounding, but when she arrived, the house was unchanged. Her grandfather was asleep, and the clock outside continued to tick, but it no longer chimed. In the days that followed, the town went back to normal. No one remembered the clock chiming. No one remembered the whispers. But Lena knew. She could feel it in her bones, in the way the air shifted when she passed the square, in the way the clock's face seemed to watch her now, even when it wasn't moving. And sometimes, when she looked into the mirror, she wondered if the reflection was truly hers—or if something else was watching, waiting, just a heartbeat away.