Welcome to Tremorphonic audio stories. Tremorphonic - the sounds of fear - is a collection of original horror stories presented in audio format. Today's story, Grandfather Time, was written as a project of passion and is free to listen to. Please visit Tremorphonic.com, follow our Tremorphonic social media and podcast accounts, and share our posts and stories to a wider audience. You can also find us on Patreon if you want to support the development of future stories.
This is Grandfather Time Tick, tick, Scared sick, she stops outside the door. Hair pale, black veil, straw-like - ancient - threadbare. An unwound grandfather clock stands atop a staircase. An unwound clock and yet it runs again every night. As unexpectedly as it starts, it always stops. The hands are motionless and yet the pendulum swings, and ticks. Each night past plight keeps her standing, waiting. Door knock, turned lock, handles shake and rattle.
The clock strikes three, the moon is risen, darkness fills the manor. The house has stood for centuries but rarely accommodates residents. It was here that a young couple had once lived and tried to raise a family. The father, soon, was called to war but left his bride with child. Pale skin, stick thin, she listens with intent. Slack jaw, gaunt claw, her bony fingers stretch. Her child was born in summertime. His father was soon to be informed. The letters passed overseas
between loved ones but replies were lacking since spring. He was due to return home in autumn. She thought perhaps he delayed contact so as to spin his stories to her in person? Then, as her son reached his second month of life, all life it seemed was paused. Drained eyes, deep sighs, her manner desperates. Nails scratch, worn patch, year on year, repeated. A war so cruel that young men disappeared without trace, and mass graves fill those fields.
A father lost to a sea of poppies, a widow cast into despair, and a child left imprisoned in his crib without... ...love. Such circumstance led the mother to melancholy, sorrow and neglect. Her appearance disheveled and her attention... ...and her attention... Take stock grandfather clock, take heed to soothe. The cries of hunger, flies drawn swarming grief. The mother fell into desolation, moved by none and deaf to those who called. Deaf to all... ...who needed.
When lucidity eventually graced her again she dared not discover the repercussions of her inaction. Like Schrodinger, she dared not open the door to her child's room. She paused and listened to hear his absent cries. Hold pace Old Face, please watch over this child. Time stopped, key dropped, no hand can reach him now. The baby knew his cries were in vain, no person came to him in days. His only solace was the
familiar ticking of the grandfather clock from the staircase. He heard the ticking until... ...he did not. The constant beat slowed and stopped. His hungered pain and wails of desperation used all the strength he could muster. With the stopped clock his time was ended. His cries ended. Bent ear draws near, pressed against the scratch marks. No sound, grief bound, her duty failed once more. Today, her black dress floats above the ground but moves as if wind carries it.
A wind in slow motion, an unnaturally flowing hem. Beneath where feet should touch the ground, instead they now hang on point like ballet shoes in a permanent airborne poise. She takes no steps, instead she glides, no contact with the ground. This she ensured with rope, a noose, she tied it well when from the rafters she strung her fate. A mother in angst she could no longer bear, she ached to join her child. And now, a hundred years since, each night the unwound clock strikes three.
At Devil's hour she waits, doomed to repeat her failure, she waits to hear her boy. When finally the silence breaks, if ear is bent, a single cry is heard. Satisfied he lives and breathes, she turns to leave. But as she turns a cool wind blows, her time with us is done. Her presence scatters like ash on the breeze, and dissipates. Tick, tock, hearts stop, Grandfather Time restores. Tick, tock, clocks stop.
Thank you for listening to Grandfather Time, presented by Tremorphonic. Grandfather Time was written, performed, recorded, and edited by Richard Wilson with music samples from Fesliyan Studios. Don't forget to follow us on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, YouTube and Tremophonic.com, and keep an eye on podcast channels for our upcoming stories. As a self-funded project we would appreciate any support you might be willing to give us on Patreon. Thank you for listening.