Abel hobbled down Old Graves Road. Each step spat fire into his leg, a nauseating pressure was growing in his head, and he felt acid bubbling in his belly. Worst of all, the sound of the pocket watch showed no signs of abating. It only intensified, overriding his senses. A bird burst from a tree but instead of hearing its flapping wings, Abel heard only ticking. An ambulance raced past, and the siren gave off loud, drawn-out ticks. Terror and desperation contorted his face.
“Please, stop; please, stop,” he whined, limping even faster.
Abel burst into his home and collapsed against the closed door. His heart rattled against his rib cage like a rabid rat in a steel box.
A disorienting cacophony of mechanical ticks assailed him like an invisible army of demons. His panicked eyes darted over the room.
He whipped his head around and saw shapes moving across the windows. A shadow bled through the crack under the door. His head swung around the other way, and he saw the white shoebox on the floor next to the bed. He jumped back. “What the stinking hell,” he cried. The box was vibrating like a jackhammer.
Ticktickticktickticktick
Outside, the heavens opened up, and the rain poured down. But it wasn’t heavy drops that Abel heard slamming against the tin roof of his home, it was a million deafening ticks. He ran to the table, grabbed the bottle of whiskey, and downed what was left of the burning contents.
A pathetic, scared whine escaped his mouth as he stumbled over to the sink. He opened the tap to splash his face but snatched back his hands. The tap was gushing out hundreds of tiny cogs, wheels, numbers, and dials.
Abel stumbled back, lost balance, and fell hard onto his buttocks, as a mechanical waterfall flooded over the sink and started spreading across the floor.
The entire world was ticking. Every tick created another and so they multiplied until trillions of ticks were bouncing around in his brain. Abel repeatedly smashed his fists into his ears, but every pound ticked. He shut his eyes, curled his knees up, and screamed. Yet all he heard tearing through the deepest chambers of his mind was tick,ticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktick.
Lightning crashed outside, shaking the house. The whiskey bottle toppled off the table. It rolled along the floor and stopped in front of his face. Abel opened his eyes, still screaming and saw his horrified reflection in the bottle. His bulging right was no longer just an eye; it was a big, round pocket watch, pushing through the translucent surface of the eye. The eye socket oozed an oily black fluid.
He stumbled to his feet, ran to the door, and flung it open.
“Gonna, break you into a million pieces,” he shouted, his eyes wide with panic and chest heaving. He charged into the raging storm outside, disappearing in the haze of Old Graves Road.