Page 7 of Cursed Shadows 4

The beads are in dire need of polish, of a shine, and even then, it won’t come to life. The age is drab, too far gone, and really, it’s just some beads attached to a silver-coated string.

It is not a pretty piece.

So why is it that just the thought of unclasping the bracelet from my wrist and placing it on the table beside the tall gold-framed mirror is a thought that clenches my insides and bares my teeth?

Click,

clock,

click,

clock.

I swallow back the tension in my throat.

I surrender to the bracelet and, again, tug the sleeve of my fitted black sweater over it. There, it is safe.

Click,

clock,

click,

clock—

I glare at the brass ornament on the table.

The pendulum clock talks too much. The steady sway, left, to right, I don’t just hear it rushing me this late hour of the Quiet. Ifeelthe clicks and clocks thrum my bones.

A moodiness settles over me like a storm cloud.

It’s slick with unease, the kind that pins my voice to my throat and my muscles to my bones.

Click,

clock,

click,

clock.

The rising panic reaches through my chest. An ice-grip that curls its fingers around my fluttering heart.

It squeezes, tight, too tight, and I might be sick.

But the pendulum clock is not wrong to rush me, to remind me of the passing seconds I don’t have to spare on a bracelet.

So I do what I have avoided for too long since waking.

I lift my gaze to the ornate framed mirror, an unpolished brass that traps me. Well, traps my reflection.

The sight of myself hooks my breath in my chest.

My mouth is parted, as though about to fall wide open into a gape. I firm my lips together and draw in a long, steadying breath through my flaring nostrils.

Seeing myself like this, it makes it all so real.

Click,

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