The Tower

This is possibly one of the only non-fiction things i have ever written

She stepped cautiously towards the tower, afraid of what might be awaiting her but too scared to turn back and run. The ancient clock had long since stopped ticking, frozen for eternity at a quarter to twelve. The steel flagpole was shrouded in swirling mist and the flag was fluttering in a wind that didn’t exist. The rugged grey walls of the old clock tower were encrusted with moss and ivy strewn. The gargoyles leered from high above spitting raindrops at her in a gesture of contempt.

She stepped towards the towering door; it was old and woodwormed, the ink black paint flaking off and the brass doorknob was dull and mottled. She held her breath as she stepped fearfully inside, listening in terror to the sounds that came from within.

The door groaned open, she crept inside, holding her breath for it seemed to her that the slightest movement could bring the whole mountainous building crashing down on her. The whole place smelt of must and mould, rats scuttled at the foot of the staircase. A cacophony of screeching bats and howling wolves filled the air, echoing and rumbling through the tower until it was almost deafening. She ran to the door, fleeing out of pure terror. She flung herself at it screaming and sobbing, but it would not open. She hit out at it as hard as she could, willing the lock to break and the door to open and for herself to be able to run, run as far as she could away from here. It wouldn’t open; she shrank back against the wall as the echoes seemed to taunt her as she tried not to cry.

Moonlight shone through a cracked and broken upstairs window, imploring her to come upstairs. Feeling as though she was dreaming, she got slowly to her feet and walked to the curling iron staircase. Suddenly all was quiet, not a breath of wing nor a flap of wings. A sense of unease crept again through her. She shook it off. She began to climb the rickety staircase, everything was covered in dust and dirt, paintings of the moon covered the uneven walls. The filthy windows and door creaked. Ancient candle holders covered in dust seemed to flicker slightly, no, she was imagining things surely.

She reached the top and stepped out on to the small balcony, the sky was starless, all around was quiet and still, unnaturally quiet. She shivered and turned to go back down, but the balcony shifted suddenly and gave way. And as she fell, on a lone hill far away, a lone man stood waiting, as the last echoes of her screams died away, waiting, waiting for the tower to fall.