The Death Clock: chapter 1

 

1

The boy’s name was Cody Adams Turner, but I called him Cat. Especially when I found out the boy was a girl. She kept her knee length hair under her large red hat. It was a unique color, a natural pale pink. It shimmered as she walked. Because her hair was hidden, I thought she was a young boy. She was actually my age, just small in height. She wore a baggy sweater over her clothes that only made her look smaller.

Cat was pretty freaked when I climbed out of the bushes that night. I was just scared of the thing that killed the woman. It had vanished right after the woman hit the pavement. Cat had grabbed my hand and dragged me to her house in Paradise Acres, a few blocks over. I was so stunned I did not even say anything until we were in her house. She had told me her name on the way over, but in my head, I just called her Cat.

When we were in her house, she took off her hat, which she threw on a nearby table, and her pale pink hair fell down. Then she grabbed my hand again and pulled me along until we were in a room on the second floor. She let go of my hand long enough to, sit me on the bed, shut the door, and take off her sweater. Underneath she had on one of those tight outfits that give everyone a nice hourglass figure. Her tight shorts went down to her lower thigh just above her knee.

"Nice to be out of that heavy thing," she said to herself. Then she turned to me, "How much did you see? Tell me everything?" She said right in my face. Her voice was soothing and angelic, even though it was a little high. She was so close her breathe rolled over my face. It smelled like mint and faintly of passion fruit.

I told her everything I saw in a daze. I still couldn’t believe what I saw. I thought it was a dream before I saw her face. I never would dream a pretty face to look that stern. She was actually kind of cute. In a short type of way.

I think like that when I get dazed. I keep things basic. "She’s cute," "That is hot," "I’m bleeding." I looked at my hands to avoid looking at her before I said something stupid. There was dirt on my hands.

"May I use your restroom?" I asked Cat.

"Umm… Sure. It’s right there in the corner." She pointed to the wall behind me. I got up and went over. It was convenient because the bed was on the left wall and the door to the bathroom on the same wall.

I got up and went into the bathroom. I closed the door just far enough that you could not see in but could open it with a slight push. I tried to wash the dirt off my hands. I turned the water off when I was done and the grit was gone. Then I washed them again. Then another time, and yet another wash. As I washed my hands, tears rolled down my cheeks. I had claustrophobia, which is why the door was partly open, and Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. My OCD made me wash my hands exactly eleven times. I was on the eighth wash when Cat opened the door slowly and saw me crying as I washed my hands in the steaming water. Pink liquid spiraled down the pipes as my hands cracked and bled. I looked at her in the mirror through watery eyes. She stood in the doorway and watched as I turned off the water and turned it back on. After this one, I did it two more times and just stood in front of the mirror as tiny rivulets of blood ran off my fingers.

Cat went down stairs and came back with an icepack. She handed it to me and I held it against my raw skin. I remained in front of the mirror and did not move until my hands stopped bleeding. I stayed for two reasons. Firstly, I didn’t want to drip blood all over this girl’s room. Secondly, her bathroom door had a mirror on it. I could look in front of me and see it clearly. Through it, I saw the girl’s room entirely.

Her bed was a canopy four-poster with a king sized mattress on it. The mattress had a white comforter on it and a single pillow in a black sleeve. The back wall of the room was lined with bookcases. A window cut a hole in the middle of one bookcase but they flowed around it. The wall opposite the bathroom had a plasma screen hanging on it with multiple devices and cords coming off it. Next to that was a closet that was partially closed, open just enough to show clothes and dresses hanging up. The wall with the door on it was one massive mirror with a metal rail on one end. It was a dance bar, so Cat probably took ballet classes or worked out using it. The wall mirror reflected the moonlight from the single window in a way that made it appear to be day.

I walked out, leaving the bloodied icepack in the sink, and sat next to Cat. I couldn’t think of where to look. I could not look at my raw hands; I did not want to look at Cat after what she saw. In the end, I just closed my eyes.

"What is it?"

"I have OCD. Every time I wash my hands, I have to do it eleven times."

"I’m so sorry. Can’t you get medication for it?" Cat asked in her little voice.

"Not after my mother died. No parents, no medication."

"Can your father not get you some?"

"I haven’t seen my father’s face in sixteen years. He was there for the first week then left. Calls every day, though, it is just to yell at me."

Cat was quiet for a time. "What about your school? Can’t they get you some?"

"Nope. I’m a charity case of the school in the city. They make sure I look healthy and dress in their colors so that they can be paid and sleep better at night. I do not even attend classes there. I just wander the streets all day looking for a place to spend the night."

"That’s it! You’re staying here. No arguing, it isn’t like you got anywhere else to go."

"Won’t your parents be mad if I stay at their house?" I said opening my eyes to see her standing.

She had the weirdest look on her face as if she had no idea what I was saying. "This isn’t my Mum and Dad’s house," she said slowly. "It is my house. I bought it with my money. That makes it mine last time I checked."

I waited for her to say she was joking. When I realized she wasn’t, I could not tell whether I should be amazed or what. She was only my age yet she had that kind of money. Then she slowly helped me up and walked me out to the hallway. There were three other rooms on this floor. One on either side of her room and one across from her room. The doors were directly across from each other.

"Pick a room and it’s yours."

"Why are you letting me live here? I could be anyone and do anything to you."

"First, you saw the Death Clock, so you know one of my secretes. Second, I cannot let you stay out at night without a home to go back to. Thirdly, it is a little bit lonely here so I could do with anyone’s company. But the real reason is that nobody can mess with me because of the Death Clock, so I can let anyone be near me without fear. So which room do you want?"

"I guess you leave me no real choice. I’ll take the room across from yours then." I said, turning to look at Cat.

She giggled and jumped up and gave me a hug around my neck, nearly causing me to fall on her. Cat laughed and danced off to her room, closing the door behind her, singing about new housemates and friends.

I looked into the room I chose. It was bare. Nothing on the walls, nothing on the soft carpet.

Unfortunately, that included no bed. I chuckled and sat down against a wall and fell asleep.

Reviews

[Alemu Wolde-Michael]

Hi Lonely Growl,

Your writing style is excellent; the flow is good and it holds the reader's attention. It tells me you have good teachers and more important, you have natural talent. Stay with your work and I wish you every success.

Sincerely,
Alemu