Every night for as long as I could remember, my grandfather’s clock always chimed 12 times at three am. Only at three am. My grandfather told me, when the twelve chimes ring, the devil will sing. Silly right? I’m currently staying the night at his place. It’s my parents anniversary and they didn’t want me alone for the whole weekend. Grandfather told me to stay in my room after 2:59 am. I was to stay in the house at the very least. No matter what. I currently lay in an old, creeky bed. The stained purple comforter rough against my skin. My eyes are fixed on the clock that hung on the wall. 2:59. In one minute the old, tall clock downstairs would chime 12 times. The clock struck three and the twelve chimes rang. I found myself thirsty and went downstairs to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Once I grabbed the water, a softknock sounded at the door. I opened the door to find nobody.
“Hello?” I called. I stepped outside and found nothing.
Before I could go back inside, the door slammed shut. I rushed to the door and yanked on its handle. It wouldn’t budge.
“This isn’t funny grandpa!” I shouted. A low, wicked laugh sounded from the other side of the door. I sprinted over to the window and peered into the house. A siloet too tall to be my grandpa stood in the door. The black siloet turned around to face me. I let out a gasp and jumped back from the window. It’s eyes were blood red. A slow, lethal grin spread across its face revealing teeth sharpened to dagger point. A shudder went through my bones. My grandpa was in there alone. I pounded on the door, but the figure continued to walk upstairs. The twelve chimes were never just times...they were a warning.