03:15 AM

Amity startled awake.

The faint moonlight painted her room an eerie gray, as though a fog had settled over her in her slumber. She gulped in air in an attempt to slow her pounding heart. Although she couldn’t remember the nightmare, the traces of it marked her sweaty brow, and her head felt heavy with lack of sleep. She squinted at the clock by her bedside. Despite the cheerful pink color and peeling stickers, Amity felt a familiar sense of dread as she read the hour—03:15 AM.

The edges of her vision blurred as she sat up in the crowded twin bed, pushing aside the stuffed animals that surrounded her head and torso. They had been tucked in with a promise to stave off nightmares, but Amity had known such a ritual would prove ineffective.

For twelve nights, she had endured them. Her parents told her that nightmares were common for girls her age, but their explanations and theories had grown more desperate with each passing night. Amity could tell that her parents were also exhausted; she worried about disturbing their rest for the thirteenth night in a row.

Rubbing her eyes, she kicked her legs out from under the floral duvet and waded through the pale light to reach the window. Branches tapped at the glass, their dark, twisted shapes stretching into view like cracks. Amity shivered as she leaned in close, glancing briefly at the small circles of condensation she created before directing her view to the street below.

Her home was at the end of the street, near the edge of the woods. Her eyes followed the line of houses all the way to the wall of trees that blocked her vision from the world beyond. On most days, she found the tree-line stunning, the green leaves fading to autumn colors as the weather chilled. At night, however, the warm orange and red leaves became something sinister, shaking in the dark and sending ominous shadows dancing across the forest floor.

Amity’s attention was pulled from the scene by a soft thud. She turned to face the bed, her yawning shadow stretching to the door of her bedroom. She walked gingerly back to the bed, worried that her movement had woken her parents once again. She paused by the bed, gripping the duvet in her fist as she listened for the sound of her parents' bedroom door. After a brief, tense moment, she let out a breath and stooped to retrieve the weighted frog plushie that had fallen from the bed.

As Amity rose, the bright red letters of the clock came back into view. Although some time had passed in watching the trees outside the window, the clock read the same hour, down to the very minute in which she had opened her eyes—03:15 AM.

Her heartbeat quickened.

For thirteen nights, she had experienced those horrible, forgotten nightmares. For thirteen nights, she had seen that awful hour displayed on the clock. But this was the first night she hadn’t run to her parents in the aftermath of her terror.

Amity reached out with a trembling hand, hesitating before picking up the clock with just the tips of her fingers. She turned it about, examining the glass and buttons, before giving the item one quick shake. She froze, watching the display once more. The hour remained the same. Desperately, she shook and smacked the clock a few more times, becoming more flustered with each failed attempt. With one final hit of her palm, the panel covering the batteries was knocked loose.

Amity’s breath trembled as she clumsily discarded the panel to retrieve the batteries. When she struggled to dislodge them with her fingernails, she raced across the room to her desk, feeling around inside the drawers for a pen. Pulling off the cap, she placed the tip of the pen at the edge of a battery, prying it out. With two batteries tossed to the floor, she set the lifeless clock back on her nightstand. The red numbers had vanished.

Fear lingered in her throat, making it difficult to swallow. Amity hurriedly jumped back into bed, wrapping the duvet tightly around herself and ducking into the impromptu shelter. Her warm breath filled the space quickly, and she was too distracted by the pounding of her heart in her ears to notice the creak in the floorboards.

Amity froze in fear when a heavy hand lay on her head.

“Mom?” She whispered, to no response.

She squeezed her eyes shut, causing a startled tear to fall from the corner of one eye to the next. After a pause, the hand was gone. The sudden relief brought a steady stream of tears, and Amity cried as quietly as she could, keeping a tight grip on her blanket shelter.

When some time had passed, Amity found the courage to peek out from beneath the duvet. Her room was silent and still. She inched out of the blankets, pausing to scan the room, which was suddenly devoid of moonlight. Holding onto her stuffed frog for comfort, she set her feet on the ground with extreme caution, feeling the cold floorboards through her threadbare, mismatched socks.

Almost gliding across the room, she reached for the door and found it locked. Amity wiped her sweaty palms on her pajama bottoms before unlocking the door with a click. She turned the handle and opened the door slowly, anxious to get to her parents’ bedside. She winced when the hinges creaked and groaned, then took her first step into the hallway. On the adjacent wall, a glass picture frame seemed to reflect a dreadful red light. Amity stopped dead in her tracks, closing her eyes as a heavy hand settled on her head.

___________________________________________________

For the first time in almost two weeks, Amity’s parents woke to the sunrise peeking through the gaps in their blinds. They were content that the stuffed animals had done the trick—protecting their daughter from the recurrent nightmares. They walked across the hallway to her room and turned the handle. The door swung open with a quiet ease, and they tiptoed over to Amity’s bed, gently touching her head. When she didn’t stir, they left the room in a generous mood.

They failed to notice the clock, seemingly caught in time.

It was not 03:15 AM.

Amity did not wake.