Sixteen O'clock

 

She counted the chimes in her sleep.

The old clock was part of the background music of her life, comforting in its quarter-hourly announcements.

As it struck twelve, she stirred, uneasy.

Her eyes flew open as it kept going.

Thirteen.

Fourteen.

Fifteen.

Sixteen.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Not again.

Holding her breath, she braced herself.

 The whispers started under the bed, followed by tiny footsteps that marched across the floor, up the walls and across the ceiling.

One by one, they dropped onto the bed and skittered around frantically until blessedly,

The clock chimed a single chime, and all was quiet.