Quoted By:
>It was a nice, comfy night for once.
>Anon had reached the fifth stage of grief regarding Kronii. Expecting a full schedule from someone so much like himself was folly.
>Instead of giving any minute trace of a shit about whatever was happening in /∞/, he had occupied himself by actually writing some of the final essay that was due in two days.
>A productive night in the Anon household - truly a rare sight.
>Satisfied with the night’s work, he lay in bed, watching a video essay on Dead Space 2 by some dude with a beard on his phone.
>It was 3am; Anon rarely turned off the lights any earlier than 5, falling asleep to the sound of the morning birds.
>Anon liked these hours. They were peaceful. No car noises, nobody else awake, even the neighbour’s dog would finally shut the fuck up.
>Just the sound of the wind outside, the video he was watching, and the clock ticking in the dining room.
>Tick.
>Tock.
>Tick.
>Tock.
>Tick.
>Tick.
>Tock.
>Tock.
>Wait.
>Anon paused the video and listened close. He hasn’t misheard. A second ticking rhythm echoed through the house.
>Meh, Anon thought. That clock was pretty old, it might just have been broken.
>He’d check on it in the morning.
>But the second ticking was louder.
>Deeper.
>And accompanied by footsteps.
>A break-in, but not one with any care for stealth.
>Anon heard a door being flung open, smashing against the wall. The ticking continued. The footsteps stopped for a moment.
>More footsteps.
>Another door.
>Anon went into panic mode. Who the fuck was in his house? And what were they looking for?
>He switched off his bedroom lights and hid in the closet.
>The bedroom door swung open soon after. Gently.
>Tick.
>Tock.
>The reverberating noise hurt Anon’s eardrums. The crack in the closet doors offered little in the way of perceiving the intruder, made worse by the pure darkness.
>Anon realised he could hear a voice. Not loud enough to truly be in the room. Too... digitised. A narrow bluish light swept across the room as the stranger picked Anon’s phone up off the bed.
>He had left it on.
>Another voice spoke over the bearded man on the screen. Menacing and jittery, it seemed almost to... chuckle?
>”D-D-Dead Spa-ace Tw-Two, huh?”
>The figure almost immediately moved towards the closet. Of course.
>Not like there was anywhere else in this room to hide, since underneath the bed was a wide container of Bionicle pieces, left untouched for so long their virginity had been renewed.
>The intruder calmly opened the closet doors.
>”Th-th-there you are.”
>He was so nearly close to being an ordinary man. His lab coat was well-kept (if you ignored the... coffee? blood?... stains on the bottom). His proportions were normal.
>The thing that was so hard to ignore, though, was that his posture was weighed down by the enormous round clock he had in place of a head.
>It ticked in Anon’s face, each numbered increment on the edges of its surface another eye to scan him with.
>The ticking was regular, stable, but nonetheless each passing second made Anon jump a little.
>The clock-headed man grasped Anon’s collar, hauling him out into the room and shoving him down at his desk. His laptop opened on its own.
>A familiar page. A Google document. One he often sought to mask his presence on.
>”FU-FU-FU-FUCKING WRITE-ITE-ITE NIGG-IGG-IGG-IGGA”
>The Witching Hour is upon us, friends.
>Fear the clock-man’s ticking.
first lol
