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A dark figure stands alone in the center of the room. He looks at the ceiling, no longer feeling the wind against his back. He pauses only for a moment and then lowers his head and closes his eyes. He removes his black shirt and folds it carefully. He lays the folded shirt on the bed gently and looks at it briefly. He then removes his shoes, socks, and pants; he does with the pants as he did with the shirt. He lays the pants atop the shirt and pats them, smoothing out the wrinkles. A sigh passes his lips and he moves back to the center of the room. The room is dark, but occasionally explodes with light as the lightning from the storm bursts from the clouds.

A clock hangs on the wall before him. The pendulum swings back and forth, and the hands move.

TICK-TOCK.

One hand stands small but proud underneath a golden twelve. The other hand, bigger and faster, moves toward the little hand. The little one doesn’t fear the oncoming giant for they toil together, ushering by time. The pendulum swings and the hands prepare to meet.

TICK-TOCK

The storm grows stronger as it approaches. Flashes of lightning illuminate the room and thunder booms. The golden pendulum explodes in the lightning flash and continues to swing.

TICK-TOCK

A naked man beaded with sweat kneels in the center of a waxed wooden-floored room. He looks at the clock, the curtains begin to flap, and he again feels the cool damp wind upon his back. The darkness outside disappears as light bursts from the clouds. He looks at the clock, its numbers glow in the flash.

It’s five minutes to twelve. The pendulum swings, the lightning fires to earth, the thunder crashes. A man kneels, weeping, exposed and alone. But he won’t be alone for long. Something is coming. Something evil. Soon it will be here and the ritual will begin, and the horror will end. A deep breath is taken and a steely knife wide at the hilt lays like a cross on the floor, and the pendulum swings.

TICK-TOCK

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