Tic-Toc Grandfather Clock (Part Two)

Tic-Toc goes the Grandfather Clock.
 I burnt my Grandfather’s body with the aid of Dunlop, his butler. The man did not bat an eyelid when seeing the construct whose employ he’d been under. Dunlop must have known from the start, but he would speak nothing of it. We watched the acrid smoke and white-hot flames together as amalgamation met pyre. It was a send off less than befitting for any mortal man let alone a duke, but I dared not risk more.
 My brothers and sisters did not understand. How could they? Their anger at my unusual behaviour was compounded at the reading of Grandfather’s will: he left everything to me. I was the new Earl of Westhaversham and held the estate to show for it. I knew I would probably never see my siblings again.
 The day Dunlop collected me in the Bentley was one etched into memory. A day that I tried to forget, but knew I would not.
 We reached the manor close to midnight, Dunlop holding open the manor door, my manor, and bowing respectfully. I strode in trying to remain stalwart despite my mixed feelings for the place, when I heard it. Dunlop said nothing leaving me without another word.
 It was to Grandfather’s favourite chair that I ventured collapsing into its cold embrace with the tic-toc sound of clockwork assailing my senses. No matter how I covered my ears, nor hummed, nor listened to the newly falling rain beating against the windows could I escape it. That’s when I realised the noise stemmed not from memory, nor madness, but from my own ticking chest. It rose and fell in perfect synchronicity to the metronomic sounds of tic-toc ticking. What had I become?
 Tic-Toc goes the Grandfather clock.

46 thoughts on “Tic-Toc Grandfather Clock (Part Two)

  1. OH MY, this is too wonderful, Richard–does it continue yet, or is this it? I’m blown away by your writing gift–this reads like Du Maurier, absolutely exquisite, captivated me immediately and has me wanting more-more-more.

      1. Oh Yipeeeeee and Hoorayyy–this is the best stuff of yours I’ve ever read, and you know I’m a serious fan, think you’re brilliant everyday. In my head, the story is like a black and white movie from “way back”–very classical, moody, the ones I’d beg my parents to let me stay up till the wee hours to watch (“I won’t get nightmares, I promise!”). So well written–I can’t say enough superlative descriptives, Richard.

      2. But I’m not being “kind”, honestly. If this is the work you “stash”, I beg you to share it with us–please!

      1. I’ll just say that it’s kind of an interesting theme – time, money, estrangement. A lot of people might relate. Are you going to extend this into something larger?

      1. Nah! Piece of junk my phone. Needing and due an upgrade. Just can’t be bothered doing the research yet. But I’ll definitely think on an I-phone or its ilk. My kids have all got better phones than me. Mine barely takes pics. I kinda want to get something that I can blog from too – on the hoof. Waiting till I’m home to catch up on reading and comments, etc seems daft when I could be doing a certain amount of it from my phone. But, at the moment, I have to w…….a…….I…….t…… till it loads everything really slowly. 😦

      2. Neither am I! I once twooted my leg in the bath while attempting to use another piece of junk phone whose screen had disappeared while I hit buttons frustratedly. Soon fixed those settings, I can tell you!

  2. I am with everyone else who has commented. This is brilliant writing R. Glad I didn’t delete before I read, but trying to catch up right now. A sequel is desired, for the madam from estate Meldrum (ok that’s my street) way to go R! πŸ‘πŸ‘ŒπŸ‘

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s