The clock was the first thing one would notice in the old house. The noise, tick-tock, echoed out down the corridors, making sure it was noticed, even while out of sight. When one did manage to find it, hidden amongst the shelves and decorations, mounted to the side of the wall, it was entirely unremarkable.

That was the common opinion when seeing anything in the dusty living room: unremarkable. The walls were a pale red, which contrasted nicely with the metal shelves and wooden furniture, the black curtains and sofas. Nice and homely, but rather plain. No, the clock was the main feature of the space. The clock made the room feel alive.

And with its random change in speed and volume, thanks to a dying battery, that feeling was usually unsettling.