Ancient Clock

Midnight

It was cold winter night and I was walking down huge oak starcase. Quiet ticking of clock was coming out of the ballroom. Tic-tac, tic-tac. It was old grandfather's clock, that was standing here from ancient times. When my ancestor bought this palace, it was already standing here. On the clock's wood as dark as coal from depths of hell are carved majestic ornaments. As time flow, not a singe dust was wipped of ominuous clock. It never stopped, sharp clock hands always point on right hour, minute and second. Once an old and experienced watchmaker tried to dismantle clock and discover where is the magic hidden, but couldn't find anything. And when he explored the clock, took a closer look at every wheel and bolt, he tried to rebuild it again but the weels did not fit anymore, like they have never been together. Watchmaker left with failure on his sholders and silence was floating in the dark ballroom. The next day clock was standing in the exact same position with every wheel on right place, like watchmaker had never seen the clock, touched it or checked it. The room was filled with quiet ticking again. After this watchmaker other ones came and left, the same thing happened again and again. All the people agreed that clock is else a blessing or a curse and the old ominous clock became family heritage with our beautiful palace.
I stood in front of the clock and listened to ticking. Suddenly cold breeze blew from behind me, I gasped and quickly turned around. Noone was behind me and all windows were closed... "That's strange", I whispered quietly.
Behind windows there were no clouds on the sky, snowflakes were aimlessly dancing in the tender breeze. Endless moonrays were flowing from moon and joined the magnificent dance of the snow. Owls were sitting on the trees, only their eyes shine brightly in the ancient dark cloak of night.
When i turned around, right in front of me on the bloody red marble floor was laying a book. I picked it up and turned to the first page, nothing was written there, not on the second, third and every following page. The pages were entwined with the time, old yellowed and fragile bound in leather dark as night. Mischevous wind returned and started to play with my hair and when I turned to the last page, warm red flame suddenly danced through the old book. But no page was turned into ash just small letters started appearing one by one on the the old paper. I started reading....
It was a short story about a woman that danced to her death with mischievious strange looking man, and it all started when the clock struck midnight.
So I looked at the clock's hands illuminated by the moon. And suddenly.....the clock struck midnight.....