𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐄 | 𝘌𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘦 𝘔𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘰𝘯

𝐯𝐢𝐢𝐢. 𝐏𝐚𝐩𝐚

~ eight. papa ~

***

Of all the omens of death, the ticking clock is the worst. It isn't as big a warning as a murderous axeman showing up on your doorstep; not many things are, but it still isn't exactly pleasant. It acts as a constant reminder of the end drawing near and that there's nothing to do except listen to the tick... tick... tick... which is, in many ways, far worse. Because, at least with a murderous axeman, you know where you stand - you can run away - but, with time, the only way to run is further toward your own doom.

It started as a faint ticking, which then got louder as she followed it through the trailer into the bedroom at the back, where a grandfather clock was waiting, lodged into the cracks in the walls. She had been expecting this for a while but it still succeeded in catching her off guard. With every chime, she could almost feel her life winding down, the stand in her hourglass draining to its last twenty-four hours. But a lot could happen in twenty-four hours... and Val wouldn't stop fighting until her body hit the floor.

Twenty-Four Hours...

"Hey, you okay?"

"I think I just saw Vecna's clock."

"What do you mean you think?"

"Okay, no, I definitely saw it... but you know what this means, right?"

"Steve, what's going on?"

"Its Nancy – she's not responding. Nancy! Nance – hey!"

"Shit – what do we do?"

"We need music. Go! Go! Hurry!"

"This isn't happening. This is not happening, man!"

"Eddie, I need you to calm down; you're stressing me out."

"You want me to be calm?"

"Preferably – yes."

"Hey, Eddie, where do you keep your music?"

"What?"

"Its Nancy – Vecna's got her. We need music."

"What?"

"Now!"

Whoever said that after hitting rock bottom, the only way left to go is up had clearly never met Vecna. Almost immediately after Val shook herself from his trance, Nancy was captured in one of her own and the group were sent spiralling into another frenzy of searching for music to save her. There had been no headaches, no nosebleeds, no hallucinations – no warning stops – just a direct line to mortal peril. If they thought it was hard to play a game without knowing the rules before, it was even harder when those rules kept changing. It was more apparent than ever now that if they wanted any chance of winning, they would have to start playing by their own.