The Ticking Curse: The Watcher of Time (a story)

Genre: Horror (includes: blood, death)

The old man's smile was thin, almost amused. "Cheap. Very cheap for something with such history."

Dheeraj frowned. "What's the catch?"

The old man leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Dheeraj's curiosity piqued. "Try me."

The old man ran a finger along the glass case. "That watch...belonged to a man named Raghav. A wealthy businessman, back in the day. He had everything -- until the watch came into his life. Soon after, things started to...change."

"Change?" Dheeraj raised an eyebrow.

"Lost everything. His wealth, his mind...even his life. They found him, you know. His body...twisted, like something had crushed him from the inside out. And the watch?" The old man chuckled, a sound that made Dheeraj's skin crawl. "Still ticking."

Dheeraj laughed nervously. "So, it's cursed?"

"Call it what you will." The shopkeeper's eyes gleamed. "But it's yours for only ₹500."

"₹500?" Dheeraj glanced at the watch again. It looked expensive, handcrafted even. The shopkeeper had to be joking. But there was no humor in the old man's face. He just stared, waiting.

"I'll take it," Dheeraj said, handing over the cash.

The old man's gnarled fingers placed the watch gently in Dheeraj's hand. "Good luck," he said quietly, before turning away.

As soon as Dheeraj slipped the watch onto his wrist, a strange shiver ran up his arm, but he brushed it off as nothing more than the cold metal against his skin. On his way home, the sky had darkened unnaturally fast, clouds swirling in heavy, ominous formations.

When he reached his apartment, his phone buzzed.

"Hey, did you hear?" his friend Aman's voice cracked through the speaker. "You didn't get the promotion."

Dheeraj's stomach dropped. "What?" I was a lock for that job."

"Yeah, man, they gave it to Nikhil instead. Sorry."

Dheeraj ended the call, staring blankly at the wall. This was a blow, but maybe it was just a coincidence. Life didn't work like some stupid horror movie. He shook his head and went to bed.

That night, Dheeraj had his first dream. In the dream, he stood in a vast, empty space -- silent except for a faint ticking. He glanced down at the silver watch on his wrist. The ticking grew louder, faster, like a heart racing in panic. He tried to take it off, but the clasp wouldn't budge. The ticking became deafening, echoing in his skull. And then he saw him -- Raghav.

The man was standing far away, just a silhouette at first. But as he approached, Dheeraj's chest tightened. Raghav's face was distorted, his eyes wide, mouth twisted into a silent scream. His body was bruised, mangled, and his hands -- his hands were reaching out toward Dheeraj.

"Help me..." Raghav rasped.

Dheeraj woke up in a cold sweat, his heart thudding in the chest. The room was dark, too dark, and the air felt thick, suffocating. His hand immediately went to the watch.

Still there. Still ticking.

Over the next few days, things began to spiral. Little things at first. Dheeraj spilled coffee on his laptop during an important meeting. Then his girlfriend, Priya, called him.

"I don't know how to say this, Dheeraj," her voice was heavy with hesitation. "I think...I think we need some space."

"Space? Priya, what's going on?" his voice cracked with disbelief. "Everything was fine last week."

"I don't know...It's just, I feel different. Like something's wrong. I can't explain it."

"You're leaving me? Just like that?"

"I'm sorry," Priya whispered before hanging up.

Dheeraj stared at the phone in disbelief, his grip tightening. He glanced down at the watch again. It gleamed in the dull light, mocking him with its silence.

That night, the dreams were worse. Raghav appeared again, this time closer, his body twisted and broken like a ragdoll.

"It's coming for you, too," Raghav croaked, his voice like nails scraping glass.

"What is?" Dheeraj asked, backing away, his pulse pounding in his ears.

The ticking of the watch grew louder, faster. Raghav's face contorted in agony. "The same thing that took me...The curse."

Dheeraj jolted awake, his body drenched in sweat. The room felt wrong, the shadows too thick, pressing in on him. He sat up and looked at the watch again. It was ticking, but slower now, like it was counting down.

The next day at work, Dheeraj received an email: his bank account had been drained by a fraudulent charge. He immediately called the bank.

"How did this happen?" Dheeraj demanded, gripping the phone so tightly his knuckles turned white. "I had security in place!"

"I'm sorry, sir," the representative on the other end said calmly. "There's nothing we can do right now. The funds are gone."

"Gone?" Dheeraj's voice was rising. "That's my entire savings!"

"I understand, but our systems show no breach. It's...strange."

"Strange?" Dheeraj muttered as he slammed the phone down. His life was unraveling, and no matter what he did, the watch stayed firmly on his wrist.

By the time the car accident happened, Dheeraj was no longer surprised. His car had spun out of control on a road he had driven a hundred times before. The brakes failed. The airbag deployed too late. He crawled out of the wreck, bleeding and broken, but alive.

As he limped back to his apartment, the shadows seemed to follow him, growing longer, darker. When he stepped inside, the air was thick and still, as if the apartment was waiting for him.

Suddenly, his reflection in the hallway mirror caught his attention. It wasn't him. The figure staring back was Raghav -- eyes hollow, mouth twisted, his body broken.

"No," Dheeraj whispered, stumbling back. "This isn't happening."

But the ticking grew louder. Faster. Deafening.

The reflection smiled, a grotesque, twisted grin. And then it spoke.

"You're next."

Dheeraj tried everything to get rid of the watch. He tugged, twisted, even tried cutting the band with pliers. Nothing worked. The metal seemed to tighten around his wrist, digging into his skin, pulsing with that terrible ticking.

That night, in his dreams, Raghav's face loomed larger than ever. His eyes, once hollow, were now filled with something worse -- anticipation.

A week later, the police found Dheerah's body in his apartment. He had been crushed, as if by some unseen force, his bones shattered, his face frozen in an expression of pure terror.

On his wrist, still gleaming in the dim light, was the silver watch. Ticking slowly, steadily, as if waiting for its next victim.

About the Author

Pragyan Parui is a high school student and a pediatric Crohn's patient. You can read more of Pragyan's work on Neobook.