When the Clock Stopped at 3:17

Daniel never believed in superstitions, but he did believe in routine. Every night, he placed his phone on the bedside table, set his alarm for 7:00 AM, and fell asleep to the soft ticking of the old wall clock across his room. The clock had belonged to his grandfather, a heavy wooden piece with long black hands and a faint crack across the glass. It had never failed to keep time. Not once.

Until the night it stopped at 3:17.

Daniel woke suddenly, unsure why. His room was dark except for the faint glow of streetlight slipping through the curtains. The air felt strangely still, almost heavy. He turned toward the wall clock and squinted. The minute hand rested firmly on 3:17. He reached for his phone to check the time, but the screen wouldn’t turn on. He frowned and pressed the button again. Nothing.

“That’s strange,” he muttered to himself.

He swung his legs off the bed and stood up. The wooden floor felt colder than usual. As he stepped closer to the clock, he noticed something unsettling. The ticking sound had stopped completely. The silence in the room felt unnatural, as if the air itself were holding its breath. He touched the side of the clock, expecting to feel its usual faint vibration. There was none.

Daniel pulled his phone charger from the wall and plugged it back in, but the outlet didn’t respond. The small digital light on his desk lamp was also off. It was as though electricity had vanished entirely. A quiet unease began to creep into his chest. He walked to his bedroom door and turned the handle. It didn’t budge.

His heart rate quickened. He twisted the handle harder. The door felt sealed shut, as if locked from the outside. “Okay, calm down,” he whispered. Maybe the wood had expanded from the cold. Maybe he was still half asleep.

He turned back toward the clock.

It still read 3:17.

And then, ithout warning, he heard it—a soft shuffle behind him.

Daniel froze. He was certain he had been alone. Slowly, he turned around. The room appeared exactly as before: bed unmade, desk cluttered with papers, curtains gently hanging by the window. Nothing seemed out of place.

Then he noticed the shadow on the wall.

It wasn’t aligned with him.

The streetlight outside cast his silhouette faintly across the paint, but the shadow stood slightly apart from his body, tilted at an unnatural angle. His breath caught in his throat. He raised his right arm cautiously.

His shadow did not move.

The silence deepened, pressing against his ears. A thin crack appeared in the glass of the clock, spreading outward like a spiderweb. Daniel stumbled backward, colliding with his desk. “This isn’t real,” he said aloud, his voice shaking.

The shadow’s head tilted slowly to one side.

A sudden sound erupted from the clock—a low grinding noise, like rusted gears forcing themselves to turn. The second hand, which had been frozen, began twitching violently but remained stuck at 3:17. The grinding grew louder, echoing through the walls. Daniel covered his ears, but the noise seemed to come from inside his head rather than the clock.

Then the shadow stepped forward.

It detached from the wall completely, stretching upward into a darker shape. It didn’t have clear features, but Daniel felt its attention fixed directly on him. The temperature in the room dropped sharply, and his breath became visible in the air.

“You shouldn’t have woken up,” a distorted voice murmured. It sounded like several whispers layered together.

Daniel shook his head, backing into the corner. “What is this?” he demanded, though his voice barely carried.

“Time stopped,” the voice replied. “But you didn’t.”

The grinding noise grew unbearable. The cracks in the clock glass widened, splintering across its surface. The shadow moved closer, its edges dissolving and reforming like smoke. Daniel squeezed his eyes shut, wishing desperately to wake from what had to be a nightmare.

Suddenly, everything went silent

The ticking resumed.

Daniel opened his eyes slowly. Morning light streamed through the curtains. Birds chirped faintly outside. His phone buzzed beside him, displaying 7:00 AM. He was lying in bed, exactly where he had fallen asleep

Breathing heavily, he turned his head toward the wall clock.

It read 7:00.

The glass was intact. No cracks.

Relief flooded through him. It had been a dream—nothing more

He sat up, rubbing his face, trying to steady his nerves. As he swung his legs off the bed, something caught his attention.

The clock ticked steadily.

But when the minute hand moved forward—

It skipped from 7:16 to 7:18.

There was no 7:17.

Daniel’s blood ran cold.

The clock had continued.

But something had taken that missing minute with it.