The antique shop smelled of rot masked with lemon oil, but Daniel didn’t care. He eyed the ornate pocket watch under the glass counter, its brass casing etched with hauntingly intricate raven feathers. He wanted it—needed it. Curiosity about its rumored curse wasn’t enough to deter him. Let the others fear silly superstitions. To him, it was treasure, a thing of beauty, and surely, profit.
As he handed over the cash, the shopkeeper’s fingers lingered on his, cold as a tombstone. “It binds,” she whispered, voice like wind slipping through cracked windows. Daniel barely noticed. Greed gnawed at him like hunger, as always.
At home, the setting shifted—his apartment seemed darker, shadows clinging too long to corners. The watch, warm in his hand now, ticked unnaturally loud. For all its beauty, its sound unsettled him, a rhythm like a heartbeat sinking into his core.
For a moment, he almost shoved it into the drawer. But the thought of its value stopped him. What was fear compared to fortune? He smiled and relaxed.
Until the ticking stopped.
The silence roared. Then came the scraping, slow and deliberate, from inside the walls—metal against plaster, claw-like. A fetid gust of decay filled the room. He turned, frantically searching. That’s when he saw them: the shadows shifting, the faint outline of ravens staring with eyes like molten brass.
Daniel tried to scream, but his voice was stolen, just as the ticking began anew—in his chest.
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