Wednesday, July 02, 2008
Grandfather clocks didn't terrify me when I was a kid, but there was something spooky about them. So tall and imposing. Part casket, part evil Victorian robot.
They'd stand there, patiently ticking, as if to say no, I'm not waiting for a chance to pounce on you or anything like that.
Then came the striking. First a snap like a twig breaking. The clock hissed.
A deceptively friendly chime played. Then the hour chords. Deep and angry, like the clock was mad at you. Or telling a morbid story in clock language.
Even broken ones made me nervous. They looked down on you with angry faces. What if they fell on you? Or started striking on their own?