(Legend Story) The Cursed Clock

I wasn't going to post this but it's been eating at me so here we go.

I grew up in an old neighborhood in Seoul. My family's house had been in the family for generations, like literally since my great-great-grandfather's time. The place was packed with old stuff but the one thing that always caught your eye was this antique grandfather clock sitting in the corner of the living room. Black wood. And every time it hit the hour it made this deep, heavy BONG that filled the whole house.

The stories about that clock go way back. Apparently weird things started happening the moment my great-great-grandfather brought it home from a secondhand shop. The family kept hearing rumors that the clock was cursed but everyone just brushed it off. old clock, probably broken, whatever.

Then one night I woke up to the clock going off. Not at the hour. Just... going off. I walked out to the living room to check and the clock was completely stopped. But the room was freezing cold. Like weirdly, wrongly cold. I felt something I can't really describe and went back to bed.

After that it happened every night. The clock would ring at random times, not on the hour, not on the half. Just whenever. I told my family and they all said I was having nightmares. Nobody believed me.

So one night I decided to just sit there and wait for it. I planted myself in the living room right before midnight. And at midnight the clock started ringing. But this time it wasn't just a ring.

There was a voice. Coming from inside the clock.

"Help me..."

I literally stumbled backwards. The ringing kept going and the whispering got clearer. I ran and woke my parents up. They came out and actually heard it this time. We all just stood there.

The next day we went to see a mudang¹ in our neighborhood. She came to the house and examined the clock. Her face went pale.

"There's a soul trapped in this clock," she said. "Long ago, the craftsman who made it died in an accident. His spirit got caught inside. And it's been cursing everyone who owns it."

She performed a ritual right there in our living room. The second she started, the clock went absolutely INSANE, ringing like something was fighting to get out. Cold wind came from nowhere. The whole house felt wrong.

She kept going, chanting, and slowly the clock got quieter. Then it stopped completely. She was sweating.

"The spirit has found peace," she said. "But you cannot keep this clock in your home. Bury it. Far away. Deep."

My dad drove it out to the mountains and buried it somewhere deep in the woods. After that the house felt normal again. The cold was gone.

But sometimes, late at night, I wake up and I swear I can hear it. Faint. Far away. And sometimes I think I can still hear it.

"Help me..."

I tell myself it's just my imagination.

A few months later I went back to the mountains with some friends. I don't know why I thought that was a good idea. We found the spot where my dad buried it.

It was empty.

No clock. No disturbed dirt. Just gone.

I stood there feeling something crawl up my spine and made a decision on the spot to never look for it again. That clock is somewhere out there. Still ringing. And I genuinely don't know if it's following me or if I just can't stop listening for it.