The dream had teeth. They were made of salt and rust.
Thomas woke with his mouth dry. He spat on the floor. The spit hit the wood. It made a sound. A wet slap.
He sat up. The room was small. The walls were white. They were peeling.
"Get up, Tom."
The voice came from the corner. It was not a human voice. It was the sound of wind in a wire.
"Who are you?" Thomas asked.
"I am the clock," the voice...
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