The old clock on the wall made an almost 'clunk like' noise as the pendulum swung side to side, the thick layer of dust across every flat surface of it's design made it look as if the mahogany had faded in the bright sunlight, the dial was a pale yellow instead of golden yellow and parts of the Roman style numbers had almost faded beyond recognition, the brass pendulum was tainted black through years of neglect, the lock on the cabinet where the key was placed to rewind this worn time piece stood out from the rest of the clock as it was the only area that received constant attention from it's daily winding, the wood around the lock had worn to the same shape as the human fingers that tended it daily as the clunk of the pendulum broke the silence in the room every second.
The room was dark, a single window about 8 feet high drew in what light there was from outside and cast a long ray of sunlight across it which hit the clock at the same time of day, day in day out. As the sun stretched it's fingers across the room at a sharp angle from the window the dust could be seen clearly leaping and dancing in it's wake like bee's around the sweetest honey ever imagined, an old bookcase stood in the darkened corner to the right of the window, strategically placed to never see the sunlight that had so ravaged the ageing time peace, it carried leather bound books that had not had their spines exercised in 3 score years, again the dust claimed every straight edge as it's own, in some cases moths had eaten away the edges of the leather and left just a row of pages squeezed between it's neighbours rendering it all but useless for purpose. The case itself was made of Oak and as such stood firm if well weathered by the constant bombardment of dust from the array of literature it had played host to all these years. Next to the bookcase a huge fireplace stood just below the tick tocking of the old clock, the source of much of the dust over the years, the ash from the last fire to be lit in it's bowels was but the finest powder that just disintegrated at the merest movement of air in the house so long ago had it been used to fill the room with warmth.
On the mantle piece above the fire sat two framed black and white photographs of a man and a woman, clearly taken in the early 1920's judging by their hairstyles and dress, the woman looking straight at the camera over her left shoulder with a huge bun of hair tied up on her head and vertically striped dress with high lacy collar and small pursed lips highlighted and accentuated by the lipstick she wore, the man was also looking to his left but was in a more relaxed position, leaning against a stool he wore a pin striped suit with tie and waistcoat, the chain from his pocket watch could be clearly seen and his thumb was placed in a relaxed nonchalant manner in his waistcoat on the opposite side to the watch. He had a small moustache and a long drawn face with hair that was oiled back off his forehead and a distinct straight parting could be seen on the left side of his head, the two photo's had a white card surround that was now like the clock showing signs of fading and only added to the vintage look of the photos, the dust had also played it's part by obscuring much of the pictures from view.
Further into the room the settee was still draped with lap blankets and cushions, the old curved over arms belied it's age, looking out of place with the rest of the antiques in the room due to it's sought after shape in the modern world, but it too, like all the other contents was a hive of dust. Woodworm had taken it's toll on the softer wood around the arms and the legs of the settee, it stood precariously on it's legs waiting for the inevitable day it would simply fall to the carpeted floor, the betrayal of it's plight lay around each leg where a sawdust like powder sat in almost a perfect circle around the once carved support, it was but a matter of time before the inevitable. A huge hearth rug lay between the settee and the fireplace, of all the items in the room this had suffered the most, it had been ravaged by dust mites and moths and was scarcely recognisable in it's current form, yet in it's heyday it propelled the scene of the brave huntsmen and hounds traversing a huge ditch in pursuit of it's quarry the fox, the horses were captured mid jump with the huntsman clearly shouting "Tally Ho" in support of it's equine ally, though all that remained of the scene on the rug were the hooves of the horses, part of the greying moody skies and in an almost bitter irony of fate the fearful face of the fleeing fox still seen despite it's tormentors demise from the ravages of time.
From the high ceiling of the room a chandelier hung as testament to the wealth of the previous inhabitants, dirty, uncared for and in danger of joining the disintegrated settee at any moment due to the failing joints and screws keeping it suspended in it's lofty position. Behind the settee where the light had not been for close on 100 years lay an out stretched pin stripe suit and next to it a dress with lacy collar and vertical stripes, the dress still worn by it's owner as was the suit, yet they had long departed the world if not the room, the pocket watch still visible and intact in the waistcoat pocket and the neat bun of hair on the woman grotesquely parted from the skull of it's owner in one piece lay slightly to the side of her head, the two skeletal hands still bearing rings were intertwined as only death and decay could leave them, side by side untouched for 60 years. A single brown singe mark in the chest of both sets of clothes could clearly be seen even after all this time, gaping holes that told a story of the foulest of play this room had born witness to, the decaying twisted remains of hair, teeth and dried brown stained flesh a reminder of a gruesome past that was still being played out.
Just then the long brass handle of the oak door slowly descended, barely a noise was heard as two feet emerged from the other side of the door in the dim light, shuffling in old worn out slippers with barely any sole left on them, a bedraggled but suited man with a tie and waistcoat and long flowing white hair emerged through the doorway and shuffled towards the old fireplace, once there he stood looking at the old clock, after a few seconds he raised his hand to the clock and placed a key into the small door his fingers fitting exactly into the smoothed out grooves around said lock, this was indeed the clocks master. He took another small key from his waistcoat and just as he did a folded piece of paper dropped to the floor and landed on the emaciated hearth rug, the old man bent over and picked it up, his dull fingers struggled to open up the fine paper from it's fold, once opened it revealed a sorrowful note of undying love aimed solely at the reader, a statement of love yet regret that it was a love that could never be fulfilled or recognised in life. The old man stood for a few moments as if reading the letter for the first time, small but distinct tears welled up in the corners of his eyes, one tear dropping just below the signature of the letters author, he fumbled in his waistcoat pocket while the sound of muffled sobs could be heard, the most sorrowful sound imagined, he drew his hand out of his pocket and there he held a small black and white photograph, it was of a woman with her hair in a bun and a small mouth accentuated by her lipstick, this time she was wearing a flowered dress still with high lacy collar, the picture shook in the old mans hand, the sobs became that much more audible and sorrowful, he stood in the same place just below the clock for what seemed like an age, his old craggy shaky hands replaced the letter and the picture from whence they had come and again he reached up to the clock only this time he did not have the key in his hand, instead he reached down into the cabinet disturbing the swing of the pendulum as he did and stopping the clocks movement at that very moment in time, as his hand withdrew from the cabinet the setting sun was low enough to catch a glimpse of a silver revolver, it's mechanism cocked and ready, the old man raised the pistol and fired.
The room fell completely silent.
