(not sure if you were waiting for somebody else to respond. If so, please ignore this.)<br/><br/><strong>There was no sound but the crackle and pop of the flames as they consumed the coals, gradually turning them into ash.  Within the belly of the stove, through the iron slats, the vibrant tongues of yellows and oranges danced, almost as if beckoning the girl who sat curled up in her blanket.  <br/><br/>No sound, that is, but the mechanical clicking of the stately grandfather clock that took up residence against one wall, behind the beige suede sofa. It had belonged to Jude's family for generations.  It was not electric, but powered solely by gears and springs and such, and it was Jude's job to wind the clock every two weeks or so.<br/><br/>It wasn't very loud, but if Jude listened, she could easily hear the ticking sound as the clockwork inside counted off every second.<br/><br/><em>Tick...tick...tick...tick...tick...</em><br/><br/>Every hour, like... well, like clockwork, the clock's internal gong would sound out, as many times as the hour of the day.  She'd heard it go <em>bong</em> twelve times when she first came down, indicating that it was well after midnight.  Outside, through the misty window, a curtain of white indicated that the snow was still falling heavily.<br/><br/><em>tick...tick...tick...tick...tick...</em><br/><br/>The gentle coruscation of the fire in the stove and the ticking of the grandfather clock were soft, soothing sounds.  Jude felt her eyelids grow heavy, as she sat and waited and stared at nothing very much.<br/><br/><em>tick...tick... t....i....c...k...</em><br/><br/>She had just begun to drift off when she sat up, with a start.  The clock, she realized, had stopped.  Which was strange, because she had wound it just last Tuesday.  The day before the... accident...<br/><br/>She turned her head, to listen, and, sure enough, there was silence, where the ticks should have been.  She debated whether she should go and check on the clock, but it was a cold night, and she didn't want to leave the security and warmth of her blanket.<br/><br/>That's when she heard another noise.  A tortured, metallic creak, exactly like the sound of the clock's wooden case door opening upon its hinges.</strong><br/>