The Town Where Clocks Don’t Tick

Mira followed the path etched on the map with heavier steps than before. The ink trails pulsed with faint gold light, guiding her toward the southeast edge of town where the trees leaned low and the air carried a sharp, clean cold.

The map simply called it: Mirror Creek.

But the locals at least, the ones still willing to speak called it the place where reflections lie.

As she walked, the buildings began to change. The old shops and crooked houses gave way to quiet fields and stone fences. Grass grew taller here, whispering secrets as the wind passed through. The silence felt intentional.

Like everything was listening. 

Her breath curled in the air, even though it wasn't cold enough for that. Somewhere in the distance, something metallic clanged faintly, as if a bell were tolling from underwater.

Then the trees opened, and there it was.

The creek.

It wound like silver ribbon through a mossy ravine, no more than three feet across in some places. The water was perfectly still. Not a single ripple.

And when she looked into it

She saw herself.

But older.

Maybe sixteen. Her hair longer, her eyes harder. A scar ran down her left cheek like a lightning bolt someone forgot to erase. She looked back at Mira with fierce intensity.

Then the reflection spoke.

"Don't drink it."

Mira stumbled back, heart slamming.

"Wh what?"

The reflection didn't move. Just stared.

Then smiled too wide, too slow.

And blinked with two golden eyes.

Mira gasped.

The eye clock in her pocket pulsed again.

"You saw her, didn't you?"

The voice startled Mira. She turned sharply.

A girl, about her age, sat cross legged on a boulder by the creek. She had skin like river clay, freckles like constellations, and her hair was twisted with threads of blue and copper. Around her neck hung dozens of keys on thin chains.

She held a long stick in her hands, drawing something into the dirt.

A clock.

"Who are you?" Mira asked, taking a step closer.

The girl didn't answer immediately. She just looked up and grinned.

"Call me Nix," she said. "I know who you are."

"Of course you do," Mira muttered, already exhausted by everyone's cryptic half truths.

Nix laughed. "Your mother came to me once. Years ago. Before the creek stilled."

Mira froze. "You knew her?"

"Knew her scent. Her sorrow. The sound of her teeth grinding when she thought no one noticed."

She tapped the stick on the ground. "She told the creek a secret, you know. Right before she vanished. And now it's stuck in the water. Just like that version of you."

Mira looked back at the reflection.

It was still there. Still smiling.

"What's the secret?"

Nix leaned in, eyes gleaming.

"You can only find it if you forget something first."

Mira frowned. "Forget what?"

"That's the gamble."

Suddenly, the reflection changed.

It was Mira again, but soaking wet, shivering, eyes wide with panic. She slammed her palms against the surface from the inside.

"DON'T TRUST HER," she mouthed.

Then vanished. 

Mira stepped back again.

"Who was that?"

"One of the versions of you that didn't make it out," Nix said softly. "The creek keeps them."

Mira turned to her. "And you? What do you do?"

"I listen," she said. "And I offer choices."

Nix held out a key.

"This opens something buried. Something your mother left behind. But it's guarded by memory, and you'll have to lose one to reach it."

Mira didn't take the key.

Not yet.

Behind her, the wind picked up.

The map in her pocket vibrated.

And somewhere deep beneath the water the ticking returned.

Soft.

Steady.

Closer.