The Clock This is a story about a little girl. I got it from a diary entry this person wrote about memories from when they were a child. I cannot reveal the identity of the identity of the person in the story. Just know that this is very true (though some things had to be changed) and also very sad.

Last night I had another bad dream. Can I even call it a dream? It's reality. I know what happened but, for some reason, my mind won't accept it. Why doesn't he leave me alone? Isn't it enough that he ruined my childhood, does he have to invade my mind? The dream...that clock. That yellow clock. That yellow clock with it's glow-in-the-dark hands. Mommy bought me that clock so I could learn how to tell time. At that age, I didn't know how to tell time but I always knew when he would come. He always came when the little arrow was pointing sort of to the top, just a little before it and the big arrow was pointing down. The door doesn't have a lock so he just walks in. I can pretend I am aleep but it doesn't matter. "Baby, are you sleeping? Wake up precious." I can hear him talking, I can feel his breath on my neck, his hands...I can feel everything. That's how I know it's not a dream. I know because I can feel it. I can feel everything. Does he know I am awake? Can he feel my heart pounding? Can he? His hands...they move from my neck. They go down, down, down until the are at the bottom of my pyjamas. I hold my breath and sqeeze my eyes shut tight. I think maybe if I concentrate real hard he'll go away. My chest is starting to hurt and I realize that I never stopped holding my breath. I let it out in a big puff and he looks at my face. My eyes are still closed but I know he is looking at me, I can feel his eyes. I open my eyes slowly and he is smiling at me. Why is he smiling? Doesn't he know I am scared? He leans down and kisses me on my forehead, my nose, then, finally, my lips. I try to get away but I can't. I am suffocating and just when I think I will pass out, he stops kissing me. His hand is still at the hem of my pyjamas and I think maybe he will never move it. But he does. He puts his hand in my underwear. One hand only because the other one is pushing my bangs off my face. I look at my clock. My clock with its glow-in-the-dark hands. I look at it because I don't want to look at his face; I don't want him to see the fear in my eyes. He took his hand away from my underwear and I relax a little because I think it's over but it's not. He takes his thing out. I want to scream but I can't. My mouth is so dry. I can only whimper. Like puppies do when they are hurt. He's never done this before. I don't know what he's going to do to me but I know I won't like it. He climbs on my bed. It sqeaks a little because it's a little girl's bed. He stops moving my bangs and uses that hand to cover my mouth. He uses the other hand to pull down my underwear. I am really scared. I can't breath. I can hear my clock, I can't see it because he is in my way. The soft ticking and humming of the clock helps me to relax a little. I try to focus on the hushed tick tocks of the clock as he rapes me. I want to scream but his hand over my mouth prevents that from happening. It hurts so much. I feel the tears burning my eyes. Doesn't he know that he's hurting me? Doesn't he love me anymore? I think he will never stop but he does. He leans down and kisses me on my forehead. I don't look at him, I look at my clock. My yellow clock with its glow-in-the-dark hands. Both of the arrows are pointing to the top. He's up now and he's fixed my blankets and clothes. As he walk through the door he whispers, "Happy Birthday Pumpkin. You're 8 years old now." Then, as he closes the door, he smiles and adds, "I love you, Princess" and only then do I allow myself to cry. I cry as I pray for God to have mercy on his soul. Even though he hurts me, I still love him because he is still a part of my family. Even today, when I wake up from these dreams, I pray for him. I pray that God will understand that he didn't know what he was doing. I pray for all the other children being hurt. I pray that no one else was hurt by my selfishness in not telling. I pray that no other little girl's spirit was killed by this monster. Finally, I pray for the little girl that died on her 8th birthday; I pray that her soul is in Heaven.