Sandra opened the closet door and let out an audible gasp. Her boyfriend, Larry, ran over to find her standing there, tears streaming down her face. “What happened?” he asked.
“That clock used to sit on the mantel over our fireplace, and when it stopped keeping time, my father said he threw it out. But there it is,” she said.
“Perhaps you misheard him. Maybe he said he was just going to put it aside,” Larry said.
“Maybe,” admitted Sandra. “But what’s freaking me out is the time on the clock. 11:16, is the exact time my father died.”
Written for this week’s Friday Fictioneers prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Photo credit: Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.