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Chapter One: Hickory Dickory Dock
Ah, it seems you've stumbled upon an old rhyme, haven't you? A fable from a time forgotten, whispered from lips trembling with fear, meant to warn, meant to guide. But like all things intended to protect, it now serves only to intrigue. Curious, isn't it, how time can twist a warning into a riddle and a riddle into a game? But don't be fooled; this is no child's game. Though it was the children who suffered the most, this is a tale that should have been left buried, buried with the sins of the past—a story best forgotten. And yet here you are, dusting off the cobwebs of a book that has no business being opened. Bold of you, little one.
Within these pages lies a tragedy, one that unfolds under the tail light of the watchful moon—the story of three souls, for that is all you can handle. Bound not by choice but by fate, trapped within fables we once thought harmless. Oh, but if you insist, I shall share it with you—a tale of loss, fear, of things that go bump in the night, and of one who dares to defy them all. But I warn you, this is not for the faint of heart. Shall we proceed? Very well then.
(The sound of a dusty old book being opened; the echoes of its creaking spine filling the silence…)
On with the story chapter one: "Hickory Dickory Dock."
Naruto Uzumaki rubbed the lump forming on his head, glaring at the heavy book that had just fallen on him. It lay open on the library floor, ancient pages fluttering as if revealing secrets. Picking up the book He muttered under his breath, "What the hell is Hickory Dickory Dock?" The question seemed to hang in the air, unanswered, as if the library itself was waiting.
Moments earlier, he'd squeezed through the cracked-open window of Konoha Elementary's Library, cursing the stupidity of having to break in just to finish a school assignment. He landed with a soft thud, brushing imaginary dirt off his battered hoodie. It wasn't his first time sneaking in after hours. Still, he would have been hard-pressed to explain why he kept coming back. Maybe it was the quiet—the kind that didn't exist in the crowded homeless shelter he ironically called home. Or maybe it was the smell—a mix of old paper and something faintly sweet, like the librarians always left candy hidden somewhere. Whatever it was, the library felt like his place.
Naruto adjusted his backpack, glancing around to make sure he was alone. Moonlight spilled through the tall windows, casting long, slanted shadows across the rows of bookshelves. The old clock on the wall ticked steadily, the only sound in the stillness. Ah, yes, the clock—an innocent timekeeper, yet perhaps a harbinger of something more sinister. In this quiet sanctuary, the ticking felt like a heartbeat, echoing through the still air, a reminder that time never stops, even when one wishes it would.
The library felt different at night—bigger, somehow. The towering shelves seemed to lean in closer, their books whispering secrets to each other that only he was privy to. He rubbed the back of his neck. He wasn't here to read; he didn't even like books—not really. But his jerk of a teacher, Miss Monica, had given him an assignment that day, and he had no choice but to finish it. "Pick a nursery rhyme," she'd said, "and find out where it came from. Write me two pages on its history." Nursery rhyme? He rolled his eyes at the memory. How was he supposed to care about rhymes for babies? Besides, he didn't even know any. No one had ever sat him down and sung lullabies or read him bedtime stories.
He let out a sigh, weaving his way between the shelves. The children's section was near the back, tucked away like an afterthought, so there probably wasn't going to be much on nursery rhymes. He quickly glanced over the brightly colored spines, their titles practically shouting at him: *The Cat and the Fiddle, *Mother Goose's Treasury, *Little Miss Muffet, *Humpty Dumpty, *Fairy Tales for Kids*. He let out another sigh, his eyes skimming over the titles without much interest. None of them seemed like they'd help with this stupid assignment.
He was about to give up when—bang! A single book, shoved way up high in the shadows of the top shelf, fell on his head. It was odd; it was tucked away like someone didn't want it to be read. It was in stark contrast to the bright colors and happy endings of the children's section. This book looked… wrong. Its cover was a faded burgundy, the kind you only see on antiques. The edges were worn, the fabric chipping away, peeling back to reveal the rough cardboard beneath. Etched into the front was a title almost impossible to read in the flickering light of his flashlight: *Nursery Rhymes of the Forgotten Age*.
Naruto crouched, picking himself up and trying to lift the book with one hand. It was heavier than it looked, its spine creaking in protest as he opened it. The pages were yellowed, the edges curling like dried leaves; they smelled musty, like they hadn't been touched in decades. He flipped through them lazily, not expecting much, and then he saw it.
"Hickory Dickory Dock?" Naruto muttered again as he began to read. "Hickory Dickory Dock, the mouse ran up the clock. The clock struck one; the mouse was done. Hickory Dickory Dock." He snorted. Seriously? Is that supposed to be scary or something? He tilted the book, trying to get a better look at the illustration on the opposite page. It was simple, almost crude—a tall wooden clock, its pendulum swinging in exaggerated arcs, a mouse scaling its side, eyes wide with fear. There was something… off about it, though. He squinted, leaning closer. The clock's face wasn't normal; instead of numbers, it was filled with strange symbols, twisting shapes that didn't make any sense. A chill ran down his spine.
He shook his head, trying to laugh it off. "Just a dumb old book. It's just a dumb old book," he muttered, slamming it shut. The sound echoed through the library, louder than it should have. "Shit," he cursed under his breath. He froze, glancing over his shoulder. The shadows seemed deeper now, the moonlight dimmer. He stuffed the book into his backpack and stood up, brushing his hands on his jeans. Then he heard it—a soft whisper and then a faint tick-tock.
Naruto frowned, looking around. There weren't any clocks in this part of the library, not that he could see, and the sound was too close to be clear. "Hello?" he called out, his voice wavering slightly. No answer. The ticking grew louder; his heart raced as he backed away from the shelves, the sound seeming to follow him, growing faster, sharper. He clenched his backpack tighter, knees weak, palms growing clammy. Suddenly, the ticking stopped. The silence was deafening. His ears rang, his breath coming in short gasps.
He glanced around, his eyes darting to every shadow, every corner. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it—a grandfather clock, standing in the middle of the aisle, tall and imposing. Its wooden frame gleamed faintly, the pendulum swinging in slow, deliberate arcs. Tied to it was a red balloon, almost as if this mysterious clock was a gift. But from whom? Naruto blinked, his stomach twisting into knots. The clock hadn't been there before. What the—
Before he could finish, the clock struck one. The sound was deafening—a deep, resonant gong that seemed to shake the very air around him. He clamped his hands over his ears, dropping his backpack. The book tumbled out, its pages fluttering open. The room seemed to tilt, the shadows growing larger, darker. The clock's pendulum swung faster, its sharp edges slicing through the air. Naruto stumbled back, eyes wide with terror. And then, just as suddenly as it began, it stopped.
He blinked. The clock was gone. All that was left to prove it had been there was the red balloon. He stood there trembling, breath coming in ragged gasps. He looked down at the book, its pages still open. The rhyme stared back at him, its words seeming to pulse on the page: "Hickory Dickory Dock, the mouse ran up the clock…"
Before he could continue reading, the balloon popped. He hurriedly grabbed the book and shoved it back into his bag, hands shaking. He didn't care about the assignment anymore. He didn't care about anything except getting out of the library. He ran, the sound of his footsteps echoing through the empty halls. Outside, the air was cool and crisp, the stars shining brightly overhead. He leaned against the wall, trying to catch his breath. The book felt heavy in his backpack, like it was pulling him down. He wanted to throw it away; he wanted to leave it behind. But something stopped him, something told him that even if he did, that wouldn't be the last he would see of that book—not by a long shot.
"Ah, little one, how naive you are to think you can simply walk away. This is not just a tale of nursery rhymes; it is a prophecy wrapped in shadows—echoes of the past that will not let you go. The clock is ticking, and with each chime, the shadows draw closer, hungry for the light of hope that flickers within you. You cannot escape your fate, nor can you flee the memories that bind you."
The shadows watched Naruto as he walked home, their edges fluctuating like smoke. And somewhere in the distance, that clock began to tick.
Naruto woke to the shrill, insistent trill of birds outside his cracked window. For a moment, he lay frozen, staring at the ceiling above—paint peeling in curling strips, water stains forming shapes that reminded him of twisted faces and gaping mouths. The thin blanket tangled around his legs felt like a shroud. He listened to the distant city noise, the muffled footsteps of other kids in the shelter, and wondered if he'd dreamt it all: the ticking clock, the impossible book, the shadows that seemed to breathe, the flash of red balloon.
But then his eyes found it—the book, lying on the worn linoleum floor beside his battered backpack. Its faded burgundy cover seemed to drink in the morning light, the gold lettering almost gone, as if it was trying to erase itself from existence. He was certain—absolutely certain—he'd left it zipped inside his bag. His stomach twisted, a cold, oily dread pooling in his gut.
He sat up slowly, the mattress springs groaning beneath him. The air in the small room was stale, tinged with mildew and the faint, sour tang of old sweat. He reached for the book, hesitating, fingers hovering just above its spine as if expecting it to snap at him. The words *Hickory Dickory Dock* echoed in his mind, unbidden, like a nursery rhyme sung by a voice he'd never known.
"This is so stupid," he muttered, running a trembling hand through his messy blond hair. He tried to sound brave, but his voice was thin, brittle. He wasn't going to let some old book freak him out. He had an assignment to finish, and Miss Monica wasn't known for her patience. If he didn't turn something in, he'd be stuck after school, writing until his hand cramped.
He took a breath—deep, shaky—and flipped the book open. The pages were brittle, the paper yellowed and curling at the edges, smelling of mildew and something deeper, older, like earth after a grave has been dug. He skimmed the rhymes he'd seen the night before, but his eyes kept flicking to the margins, half-expecting the words to crawl off the page.
Then it happened: the ink began to bleed, letters warping and twisting, as if the page itself was melting. He blinked hard, leaned closer, heart thudding in his chest. The words rearranged themselves, forming a new, chilling sentence:
The mouse was done…*
Naruto frowned, confusion prickling his skin. That wasn't how the rhyme ended. He flipped back to the first page, but the words were unchanged, as if daring him to doubt his own memory. The ticking returned—soft at first, but unmistakable—echoing in the back of his skull, as if a clock was hidden somewhere inside the walls.
He glanced around the cramped room, half expecting to see the tall, menacing clock from the library standing in the corner, its pendulum slicing the air. But there was nothing—just heaps of dirty clothes, crumpled homework sheets, and the faint outline of handprints on the fogged window.
"Get it together, Naruto," he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. Just a dumb book.
He slammed it shut and tossed it onto the desk, ignoring the dull, unnatural thud it made—a sound too heavy for something so small.
Breakfast was a blur, a half-remembered dream. The other kids sat at the long table, chattering and arguing, but their voices felt distant, muffled, as if he was underwater. The clatter of spoons, the scrape of chairs, the occasional burst of laughter—none of it seemed to reach him. Even Miss Jackson, the only adult who usually lingered in the mornings, seemed changed. Her face was drawn tight with worry, eyes darting to the window every few minutes as if she expected something—or someone—to appear.
"Storm's coming," she muttered when Naruto asked what was wrong. Her voice was flat, almost mechanical. The sky outside was a clear, washed-out blue, sunlight glinting off puddles from last night's rain. It didn't look like rain was coming, but Miss Jackson wasn't the type to joke.
Naruto tried to shrug it off, but unease gnawed at him. He finished his breakfast in silence, the taste of oatmeal turning to ash in his mouth. He kept glancing at his backpack, half-expecting the book to crawl out on its own.
He left for school with the book zipped away, feeling its weight like a stone pressing down on his spine. He tried to convince himself that the ticking, the shifting words, the shadows—none of it was real. Maybe he was just tired. Maybe he was finally losing it.
School was no refuge. The hallways were crowded, but Naruto felt alone, adrift in a sea of faces that didn't see him. He slid into his seat, dropping his bag at his feet. When Miss Monica called for homework, he reached for the book—only to find it gone.
He blinked, then blinked again, panic prickling at the back of his neck. He rifled through his notebooks, pencils, crumpled worksheets—everything was there except the book. His fingers trembled, sweat beading on his forehead.
"Yo, Naruto! Earth to Naruto!" Shikamaru's voice cut through the haze, lazy and unconcerned.
Naruto forced a laugh, scratching the back of his head. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Just… lost something."
Shikamaru yawned, raising an eyebrow, but didn't press further. "Whatever. Miss Monica's gonna start yelling if you don't get to your seat."
Naruto nodded, but the mystery gnawed at him. The book was gone. Or maybe it had never been there. Maybe he was imagining it all.
Class dragged on, the minutes crawling by. Miss Monica's voice was a drone, words blurring into meaningless noise. Every so often, Naruto felt it—a faint vibration, like the hum of distant machinery, or the heartbeat of something buried deep beneath the floor. It came and went, so subtle he wasn't sure if he'd imagined it.
By lunchtime, the ticking had grown louder, more insistent, threading through his thoughts. He sat alone under the shade of a tree, picking at the crust of his sandwich. The sound followed him, steady and unrelenting.
"Okay, this is getting ridiculous," he muttered, pulling out his backpack. He dumped its contents onto the grass—books, pencils, snack wrappers. No book.
He groaned, leaning back, closing his eyes. The ticking grew louder, echoing in his skull.
Tick tock. Tick tock.*
He clutched his head, willing it to stop. The world seemed to tilt, shadows stretching and twisting in the sunlight.
And then, suddenly, it did.
He opened his eyes, heart hammering. The world was eerily still, the air heavy and oppressive, as if the sky itself was holding its breath.
And there it was.
The book sat on the grass in front of him, its cover gleaming faintly in the dappled sunlight. He hadn't put it there. He was sure of it.
But there it was, as real and solid as the tree behind him.
He reached out, hesitating, fingers brushing the worn cover. The book felt warm—almost alive, pulsing with a heartbeat that wasn't his own.
He swallowed hard, throat dry. He didn't want to open it. But he couldn't stop himself.
The pages flipped open on their own, settling on a rhyme he hadn't seen before. The words shimmered and danced, edges blurring like heat waves, as if the book itself was breathing.
Turn the page and lose your name, Shadow's breath will feed the flame. Tick-tock, the minutes bleed, Every secret, every need.
Red balloon and silent screams, Clocks that swallow broken dreams. Ink that writhes, a whispered lie, The hour's hand will testify. Past forgotten, faces blurred, Run, but know you won't be heard. Chimes that echo, doors that close, The monster waits where no one knows. Beware the story, curse, and clock— The mouse is gone. The doors are locked.
Naruto's breath caught in his throat. The rhyme felt like a curse, a prophecy, a warning meant just for him.
And then the ticking returned—louder, closer, echoing all around.
Naruto scrambled to his feet, clutching the book so tightly his knuckles blanched. The air around him had grown impossibly cold, each breath emerging as a trembling cloud. He staggered backward, eyes fixed on the monstrous clock that loomed before him—its wooden frame impossibly tall, its pendulum slicing the air with a slow, deliberate rhythm that seemed to echo in his bones.
"What do you want from me?" Naruto's voice was barely a whisper, raw and desperate. The silence that followed pressed in, suffocating, until the shadow stepped forward—a tall, slender figure, its edges flickering like the flame of a dying candle. It was a void in the world, swallowing the light, its presence both unreal and undeniable.
The shadow tilted its head, as if regarding him with ancient, inhuman curiosity. When it spoke, its voice was soft and melodic, yet every note dripped with menace: "Time waits for no one, little mouse."
Naruto's heart hammered in his chest, panic rising as the book in his hands began to burn with a faint, golden light. The heat grew, searing his palms, but he couldn't let go—his fingers wouldn't obey. The glow intensified, flooding his vision, until the world was nothing but blinding gold and the sound of the clock's relentless ticking.
"Run!" The shadow's voice thundered in his mind, both a command and a curse.
Naruto stumbled backward, vision swimming. The ground seemed to tilt beneath him, the shadows around him lengthening and twisting, reaching out with clawed fingers. He fell, landing hard on the cold floor. When he blinked the light away, the clock and balloon were gone—vanished as if they had never existed at all.
He sank to the floor, knees drawn to his chest, the book heavy in his lap. The air felt thick, pressing down on him, as if the room itself was remembering every sorrow he'd ever tried to forget.
Naruto sat in the dim, forgotten corner of the library, the book now closed and silent before him. The oppressive hush was broken only by the distant, ghostly creak of the building settling and the faint, echoing footsteps of someone far away.
He pressed his fists against his legs, trying to hold himself together. He told himself he wasn't afraid—not of shadows, not of clocks, not of the voices that sometimes whispered just out of earshot. But beneath the bravado, a gnawing emptiness clawed at his chest.
It wasn't fear.
It was loneliness.
It was the kind of loneliness that made the world seem faded, as if he were watching everything through a pane of dirty glass. He felt like a ghost haunting his own life, invisible and unwanted. He had someone once and…. She was….E̸̪̤̫̫̓̽͋̎̓̓̆̆͘͜͝v̴̢̛̩̯̞̺̼̰̪̺̗̼̭̇̿̉̈̇̐̈́̒͆̑͗̎̀͂͘̚͜e̸̡̨̺͊͛̑r̴̨̛͚̤̺̻̥͎͓͓͎̣̥̦̳̞͒͗̐̔̌ͅy̶̢͚͓͕͈͓͐̿͊̉͆̀̚ͅt̴̻̋͆̇̎͋̈́̌͂̃̚͝h̴̡͖̰̹̹̜̝̫͚̀̀͛̋́͒ï̴̧͔̬̤̳͕̱̣̱͇̄̃ͅͅn̷̢͎̼̪̮͖̹̻̬̱͔̾͝g̷̢͓̗̮̰̞͔͈͇̖͎̹͋̓͛̒̏̾̍̾͠͠ͅͅ .
A voice broke through the silence, soft and familiar, sending a shiver up his spine.
"Naruto, where are you?"
He froze. It was a voice he'd been searching for—a girl who had once brought him joy, a joy that now felt like a cruel memory. Sakura. Her laughter rang in his mind, bright as a bell, vivid and bittersweet. He could almost see her—her smile, the mischief in her eyes, the warmth of her hand in his.
But that warmth had long since faded, replaced by a hollow ache that never left.
Naruto exhaled slowly, his breath shaky. He hated feeling like this like a like an unwanted package, tossed from place to place, never really belonging anywhere. He had tried to bury the past beneath layers of energy, pranks, and laughter—but the past was stubborn. It clawed its way to the surface when he least expected it, a shadow that never let him go.
The memories came in waves, each one sharper than the last.
His first foster home was warm—too warm. He was three, old enough to know he didn't have a family like other kids, but too young to understand why. The couple who ran the home were kind in their way, but always tired, always overwhelmed by the endless needs of a dozen children.
Naruto was quiet then, watching the older kids with wide, curious eyes. He tried to join their games, but they always pushed him away.
"You're too loud."
"You're too slow."
"You're just a baby."
The words stung more than the occasional shove or slap. He learned quickly that tears wouldn't earn him sympathy. So he stopped crying and started climbing—up trees, onto counters, anywhere he could escape for a moment.
One day, while playing near the pond the adults warned him never to go near, he overheard whispers. The couple's daughter, a girl who visited often, had drowned. The water was black and cold, snapping turtles lurking beneath the surface.
After that, the warmth of the home turned to grief. The couple's faces became haunted, hollow-eyed. Then, one night, both died suddenly of "heart attacks" their bodies found together, twisted in the dark. Naruto remembered the way the house felt afterward, empty and echoing, the air thick with loss.
The family's death haunted him, and he felt an inexplicable guilt, as if he should have done something, anything.
Weeks later, the grief-stricken mother took her own life, leaving behind a note: "I wish it were you."
Naruto watched as the authorities took him away, his heart sinking. That was the first shadow that would follow him, whispering that he was cursed.
At five, Naruto was sent to another foster home—colder, more sterile. The couple who took him in were strict, their house immaculate, every surface gleaming. Naruto tried desperately to follow their rules.
"Good children keep their rooms tidy."
"Good children don't speak unless spoken to."
"Good children don't ask questions."
"Good children dont say no"
He repeated these phrases like a mantra, but no matter how hard he tried, it was never enough.
One night, after spilling a glass of milk at dinner, the man slammed his hand on the table, face twisted in anger.
"Why can't you just do what you're told, boy?"
Naruto flinched, trembling. He wanted to explain, to apologize, but the words stuck in his throat.
"Maybe if you weren't so useless, someone would've wanted you."
The words hit harder than any slap.
That night, as he lay awake, the ticking clock in the hallway kept him company. He made a promise to himself.
He would never cry again.
But the promise was a heavy burden. Nightmares plagued him, waking him screaming, drenched in sweat. Faces from his past haunted his dreams. The laughter of children turned to taunts, whispers echoing in his mind.
The memories blurred, brief moments of kindness overshadowed by long stretches of indifference.
Naruto grew louder, brasher—his voice a shield against the silence threatening to consume him. He became the class clown, the troublemaker, always chasing laughter to drown out the ache.
But no matter how hard he laughed, the loneliness remained, a constant ache in his chest.
He found himself in yet another foster home—this time with a couple who ran a daycare. They had no love for children, especially not for him.
They belittled him, reminding him of previous homes, telling him it was all his fault. One day, left alone with one of their mothers, they went out, leaving Naruto locked in a room full of fish. When he wet his bed, they locked him outside in the rain.
The storm poured down. He shivered, wishing for warmth, for someone to care.
That evening, the couple died in a horrible car crash. Naruto was left to fend for himself again, the house silent except for the rain and the distant wail of sirens.
The chaos of his past left him with little hope. He drifted through life, searching for connection but finding only isolation.
And always, the ticking followed him.
The library door creaked open, breaking the fragile silence that had settled around Naruto like a shroud. A group of kids spilled inside, their voices bouncing off the high shelves, laughter and chatter filling the space with a careless lightness that felt alien to Naruto's world. He shrank deeper into his corner, knees drawn tight to his chest, stomach twisting with a knot of anxiety and loneliness.
He wanted to join them. He wanted to be part of something — anything. But every time he tried, it slipped through his fingers like smoke. Words tangled in his throat, and when he finally spoke, it was either the wrong thing or too much. People laughed — not with him, but at him. Or worse, they ignored him altogether.
"Hey, Naruto!" The sharp voice cut through the noise like a knife. Ino Yamanaka had spotted him, her brow furrowed in concern as she approached. "What's up with you hmm? You've been acting weird."
Naruto's heart pounded, anxiety swelling like a storm inside his chest. Ino's presence felt like a spotlight, illuminating every crack in the facade he fought so hard to maintain. He couldn't hide from her gaze. It was as if she could see right through him, peeling back the layers he had built to keep everyone at bay.
"Ino you where one of Sakura's best friends right"
Ino looked at him with confusion but before she could say anything naruto spoke.
"What happened to her what happened to Sakura?" he blurted out, desperation lacing his voice. The name hung in the air like a ghost, and Naruto was terrified of what her response might be.
Ino's face twisted in confusion. "Sakura? who…. I…I don't know. She just… disappeared."
A sharp gasp from Hinata echoed through the library, drawing attention. The sound was one of shock and disbelief — and it sliced through Naruto's heart like a blade.
"You don't remember her do you?" Naruto's voice cracked, disbelief and desperation flooding his words. "She was always there. Always with us!"
"No no i do i do," Ino stammered, voice losing conviction. "It's been a while. I thought maybe she was just at home or something."
The air thickened with tension, walls seeming to close in around Naruto. He glanced at Choji, who munched on chips, oblivious to the turmoil swirling inside Naruto's mind. Shikamaru leaned against the wall, expression contemplative, while Lee's bright eyes flickered with confusion, as if he didn't understand the weight of the moment.
"Do any of you remember her?" Naruto shouted, voice breaking. "She was always there when we hung out! We all played together!"
Ino's patience snapped, her concern shifting to irritation. "Naruto, chill out. It's just name. You're overreacting we dont know you imaginary freind."
The dismissive tone ignited a fire deep inside Naruto — a burning anger he could no longer contain.
"She was real! She was our friend!" he yelled, desperation clawing at his throat. "You can't just forget her like that!"
Ino crossed her arms, her haughtiness surfacing. "Yeah, right. What was she like? Hmmm, you keep bringing her up like she's supposed to mean something to me. If she's gone, she's gone if she even existed that is " Her laughter rang hollow, devoid of understanding. " I've just flipped through every Dusty photo album in my head, and guess what? nothing, just static. So maybe she wasn't important, or maybe she was, and I buried her so deep for a reason. Stop acting like she was important. Loo,k I'm here to help you, not your imaginary friend. tell me this if she's so Unforgettabl,e why do I feel absolutely nothing."
Her words struck like a blow. The way she spoke of Sakura — as if she were nothing more than an anecdote — shattered something inside Naruto.
"She was more than that! She was… she was…" Naruto struggled for words, memories of Sakura's laughter and kindness flashing through his mind.
"The bookworm worm right?" Ino sneered. "The one who always thought she was better than us
Something inside Naruto snapped. The flood of emotions he had held at bay surged forth, raw and unfiltered. In one swift motion, he lunged forward, grabbing Ino's golden hair and pulling her close.
"Don't you ever insult Sakura again!" he screamed, face inches from hers. "You don't know anything about her! She was the only one who cared when no one else did!"
The library fell silent. Shocked stares locked on them like daggers. The tension crackled in the air, thick and suffocating.
Naruto felt the crushing weight of his isolation pressing down, threatening to swallow him whole.
Ino's eyes widened, a mix of fear and confusion washing over her face. "What the hell, Naruto?" she gasped, but he didn't let go.
"Miss Monica!" someone called, and the teacher rushed over, pulling Naruto away with surprising strength. "To the principal's office, now!"
As he was dragged through the library, the anger and hurt coursed through Naruto like molten fire. He felt like a volcano on the brink of eruption, emotions spilling over as the eyes of his classmates bore into him.
With every step, he felt himself losing something precious—something he might never get back.
All he wanted was for someone to remember Sakura, to acknowledge her existence, to not let her fade into the shadows.
The hallway to the principal's office stretched forever, the fluorescent lights flickering above like the eyes of some watchful beast. Naruto's breath came in shallow, ragged bursts. He felt raw, exposed, as if his skin had been peeled away.
As he walked, the memories pressed in—memories of places that had never felt like home.
The third home was the worst. The couple ran a daycare, but they hated children, especially him. Their words were knives, their punishments cruel. One day, they locked him outside in the rain, his cries swallowed by thunder. That night, the house burned. He watched from the street as flames devoured the walls, the windows glowing like eyes. He saw them at the window, faces blackened, skin peeling, mouths open in silent screams. Later, he'd see them again—in dreams, in shadows, in every flicker of firelight.
The last home ended in shattered glass and screeching tires. The couple left him with an old woman, and never came back. He remembered the sound of breaking glass, the way their faces looked in the morgue—necks slashed, blood pooling on white sheets.
He carried them all with him—ghosts that clung to his skin, whispering that he was the curse, the reason everything went wrong.
Each step Naruto took seemed to stretch the corridor longer, the air growing heavier, as if the building itself was holding its breath. The secretary barely glanced up as he passed; her eyes were glassy, her smile brittle, as if she too was only half-awake in this place.
Principal Sarutobi's office was dim, the blinds drawn tight against the daylight. Shelves sagged under the weight of old books—fairy tales, folklore, and thick, ancient volumes with titles in languages Naruto didn't recognize. The air was thick with the scent of dust and something older, like dried flowers left too long in a grave.
Sarutobi himself sat behind his desk, hands folded, eyes shadowed beneath heavy brows. He looked up as Naruto entered, and for a moment, his gaze seemed to pierce straight through him—measuring, weighing, as if searching for something Naruto couldn't see.
"Naruto," the principal said, his voice gentle but edged with something unreadable. "Sit down."
Naruto hesitated, then obeyed, the chair creaking beneath him. He stared at his hands, at the faint red marks where the book had burned him.
"I'm tired of being treated like I'm nothing," Naruto said, his voice raw. "You promised to help when Sakura went missing, but you didn't. No one did."
Sarutobi's fingers drummed the desk, slow and deliberate. "Some things in this town… slip through the cracks, Naruto. Sometimes, the cracks swallow more than just memories."
Naruto's eyes snapped up. "What's that supposed to mean?"
The principal's gaze lingered on a faded painting of a wolf chasing a girl in a red hood. "There are stories in this place, Naruto. Old stories. Some people say they're just fairy tales. But fairy tales are warnings, not comfort. You'd do well to remember that."
Naruto's frustration boiled over. "I don't care about stories! Sakura was real. You all act like she never existed, like none of it matters—"
Sarutobi leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You're not the only one who remembers things that shouldn't be remembered. But memory is a dangerous thing here. Sometimes, it's safer to forget."
Naruto's knuckles whitened. "I don't want to forget. I want the truth."
A shadow flickered at the window—a flash of color, a hint of a smile, gone before Naruto could focus. Sarutobi's eyes darted to the glass, then back to Naruto, his expression unreadable.
"Be careful what you look for, Naruto," the principal said softly. "In this town, the things you chase might just start chasing you."
Naruto stood abruptly, the chair scraping the floor. "You don't understand. You never did."
He stormed from the office, Sarutobi's final words following him like a curse: "Some stories never end. They just change faces."
Rain hammered the streets, turning the world into a blur of water and shadow. Naruto ran until his lungs burned, until the school was a distant memory and the only sound was the slap of his shoes against the pavement and the relentless, inhuman ticking in his ears.
He stopped beneath a flickering streetlamp, chest heaving, and the world seemed to tilt. The shadows on the sidewalk writhed and stretched, pooling at his feet, and from them rose the ghosts of his past—twisted, grotesque, more nightmare than memory.
The first couple, their skin waxy and sagging, eyes milky and unblinking, mouths fixed in silent screams. Maggots writhed in the hollows of their cheeks, crawling from empty sockets. "You let us die," they hissed, voices layered and echoing, as if spoken from the bottom of a well. "You were always the bad luck. The rot. The reason."
Naruto staggered back, shaking his head. "No—I was just a kid. I didn't do anything!"
The second pair emerged, their flesh charred and flaking, the stench of burnt hair and meat thick in the air. Their faces were melted masks, mouths opening and closing as if trying to scream. "You watched us burn," they rasped, tongues blackened, "and you did nothing. You ran. You always run."
Naruto's voice broke. "I tried—I tried to help! I called for help! I—"
A third couple crawled from the gutter, glass shards jutting from their necks, blood oozing down their chests in slow, syrupy rivers. Their movements were jerky, puppet-like, heads lolling at impossible angles. "You left us in pieces," they sang, their voices a discordant lullaby. "You're the curse, Naruto. You're the famine. The feast. The clown."
Naruto fell to his knees, hands pressed to his ears. "Stop! You're not real! You're not real!"
The ghosts closed in, their hands cold and wet, nails digging into his skin, leaving trails of blood and pus. "You can't run from us. You can't run from yourself."
Naruto sobbed, voice cracking with desperation. "Please—please, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to—please, just leave me alone!"
The first mother bent low, her breath rancid, her eyes hollow. "No one will remember you, Naruto. You'll be another story. Another warning. Another shadow in the dark."
Naruto lashed out, rage flaring. "I'm not like you! I'm not a monster! I'm not—"
But the ghosts only smiled, teeth falling from their mouths, faces splitting open to reveal endless, hungry darkness. "Aren't you?" they whispered, voices merging into the storm. "Aren't you?"
The rain fell harder, washing the world away. Naruto screamed, but the sound was swallowed by the night, by the ticking, by the stories that never ended.
And somewhere, just out of sight, a red balloon bobbed in the wind, waiting.
Rain fell in relentless sheets, drumming against empty streets and pooling in the gutters. The world was a blur of gray, broken only by the sickly orange glow of a distant streetlamp. Naruto stumbled through the downpour, soaked to the bone, shoes squelching with every step. The storm seemed to press in, muffling the world, making every shadow deeper, every sound sharper.
He didn't know how long he'd been running. His mind was a snarl of voices—ghostly accusations, the echo of a ticking clock, the memory of Sakura's laughter. He pressed his fists to his temples, trying to force the noise out, but it only grew louder.
A shape loomed ahead: the curb, a storm drain yawning wide, black and bottomless. The water rushed past, swirling and churning, the iron grate slick with moss and filth. Naruto slowed, chest heaving, drawn by something he couldn't name.
A voice drifted up from the darkness, smooth and inviting, almost musical.
"Lost, aren't we?"
Naruto froze. The voice was wrong—too cheerful, too knowing. It slithered into his ears, curling around his heart.
"Who's there?" he called, trying to sound braver than he felt.
A pale face emerged from the shadows behind the grate, painted lips curling into a smile. Pennywise. The clown's eyes gleamed yellow, reflecting the streetlight with inhuman hunger.
"Come closer, Naruto," Pennywise crooned, fingers curling around the bars. "I've got a surprise for you. Something you've been searching for… someone."
Naruto's breath caught. He took a hesitant step forward, the rain forgotten. "Sakura?" he whispered.
Pennywise's grin widened. "Oh, you remember her now, do you? Funny how memories come and go in this town. But you… You always cared, didn't you? Even when everyone else forgot."
Naruto's heart pounded. He wanted to run, but the promise of Sakura's name was a hook in his chest, reeling him in. He knelt on the curb, peering into the darkness. The stench of damp earth and rot wafted up, mingling with the coppery tang of old blood.
"Where is she?" he demanded, voice breaking. "What did you do to her?"
Pennywise's eyes sparkled. "She's right here, waiting for you. But first, a little game. You like games, don't you, Naruto? You always were the troublemaker. The one who never listened to warnings."
Naruto's fists clenched. "I'm not playing. Let me see her."
A laugh, soft and cold, echoed from the drain. "So impatient. But you should know, Sakura's always been afraid—afraid of water, afraid of the dark, afraid of that angry man who called himself her father. Jack and Jill, up the hill… but only one came back, didn't they?"
Naruto flinched, a memory surfacing—Sakura, trembling by the edge of the school pool, refusing to go in. Sakura, wincing at the sound of her father's voice. He shook his head, confused and desperate.
"Why are you doing this?" he pleaded.
Pennywise's smile never wavered. "Because you taste of guilt and hope. Because you remember. And because you're so very alone."
A shape shifted in the darkness behind the clown. At first, it was just a flicker—a glimmer of pink, a flash of white. Then, slowly, Sakura appeared. She crawled forward, squeezing through the bars, her body contorted, face pale and streaked with grime. Her eyes were wide, haunted.
"Naruto?" Her voice was small, trembling. "Is it really you?"
He choked on a sob, reaching for her. "Sakura! Where have you been? I've been looking for you for years! I thought I was going crazy—I started to forget, but then I remembered, I remembered everything—how did you get down there? Are you hurt? Are you—"
She shook her head, tears glistening on her cheeks. "I was so scared, Naruto. I tried to get away, but the water… the dark… I couldn't breathe. And Daddy—he was so angry. He said I ruined everything."
Naruto's heart broke. He tried to reach through the bars, but his hand met only cold iron.
"Come with me," she whispered. "It's safe down here. Pennywise promised. No more yelling, no more water, no more tight spaces. Just us."
He hesitated. Something was wrong. The air was too cold, the shadows too deep. Sakura's voice was too flat, her smile too wide. Her fingers gripped the bars, knuckles white, nails cracked and bleeding.
"Sakura… are you okay?" His voice was barely a whisper. "Are you… alive?"
She paused, head tilting. For a moment, her eyes flickered with something ancient and hungry.
"Of course I am," she said, but her voice was wrong—layered, echoing, as if two people were speaking at once. "Don't you want to be with me again? You're the only one who remembered. The only one who cared."
Naruto's vision blurred with tears. "I missed you. I missed you so much. Please, let me help you. Tell me what happened. Tell me how to save you."
Sakura smiled, but her lips split at the corners, skin peeling away to reveal rotting flesh beneath. Her eyes rolled back, showing only whites. Her body convulsed, bones cracking, limbs twisting at unnatural angles. The smell of decay flooded the air.
"Why didn't you save me?" she shrieked, voice rising to a piercing wail. "Why did you let me drown?"
Pennywise's laughter boomed, echoing down the street. "You see, Naruto? Even your memories betray you. Even your love rots in the dark."
Naruto screamed, stumbling back, but Sakura's arms shot through the bars, impossibly long, fingers clawing at his skin. Her touch was ice, burning and numbing all at once.
"You left me," she hissed, her face collapsing, hair falling out in clumps, teeth lengthening into jagged points. "You forgot me. You let me die."
He sobbed, fighting to break free, but the drain seemed to widen, swallowing the world. Shadows poured out, wrapping around his legs, dragging him closer.
Pennywise's face loomed, eyes spinning like clock hands. "Time's up, little mouse. Down here, everyone remembers. Down here, you'll never be alone again."
Without warning, the clown lunged, teeth sinking deep into Naruto's arm with a sickening crunch. Blood erupted, warm and sticky, soaking the pavement as Naruto screamed—a raw, primal sound swallowed by the storm. The pain was blinding, searing through his nerves, but worse was the cold dread settling in his bones.
Pennywise's voice slithered through the rain, soft and mocking. "Tick tock, Tick tock."
Naruto collapsed to the ground, clutching his severed arm, crimson pooling beneath him. The shadows twisted and danced, whispering his name, promising that the nightmare was only beginning.
As darkness edged his vision, the last thing he saw was Pennywise's smile—wide, eternal, and hungry.
The clock struck one. The world shattered.
And the rain kept falling.
Ah, still here, are you? How brave—or perhaps, how foolish. You've only glimpsed the first shadow on these pages, and already you tremble. But don't delude yourself: Naruto's tale is not yet finished. No, this is merely the beginning—a single tick in a clockwork of nightmares.
This book is no ordinary collection. Each story within these covers is a different beast, a new descent, a fresh wound. Some will chill, some will scar, and some may break those who dare to read them. Only the truly bold—or the truly lost—should turn the next page.
So steel your nerves, dear reader. The worst is yet to come. Naruto's darkness has one more part to play, and beyond him, other souls await their turn in the shadows. But beware: once you open this book, you may find the stories are reading you.
Are you ready? I think not. But the clock is ticking, and the tales are hungry.
Turn the page…if you dare.
Author's Note
Hey, it's been a long time since I last wrote anything, and for that I sincerely apologize. Life has a way of catching up to people, and I got swept up in the mess of it all. But I should be back—somewhat inconsistently, but a little more consistently now.
Let me answer some questions you may have after reading this chapter:
1. Why did your writing style change?
This is a question I asked myself as I was writing. I was trying to go for a certain style, which I hope I achieved. As I hinted in the story, each tale focusing on a different character will have a different writing style. Who knows? One story might be told completely by the narrator in a storybook, fairy-tale style. Another might be a murder mystery. But they're all interconnected and share an overarching world and story.
2. Why wasn't Pennywise in it more?
The idea for this story actually came from fairy tales and nursery rhymes, and my major misunderstanding of "Hickory Dickory Dock." For as long as I can remember, I thought the rhyme went:
Hickory Dickory Dock, the mouse ran up the clock. The clock struck one, the mouse was done. Hickory Dickory Dock.*
—not "ran down." The way I remembered it was always more menacing. So, as I was writing, I focused on the idea of a haunting book and an incessant ticking following the character to create unease. Then I thought, if I'm going to research scary stuff (which I don't even like!), I might as well incorporate other horror elements. I spent some time talking to people like Bones Boy 15 (shoutout to him!) to figure out which horror movie entity would best fit each character.
Part two of "Hickory Dickory Dock" will be a full-on Naruto vs. Pennywise story.* This chapter was meant to set up the decay of Naruto's mental state and provide some exposition.
3. Why did I barely use other characters?
Honestly, writing other characters is one of my weakest aspects as a writer. So, I decided to give each of the 12 kids their own story, similar to Naruto's, all interconnected. Some people may overcome their monster; some may become their monster. That's basically the whole thing.
4. Why do people not remember Sakura?
I based this town off of Derry from *IT*. In that story, the town has a weird effect of making people forget the longer they're there, and makes adults turn a blind eye to the suffering of children or the sick, because of a curse placed on it by Pennywise. I decided to use that as an overarching element.
But don't worry—not every character is going to have a Stephen King-style story or moment. I can only think of two: Naruto and Ino. Other horror movies will be incorporated—like *Hannibal Lecter, *Saw, *The Ring*—but different aspects of different horror movies will be used to create this world.
5. Who is the narrator?
The narrator is an actual character. (More on that later!)
6. How long do I see this story being?
It depends! I already have planned the next section of Naruto's story, Sakura's story (how she actually died), Sasuke's story, and a few others. The length of time it takes to release each part will depend on how familiar I am with the character. For example, I don't want Kiba's story to be just a generic werewolf story, so it may take a few months—or maybe just a few weeks. Not every chapter will be 10,000 words; some might be 1,000, because it's a short story.
Thank you so much for reading! If you made it all the way through, please leave a review or join my Discord server. It's a barren wasteland right now, but it would be fun to get things going there. On Discord, you'll be able to help dictate how stories go. I may ask, on occasion, what horror movie character you think fits best for a scenario, or even give spoilers if you ask for them.
And now, to leave you with a question to ponder:
Is sex with your clone incest?
Thanks again for reading, and I hope you'll stick around for the next chapter!
