A/n- We had to take a Fairy Tale and 'twist it'. This is the result.

Disclaimer: I don't own the original rhyme (first stanza). Does anyone?

The Clock Struck One

Hickory, dickory, dock!
The mouse ran up the clock;
The clock struck one,
The mouse ran down,
Hickory, dickory, dock!

But what about that clock?

Covered in chains and lock?

No wonder the mouse was there!

They’re simply everywhere,

Upon that old wood block.

It was such a strange thing, to hear the clock chime; I thought it had wound down years ago, when I was still a child. It took a considerably long time to remove all the boxes and things from atop it; peeling away the dusty layers of time. Indeed I do think I caught a glimpse of a soliary pink tale flit out from behind an old quilt. Gastly things.

“What are you doing?” I heard a voice call out from beyond the cellar steps, where the sunlight poured in and the air was freshest.

“I found something from a long time ago,” my voice was echoing all around me, “and I think it works, too!” A snort of either laughter of distain barely reached me. I pursed my lips, trying to keep the hem of yellow around my ankeles from dragging long turrents in the dirt.

With my fingers I pried the glass face off the time piece.

“If you don’t hurry up we’ll be late for tea; Margrette’s been awefuly gratious to wait for us, you know.”

“You’d think I’d get a little more smpathy from you seeing as these are the last reminants of my parents stored down here.”

He was silent now. He knew better than to argue with that, even if it had been seven years and the only reason we were just now at the old house was that this time it had been convnient. We had only come in town for the ceremony and had left straight after. “Margrette will have to wait,” I explained, “she’ll understand all right.”

Running my finers over the iron hands, I was surprised at how familiar it all felt to me. I had been eleven when I left for school, and I thought the absense might have destroyed my memories; a constant wave against such frail rock.

School…

That’s where I had met Price, in my tenth year, so long ago.

That’s where I had learned of my parents’ passing, at University, seven years past.

I heard Price outside upon the steps as he moved to peer down into the cellar. The afternoon light from behind him illuminated his white daysuit and blond head of hair with such brllience that I turned my back to him, instead trying to untangle the clock from the moore of its trappings.

“Are you quite sure you’re allright?” I noted the softness of his voice, as if he were apologising. “Good lord, what an antique! I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it….”

I grinned and looked back at him, fastening the glass plate back over the face.

“When we come back from Margreett’s we’ll open the house up, start going through it.”

“You sure?”

I watched the clock’s face tick by for a few seconds.

“Absolutly.”

A/n- The idea came from outta nowhere!