Something Ticking in the Hall

Gil worked at the school for eleven years. On exam mornings, he did the same things in the same order.

He arrived at six. He opened the big maths room. He moved thirty desks into six straight rows.

He put a number on each desk. He counted the pencils in the cupboard. He cleaned the board until it shone.

Last, he walked along the lockers in the hall. There were thirteen of them, all painted green. He touched each door with one finger.

Locker thirteen was always the last one. Its door was bent, and its lock was broken. Nobody used it. Students joked about it. They said thirteen was a bad number.

Gil pushed that door twice and walked away. It was his small habit. It made the morning feel safe.

On this morning, the door did not move.

Gil stopped. He pushed again. The door stayed shut. A new silver lock hung on it. It had four small wheels with numbers.

Then he heard a sound. Tick, tick, tick. It was soft and steady, like a small clock.

"That is strange," he said to the empty hall.

He bent down and put his ear to the door. The ticking was clear now. It came from inside the locker.

He looked at his watch. It was six forty. The students arrived at eight. He did not know the number for the new lock.

Gil went to the office and looked in the key drawer. There was no key and no number. He came back and tried some numbers: his birthday, the school phone. Nothing happened.

He told himself to stay calm. It was only a locker. Maybe someone played a joke. People did silly things before exams.

At seven thirty, a woman came through the front door. She was about forty. She held a plastic folder. Her hands shook a little.

"Is this the maths exam?" she asked.

"Yes," said Gil. "You are early."

"I am always early when I am afraid," she said. "My name is Laila."

She told him she studied in the evening course. She left school at sixteen. Now she wanted a better job at the bank. This was her third try at the exam.

"I hope this time is lucky," Gil said. Then he felt silly. It was not much to say.

Laila smiled anyway. She took a paper from her folder. "A letter came yesterday," she said. "It tells me to put my bag in locker thirteen."

Gil stared at her. "Locker thirteen is broken," he said. "The school did not send that letter."

"It has a number on it," said Laila. "One, nine, four, two."

They walked to the hall together. The ticking went on. Laila heard it too. Her eyes grew wide.

"Is that normal?" she asked.

"No," said Gil. "Nothing about this morning is normal."

He turned the small silver wheels. One, nine, four, two. The lock opened with a click.

Gil pulled the door. It opened easily, with no noise at all. That was the strangest part. For eleven years, that door always screamed.

Inside stood an old brass clock. It sat on a folded blue cloth. Its hands showed seven forty. It ticked loudly in the small, dark space.

Nothing else was there. There was no note and no name.

"Who put this here?" Laila whispered.

"I do not know," said Gil. "But the letter is yours. So your bag goes in."

Laila put her bag next to the clock. "It feels like a lucky charm," she said, with a weak laugh.

Gil did not answer. He closed the door. The lock stayed open in his hand. He put it in his pocket.

At eight, the students came in. They sat at the numbered desks. Gil gave out the papers. He checked the big clock on the wall. The exam lasted two hours.

Laila sat in row three. For the first ten minutes, she did not write anything. She chewed her pen and looked at the page. Gil stood at the back and watched her.

Then something changed. She took a breath, bent her head, and began to write. Her pen moved slowly at first. Then it moved fast.

Gil let his shoulders drop. He did not know why it mattered so much to him. He did not even know her.

At nine, a young man dropped his pencil. The sound was loud in the silent room. Everyone looked up for a second. Then they went back to work.

At twenty to ten, Gil walked quietly into the hall. He needed to know if the ticking was still there. He stood by locker thirteen and listened.

It was there. Tick, tick, tick. It sounded closer than before. It sounded almost like a heart.

He went back into the room and checked the wall clock. Twenty minutes left. He walked along the rows and said nothing.

At ten o'clock, he called, "Pens down, please."

Papers moved. Chairs scraped. People stood up and stretched their arms. Some of them laughed in a tired way. Some of them walked out fast.

Laila gave him her paper. Her face looked calm.

"I knew most of them," she said. "I really did."

"Good," said Gil. "Come. Let us get your bag."

They went to the hall. The ticking was gone. The silence was so complete that both of them stopped walking.

Gil opened the door. It was the old door again, loud and bent. It screamed as it always did.

The brass clock sat on the blue cloth. Its hands showed ten o'clock. It did not tick at all.

Laila took her bag. She looked at the clock for a long time. "Thank you," she said, but she did not say to whom.

She walked out of the school and into the bright morning. Gil watched her go.

Then he went back to the hall. He picked up the clock. It was warm, like a cup of coffee. He turned it over in his hands. He found no name on it.

He put it back on the cloth. He closed the door, and it did not scream. He stood very still and listened.

Tick.

It started again, though nobody touched it. Gil did not put the lock back on. He stood in the empty hall and listened a little longer.