It’s hard to tell how large the room is when the walls, the floor, and the ceiling are the same bright white without shadow or depth. The only reason I can pinpoint the center of the room is the large stone creche at what is almost certainly the room’s core. It’s a dollhouse with one wall missing, the interior exposed. Inside is a single room that looks remarkably like the attic nursery we just left.

  In the center is a small, shivering cloth. The Doom Clock is not a full size grandfather clock. It is not the apocalypse that Nico implied. And it certainly can’t be the cheater that Wrath accused it of being.

  A grandfather clock? No. A grandson, maybe, is that even a thing? Barely as tall as my hand, it trembles at our approach. Nico said that the wrapping around it was carved out of marble, but this looks far more pliant. Heavy but movable— like a blanket covered in molasses. The binding around its waist, or where a waist would roughly be, is more like aged black twine.

  I can’t get the idea out of my head that it’s scared. Even though, as I look at it, I can still feel the massive, alien presence that was one of its eyes.Something more than a demon, more than a god. A cosmic principle that looked down on me as so far beneath it.

  “Don’t get any crazy ideas,” Nico says.

  I’m the crazy idea, but I don’t say it.The creche is near to the ground, so I lower myself down, sitting cross legged a foot or so away. I keep my voice soft and low, thinking of the way Wrath used to read me bedtime stories. “Hey, it’s okay.”

  The cloth shakes, hiding behind a covered table where it peaks out at me hesitantly. I’m not blind to the greater truth here, that I’ve never been in more danger in my life. That either of us, or both of us, could be wiped from the cosmos with an errant thought of this being, this entity. But it feels more normal in a way than I could ever explain to Nico. This is Morecroft Manor - Hollow Hills - in a nutshell. And in that reality I am the most comfortable I have ever been.

  “You’re good,” I say, but I don’t even know if that’s true. The creature seems hesitant. Untrusting.

  It’s not what you think.

  It’s not a Doom Clock. At least it’s not just a Doom Clock — it’s a child, a fingernail, a lost hair. Was it like this when my parents stole it away from The Order?Did they even know what they were stealing?

  “Hey, it’s okay,” I repeat. “I can’t harm you.”

  “What are you doing? It’s—” But even now, Nico’s voice wavers, and he doesn’t know how to finish.

  It occurs to me that this could be one of those creatures that can read your thoughts, and bring your darkest nightmares to life.If that’s the case, I spend a long moment summoning that nightmare of Panic! At the Necropolis playing me off at graduation, and I’m in my underwear.

  Nothing happens. Pity.

  “I think it’s cute,” I say, and I’m rewarded by a slight increase in the ripples running along the Doom Clock’s edges. I’m even starting to believe it a little. Was this the same Doom Clock that caused aftershocks to barrel through the Manor all afternoon? This tiny little creature?

  Even Wrath made it sound like something manipulative and dangerous. He made it sound like something hostile but what’s now in front of me looks gentle, unassuming — designed to be.Wrath used to tell me stories about the Breaking of the Garden at the center of Hell.How old entities crossed over in the form of apocalypses.World ending organisms.

  I hold my hand gently to one side and let the Doom Clock react in the same way one might let a rabid dog come to them. It takes some time at first, it’s not instinctively trusting, but it feels me out slowly at first. It’s edges ripple like a nose testing the air before it inches closer.

  “Hi there, little one. I’m Theo. This is Nico.”

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  A muscle in my index finger spasms, causing it to jerk, and the sudden twitch is enough to send the Doom Clock scurrying backwards and hiding behind a miniature baby carriage. It lets out a sound like something keeping time during the Big Bang as galaxies exploded outward.

  “Just a little twitch.”

  The Doom Clock bristles as though it’s gathering it’s courage, and then it steps out from behind the carriage again, creeping towards my hand. It’s maybe five inches tall and a couple of inches at the base, but it is so fragile. The dominating presence that looked out of its eyes doesn’t seem to be there now.

  One of the corners of the cloth lifts up like an arm and touches my finger. The cloth is sleep-warm and it curls around my finger like a baby’s hand, but heavy like it could pull entire planets into its orbit. The Doom Clock makes a rapid ticking sound that gives the impression of a giggle.The longer it goes, though, the giggle becomes something more menacing, echoed deep below us as though a call and response.

  Even hidden away, I can still feel the threat of it, how easily it could destroy me. “I like it,” I say to Nico.

  The ticking sound continues, and the Doom Clock nuzzles against my finger, then pushes itself underneath until my whole hand rests on top of it. I rub my thumb along its flank. “Do you have a name?”

  “It’s not what I thought it would be. It’s…” Nico struggles for a word, and I understand that there are so many that could apply.Tiny. Auspicious. Inevitable. “Alive.”

  Before long he’s pulled up a spot on the floor next to me, watching the Doom Clock relax under my hand. “Are we going to talk about the fact that it’s alive? Are any of the other Doom Clocks?”

  “Maybe that’s why The Order took it,” I muse. “Or this one they got on clearance at HomeDespair.”

  He scoffs, and the Doom Clock makes a sleepy sound of irritation like an hourly gong interrupted partway through its swing.

  “You admitted you don’t know much about them, either,” I point out. ‘This could be perfectly normal.” The Doom Clock stretches and leans upward, and though it’s covered by a cloth, I feel its gaze.

  “How come you were making all that noise?”

  The Doom Clock peers up at me, and then lays back down. It stretches really big, covering its “mouth” with the cloth, and then looking around quickly before climbing to its feet. It scurries around the creche, clearly looking for something or someone before it sits down, head drooping, and covers its eyes with the cloth and pantomiming sobs.

  “You woke up, and you were alone?” I ask, and it nods quickly, looking back up at me. “I bet that was scary, huh?” Even more frantic nods.

  Nico humphs at my side, but leans in closer. “So you weren’t trying to threaten us? You were just scared?”

  The Doom Clock nods again. It ducks around my hand, hiding behind it, and peers out at Nico.

  “It’s the size of a kitten,” he says under his breath, disgusted. “How could something like this cause the end of the world.”

  “It’s cute,” I agree, and he grunts again. It’s fooling him. He’s reconsidering everything he knows about it.I can hold two ideas in my mind at the same time.It can be cute and deadly.The most dangerous plants in the garden are often the most beautiful.Just because we haven’t seen thorns doesn’t mean they’re not there.

  I drop my hand down, and let the Doom Clock climb on top of it, and then I slowly pull it towards me. “How would you like to go back up into the house with Nico and I?” The Doom Clock trills in chimes and then nuzzles itself against my chest. “But we’re going to have to give you a name.”

  “Very affectionate, isn’t he?”

  This tiny little apocalypse not having a name is just awful. Wait. “How about Pox?” I glance at Nico. “Short for Apocalypse.”

  The Doom Clock jumps up and down, nearly tumbling out of my hands before I swarm my arms down and around to keep him safe.

  “I think he likes it,” Nico says. Pox allows this, though he seems to squint up at Nico suspiciously.

  “You’re very expressive,” I laugh. “That’s a good boy,” I cheer him on. Nico favors him with a rare, open smile that instantly manages to disperse the tension in the room. How he does it, I don’t understand. Going from generally grumpy and a face meant for scowling into someone who smiles and can change the whole mood of a room.

  I wish I could do something like that.

  “So you’re going to take care of him?” he asks, and I realize that he’s talking to me now.

  “Yeah, if we ever get out of here.”

  “I don’t think he’s a pet,” Nico says reluctantly.

  “Pet or not, he doesn’t deserve to be left down here all alone.” Something in my chest reacts, pulling tighter.“You don’t abandon the things you’re supposed to care about.Someone needs to look out for him.So yeah, I’ll do it. ”

  Nico sighs, like he lost the argument and doesn’t know how to continue.But I don’t think he really feels like he lost.Pox has charmed him.He likes the idea of him, even though he doesn’t understand it.“Now we just need to find a way out of here.”

  Pox makes a chiming sound again, and one of his cloth arms points. As though it was always there, a door sits in a newly formed shadow at the corner of the room with a flickering EXIT sign above it in big, bold letters.

  “I think I hate your house,” Nico says with a weariness I completely understand.

  The EXIT sign comforts me even less. This isn’t the Manor giving us pass to leave. It’s Pox, or the entity behind him. I look down at the little Doom Clock creature, an apocalypse turned pet. What am I going to do with you? I wonder. More importantly, what are you going to do with me?