The Clock’s Secret
Suddenly, the house shivered as the lights sputtered out, plunging us into black.
A gasp cracked the silence; Aunt Margaret’s voice, sharp and startled, cut through the darkness, “What’s that behind the clock?”
She felt the wooden frame, fingers tracing the grain until they snagged on a hidden latch.
She pulled, and the wall yielded a concealed panel, a narrow opening just large enough to glimpse a steel‑clad safe.
Her breath hitched, “There’s a safe here—who would hide a safe in a funeral home?”
Continue on the next page:
