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The Sleepover That Wouldn't End
horrorEveryone5 contributors · 1 paragraphs deep
The clock blinked 7:02 a.m. again. Same gray light on the curtains, same five kids in the same sleeping bags, same syrup on the same five plates. The pancakes tasted like wet cardboard, just like before. Pip counted on her fingers. "Guys," she whispered, "this is the fourth morning. The fourth time. We keep starting over." Mara dropped her fork. "Okay. So how do we make it stop?"
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A possible continuation
"The clock," Pip said. "Every reset happens when it hits 7:02. Maybe if we mess with the clock, we mess with the loop." The five of them crowded around the little alarm clock on Mara's dresser. It hummed softly, way too warm to touch.
DH
Dov Hale
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