Naomi and Rose find an abandoned cabin:

Naomi choked the handle of the ax. She left the elation from moments before outside. Her fingers burned with cold as memories returned. She’d lost control of her brain when she let Rose’s tongue into her mouth that morning, and now it bounced from dark thought to dark thought.

“Our car broke down a few miles back.”

Naomi jumped at the sound of Rose’s voice.

“We just need shelter for the night.”

Naomi set her jaw. She wished Rose would shut up. The ax grew heavy in her hands as she breathed in the smell of rot and dust. A grandfather clock ticked in the living room, filling the house with an eerie echo, reminding her of hospital sounds. The rhythmic beat of a heart, the steady bleat of alarms. Naomi held her breath, willing the sound to go away. Something about the song felt wrong to her.

The building spoke through creaks and squeals under their boots, mimicking the squeak of air pulled through a closing throat. Disoriented, Naomi’s arm brushed against a pile of papers as she turned into the kitchen. They fluttered to the ground.

“What was that?” Rose’s voice pulled Naomi into the present. “Fuck, I thought someone was here.”

 If we aren’t alone. The hairs on Naomi’s arms stood, and intrusive images of ax wounds and blood splatter flashed before her eyes. She blinked them away and gritted her teeth against the clock's persistent clacking. They checked each room, Naomi counting every breath. Ice smacked against the windows. She imagined ghosts with child-sized hands throwing pebbles at the glass. They want to stone me.

“It looks like no one has lived here in a while.”

The women dropped their bags. They’d circled back to the room with the clock. Naomi studied its face. Her breath fogged the glass. It smelled of pine oil. “We should start a fire.”

Tick, tick, tick.

“Yeah, yeah. Fires are my specialty.” Rose blew into her hands.

“You’re a park ranger.”

“Which is why they’re my specialty.”

Naomi listened to Rose sort through the stack of firewood, flinching as they grated against the bricks of the hearth. She couldn’t pull her eyes away from that second hand as it tick, tick, ticked. And then she realized why. Grandfather clocks need to be wound up to work. Someone could have been here within the last week. “Do you need kindling?” Naomi sized up the clock, knowing what she needed to do.

“I could pull some off the wood I’ve got or . . .”

“I’ll make some.” The butt of the ax smacked into the clock. It crashed to the ground, glass and splinters flying. Children crying!

“Whoa!” Rose backed away.

Naomi brought the ax down twice more. Her heel found the gears revealed by her assault, and she stomped them into silence. Batteries scattered, but she couldn’t feel relief. The noise! It vibrated painfully in her ears, and she dropped the ax.

Rose folded her arms. “That scared me.”