⏱ ~4 min reading
Severyn spent the night at his grandfather's for the first time this winter. Grandma had made him a cot in the living room, next to the stove, which was still warm from dinner. In the corner of the living room stood an old grandfather clock—tall as a cupboard, with a carved top and a round pendulum that glimmered gently in the darkness.
Grandpa adjusted Severyn's blanket, turned off the chandelier, and went to bed. Only the nightlight in the shape of a yellow star remained.
Severyn lay there listening to the silence. At first, everything was as usual—all he could hear was a quiet ticking: tick-tock, tick-tock. The boy was already beginning to fall asleep when he suddenly noticed something strange.
The clock was ticking unevenly.
It was tick-tock-tock. Then tick-tock. Then three quick ticks: tick-tock-tock — and a long pause. And then another long tick… yuck. As if someone inside wasn’t measuring time, but tapping out some pattern.
Severyn sat down on the cot. Sleep had vanished in an instant. The ticking became even more bizarre—sometimes it would disappear almost completely, then it would emerge with two short knocks and one long one. The boy thought that something was moving in the corner, in the dark case of the clock.
He pulled the blanket up to his chin. A young moon peeked through the window. The old wooden floor creaked by itself, and Severyn jumped in surprise. Then he took a deep breath and said to himself: 'I'm a big boy. I'm seven years old. I'm not afraid of clocks.'‘
He stood up, took the yellow star-nightlight by the tail, and cautiously approached the clock. His nose was chilled by the cool scent of old varnish. The pendulum swung smoothly, smoothly—back and forth, back and forth. And the ticking inside was dancing a strange dance.
Severyn listened carefully, carefully. And suddenly… he understood. It was a melody. A familiar one. The same one that his grandmother had once sung to him when he was very little.
"Sleep, my darling, sleep..." Severyn whispered in rhythm with the clinking.
And the clock seemed to rejoice. The ticking became louder, more cheerful, as if falling into the melody of a lullaby.
Then the lower door of the clock, which usually hid the weights, quietly opened by itself. A soft golden light poured in from within. Severyn knelt down and peered in.
Inside, among the copper gears and shiny chains, sat a very tiny man. No bigger than Severyn's finger. He was made of the smallest wheels, springs, and cogs, he had a hat made of a thimble on his head, and in his hands was a tiny harp made of thin strings.
The little man raised his head, saw Severyn, and bowed politely.
"Good evening, sir," he said in a voice like the tinkling of a teaspoon. "I'm Master Tsok. Didn't your grandfather mention me?"
"N-no," Severyn muttered.
"Well, he forgot himself," sighed Master Tsok. "I've been living in this clock since a watchmaker in Lviv made it, a long time ago. During the day I just count the hours. And at night, when everyone in the house is asleep, I take out my harp and play a lullaby—to everyone who lives in this house.".
"So, you're playing the cuckoo?" Severyn was surprised.
"Of course," the little man nodded. "People are just used to hearing 'tick-tock' and don't notice the melody. And you heard it. Well done.".
"Why are you playing my grandmother's lullaby?"
"Because you're here today," Master Tsok smiled. "I always play my guests what they love most. When your father sleeps here, I play the melody that his grandfather sang to him. When your grandfather sleeps, I play the melody that his mother sang to him. And so it goes, from generation to generation. I know all the lullabies in this house.".
Severyn sat down directly on the carpet in front of the clock.
"Can I listen to it again?"
"You can," Master Tsok nodded. "Just lie down in the crib first. Lullabies are listened to from under the covers, otherwise they don't work.".
Severyn obediently returned to the cot, pulled the blanket up to his nose, and closed his eyes. The clock door quietly closed, the golden light disappeared. But the ticking now sounded completely different—like a real, quiet song.
In the morning Severyn told his grandfather everything. Grandfather was silent for a long time, stroking his beard. Then he winked and said:
"And I thought I would dream someday that there was a little musician living in our clock. It turns out I didn't dream.".
✨ If you listen carefully, you can hear music in ordinary sounds ✨