Only the ticking could be heard. The old grandfather clock, originally her mother's, stood as a leaning sentry in the upstairs hallway. Even as a child, she hated it. But the tick-tick seemed destined to follow her. After her husband's death and a severe stroke five years prior, Anita seemed bound for a nursing home.

Her granddaughter wouldn't hear of it, and placed her in a spare room. She could wheel herself into the hall, listening to the sounds of her great grandchildren fighting and arguing, sounds that irritated parents but provided a sense of calm to great grandparents. A sense that, it all goes on. Even as your life approaches an end, part of you, and those you love, lives on in these loud, little voices.

As a young woman, she found six hours per night optimal. As a woman in her early 80s, two seemed to do the trick. She found the quiet peaceful, or she would, if it wasn't for the tick-tick-tick of the clock. Her granddaughter seemed so proud to have found it in Anita's attic. Anita thought she threw it out years ago, but always melted when she saw her husband's smile and her mother's eye when her granddaughter's face lit up.

She heard the floor creak, followed by the sharp, staccato squeaks of her grand grandchild's bedroom door. The oldest was up. Lately, Anita often found Carla waking up in the night, wandering or as she would tell Anita, thinking.

"Ah, you're like me. You don't need it much, do ya?" Anita said. "Well, tell you what. What if this is our time, huh? Just me and you?"

Carla looked up and grinned, and for a moment Anita was a young woman looking into her daughter's face. She melted, of course.

She pulled herself out of bed and deposited herself into her chair. Anita came out of her room and called out in a loud whisper.

"Carla! Why don't you go grab us a snack and we can visit?"

She stopped. Turning her chair, she saw a tall figure outside her great granddaughter's room. The figure was in a black and white checkered shirt, green corduroy pants. Tall and wide, with skin that appeared waxy and yellow. The figure turned around.

"Who are you?" Anita cried.

The man put a finger to his lips. His eyes were black orbs, set far apart until they were nearly on the side of his face. His nose flat against his face, she could see pinhole nostrils. No hair, no eye lashes.

Carla's door opened wide and Carla walked out. She sniffed and rubbed her nose.

"Carla?" Anita asked. "What's happening. Who are you? Reggie!"

She called to Carla's father, but another man stepped out. In a dark suit with a blue tie. He wore dark leather gloves. He looked like a politician, like he was about to shake her hand and explain how his tax plan would float all their heads above water.

"They won't hear you," he said, his voice cheerful.

"Did you-," Anita stammered.

"No! They're sleeping. We make them sleep. But you don't sleep."

"Reggie!" Anita screamed. Carla kept her head down. The politician kept a hand on her shoulder and squeezed.

"Please. Don't wake them. That's not pleasant," he said.

"You're scared I'm going to upset them? What is going on here?" Anita started to wheel towards them. "Carla! Just run girl, run downstairs, quickly!"

"I can't," Carla said in a low voice, head down.

"Don't mistake my threat for an attempt at politeness," the man said, squeezing Carla's shoulder harder. "Carla is going with us, with the others. The great many chosen, the 726. She may be destined for great things, Anita. She's ready, aren't you, Carla?"

Carla nodded. Tears ran down her face.

Anita reached them, but the man simply put his foot on the front of her chair's seat and pushed her back with a slight kick. He whispered to Carla, and she headed downstairs slowly. He closed Carla's door. He looked at Anita and gently shook his head.

"How long do they think it will take them to notice you're gone when they're looking for her?" He asked.

He followed Carla downstairs. The other man, the one who kept his finger to his mouth the entire time, lowered his hand and walked slowly to her with deliberate steps. He lowered down on his haunches.

Anita found herself staring into marbles instead of eyes, dark orbs with no life. He smiled. But the smile wouldn't stop. The grin went up the side of his face, past his ears, almost to the top of his head. Small white needles started to protrude, as teeth bulged from his mouth in multiple rows.

Anita wasn't ready.