Ola had an old clock with coloured hands on the shelf above her bed. One night it whispered to her and begged for help, but the room was already starting to wake up.
Ola kept a beautiful old clock on the shelf above her bed. Its hands were painted bright colours, and every day it ticked softly, as if it knew a secret. Before sleep, Ola liked to stare at it and wonder what it would say, if clocks could talk.
One night the moon lay silver on the window, and the trees outside murmured in the dark. Ola was almost asleep when she heard a tiny whisper.
"Ola. Ola, can you hear me?"
She opened her eyes. The room was still, except for the clock. Its little hands were shaking.
"I am your clock," it whispered. "Please help me. I have lost a magic spark inside my face, and it is hiding somewhere in your room. If we do not find it before morning, something very strange will happen."
Ola sat up so fast her pillow slid behind her.
Then, from under the window, a thin voice squeaked, "At last, someone noticed!"
A small buzzing sound answered from the desk.
Ola turned toward the shadows, and the shelf above her bed gave a quiet creak, as if the other things in her room were waking up too.