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As Halloween’s end approached, the tiny village of St Egbert’s collectively shivered. Nobody knew who rang the church bell – everyone was past caring anyway, trusting in prayer instead.
Each year at midnight, the bell struck twelve then continued, fifteen, perhaps sixteen strikes, each extra stroke representing a soul taken. Those hearing the bells ring were safe for another year, otherwise...
This year was a bad one. Neither Mrs Clancy nor Jim Pearce heard bells. Bess Merryweather’s cancer finally claimed her, too. But losing the two Dempsey boys, speeding on the back road in their parents’ car, that was too much.
Each year at midnight, the bell struck twelve then continued, fifteen, perhaps sixteen strikes, each extra stroke representing a soul taken. Those hearing the bells ring were safe for another year, otherwise...
This year was a bad one. Neither Mrs Clancy nor Jim Pearce heard bells. Bess Merryweather’s cancer finally claimed her, too. But losing the two Dempsey boys, speeding on the back road in their parents’ car, that was too much.
