The bell rings for death high up in the rafters of the forbidden chapel. Its wooden beams ache with age that one can hear them screech in the depths of the night. Every hour, one minute past, the bell rings its dreadful sound. And each time the bell rings, I shiver. I know that someone else has died. It was almost like the town was cursed and each hour we lost someone else, exactly one minute past. And the haunting chime shook anyone to their very soul who heard the sound. They were not the one to die this hour.
About the Creator
P. Coyne
I like to use writing as an outlet for feelings and creativity. I hope you enjoy what you find and find a reason to stay!!
My Island Dream
I sit in the beach lounge chair, enjoying the sparkling, crystal blue water of the ocean in front of me. Though the waves were inviting me to dive into them, I opted to sit in the chair. Sunbathing suited me better than swimming in the ocean. The waves gently caress the shores; the breeze whispering in my ears.
By Iris Harris6 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.