The Chimes Of The Phantom Bells

I had been travelling in carriage, from the narrow and solitary patch of road covered in snow that was between Bedford and Luton in the South Midlands of England, leading to the small village of Clophill. It was a cold and wintry day at the end of November in the year of 1845, when I had arrived. There, I was to meet a certain rector by the name of Father Allbrook, who was in charge of the church of St Mary that was located in the centre of the village.

It was my first visit to this village in years, ever since my sister had last invited me. My recollection of the village was that it was mostly fain and quaint. I had come to Clophill to assist the funeral of my deceased sister Stellina, who had mysteriously died. Her cause of death was declared a suicide, brought upon by major bouts of depression.

I who knew my sister well was not convinced that she was depressed, as diagnosed. Therefore, I had come to investigate the matter in person on behalf of the family. My name is Julian Madison. Alfred my sister's widower was the only person that had witnessed her untimely death. At the moment I could not speak to him, since he was inconsolable and dramatically still affected by her death.

For that reason, I sought the only other person that she had confided in and that knew her in depth, Father Allbrook. He was an elderly man short in stature, but he was a noble man in his demeanour. He had a noticeable gait in his step that was very conspicuous. He shook my hand in a firm clasp.

It was not my intention to take much of his time, with my enquiry. When I spoke to him, he was receptive to my questions and had offered his sincere condolences to me and the family. I was very eager to hear what he could disclose. He was in the aisle of the church near a pew, preparing for mass service.

In his words he had told me that my beloved sister had confided in him her most intimate details. At first, I thought that it was a bit queer, but after further deliberation, I had realised that my sister was a god-fearing Christian woman. I wanted to know specifically, everything he could tell me about her behaviour. I did not wish to discuss the supposed illness of madness that she was believed to have suffered its ill effects. Instead, I had concentrated on knowing about his knowledge of her public and private life.

Had she been active before the arrival of her death? Had she been attending church lately? Had she notified the rector, about any personal problems? There was so much mystery and too little information that I could glean based on the facts exposed.

Father Albrook had given me a silver crucifix that my sister had given to him, a week before her passing. When I had asked about the reason that she had given him the crucifix, he merely answered by saying, she wanted him to bless it for her. Unfortunately, that was the end of the story. She had died before he could bless it and return it to her. There was something powerful and inexplicable that must have occurred, for my sister to make such request.

Stellina was always conscious of the fact that the church was her special sanctuary. If she had been depressed, then why did she not confide this hidden illness to any member of the family, including myself? This was simply an enigma bethought that would require time to solve its complexity and nature.

I had abated the conversation with Father Allbrook and exited the church, still bemused by the whole ordeal and realisation that I had a lot to uncover, in order to discover the truth about my sister's death. I was told as a child there are things left best to ponder alone, and other things that will remain forever a mystery.

The irony in that statement was that I could not remain indifferent to its cruelty. I was six years older than my sister, but we had become estranged, due to the distance of our homes. I lived in the bustling city of London and she in the tiny hamlet of Clophill.

She was fond of her mundane life in Clophill, and she had often mentioned to me, how she enjoyed the pacific nature of the village and the days of yore. I could imagine the soothing sense of the vim and verve of the countryside. As I stood outside reflecting in my thoughts, I had noticed the unique architecture of the ancient church and its structure. It was approximately 650 years old in time. The original church had been built in the year 1350.

It had a churchyard that had a common legend that professed that the churchyard was known to have body snatchers. I was one to not be influenced, by an idle gabber. The church had a nave, with a chancel and galleries. It also had a chapel, a lych gate and two bells attached to the belfry. It was built directly at the crest of the Greensand Ridge, offering incredible views over the encompassing countryside. Its sombre graveyard was submerged in the snow, and only the headstones could be seen from my view.

The church was built of coarse ironstone rubble, with ashlar dressings. It had two-light windows of the belfry, with arches and nave walls. I was offered a room at the rectory, during my stay in the village. Clophill was only a small village and had a civil parish on the north bank of the River Flit in Bedfordshire England. There was not much one could do there as a stranger, except gaze at the extensive countryside that was covered at that moment in snow and ice.

It was indeed different than London as I have mentioned before, but after looking at its entirety, it did offer the casual visitor an insight, into what the English countryside had represented in its images. Stellina once had told me that life was simplier in the countryside than in the city. She had preferred the sith of gaiety over the sith of sorrow and suffering. I had preferred the bustle of the city than the monotony of the village. It was sheer circumstance that upon my cogitation that I had begun to doubt that belief. Perhaps, I was becoming more optimistic than pessimistic.

At the rectory, Father Allbrook had prepared my room for my stay. I had planned on staying in Clophill for only a pair of days and return to London afterwards. That was my original plan, but it would be altered suddenly, by the unfolding events that would transcend the comprehension of mortals.

I had been prevalent to the stories of the supernatural as a child, yet what would befall would have no logical explication. As a man of reason and logic, it would challenge my perspicacity and knowledge. There are things that occur in this world of the living that conflict with the past and must co-exist with the dead. I do not know, whether immortals exist in the common sense. What I do believe is that immortality is a realm that few ever traverse and live to tell their tale.

The night was quiet and sober. The eerie sounds of a wintry wind howling had reached my window. I had spent the time attempting to sleep, but I was awakened during the night with a terrible nightmare and a loud clangour that was coming from the bell of the belfry.

The nightmare had awakened me in a deep sweat, and the noise had compounded my consternation. I had not expected to hear bells ringing at night so late. Once I regained my faculties, I had realised that I was not living in London, but in the simplicity of a village. After several minutes, I was able to sleep some necessary hours that I had lost, during the trip to the village.

In the morning after breakfast, I had left early to speak to my brother-in-law Alfred. I was expecting that he was capable of assisting the funeral and speaking to me, at last. Once at his residence, I found him still vividly shaken and afflicted with the death of Stellina. I could perceive this clearly in his eyes and tone of voice. I was grateful that he had gradually demonstrated his composure, amidst the great tragedy.

I had offered my assistance in the planning of the funeral and the support of the family. I did not have to ask him about Stellina's death for him to speak about it. He had a lingering and daunting guilt in him that I had intuited. The question was, what was the guilt, and how much of it was he willing to bear?

I desisted in my questions for the nonce, until the funeral had passed. I did not see the need to insist on depressing him at that moment, or his waning condition. The funeral was to take place on the same day. It would be the first time that I would actually see my dearest sister anew. I had prepared myself for that tristful encounter.

There was a mass at the church planned for her, and only a selected few had attended in person. It was intended to be a private mass and funeral. I was the lone representative of her family. I was not only Stellina's sibling, she had a sister that was living in Scotland, but was unable to attend because of illness.

Our parents had both been deceased for twenty years. They had perished to a sickening fever. I had cringed in utter sadness, when I saw her once beautiful face languished in a hoary pallor. I was shocked to see her in this horrendous state of a condition.

Her locks of brunescent hair were dried, by the hardened specks of the cold. Her body was stiff and rigid, like the ice amassed outside. Her long, white gown was ruffled at the seams. It was that pulchritude that I had once admired. Whatever had caused her irrepressible depression was shown, in her listless countenance.

Poor Alfred, he had been unable to control his inner emotions and wept overtly. Stellina's death was still fresh in his mind and heart. I could plainly sense his pain, his anguish palpably, and I had comforted him, in his hour of commiseration.

At the cemetery, we had bid farewell to Stellina, placing dirt over her wooden coffin draped, with the array of colourful blooms that were her favourite. Then I had watched how her coffin was being lowered into the ground by the sexton, and the soil had embraced her mortal quintessence. It was difficult to bear such a gloomy event, and there were no actual words that could comfort the soul.

I suppose that in death, we achieve some measure of tranquility. Little by little, the few guests that attended had dispersed and only Alfred and I were the last standing. I had thanked Father Allbrook for the sermon given at the cemetery and he had allowed us to stay a bit longer at the gravesite to mourn.

It was there at the solemn gravesite that Alfred had begun to murmur, then mumble words that I did not distinguish much. It had seemed that he was speaking directly to his deceased wife. I did not want to pry in his private moment with Stellina, but I was interested in knowing what he was saying to her.

As I got closer, I could only understand what I had interpret to mean pity. He was asking for forgiveness and for Stellina to not forsake him in abandonment. The rest was incoherent and indistinguishable. It was eldritch in nature to me the mystery of her passing and the unknown veracity that led to her death. There was something eerie that I had not yet uncovered.

Once we had departed the ground of the calmant cemetery, I escorted Alfred back to his residence. I did not want to leave him alone in his melancholy and ineluctable despondency. His plaintive expression on his face was of a man that had deeply loved his wife. I did not know much about his relation with Stellina. He was a very private man and did not reveal much, about his personal life and marriage.

We sat down in the room near the fireplace. One could hear the crackling of the wood. There we had discussed at length, the funeral and his state of mind. He had talked about Stellina, with such a reverence that had emoted a genuine affection, but as we continued the conversation, I did perceive that there was anger in him, as he had clutched his fist. It was a unique side of him that I did not know nor had seen erstwhile.

What had caused this sudden anger in him I had pondered? Was it a lack of helplessness or his inability to have saved Stellina? I was not certain, if it was impotence or merely a troubling sign of fault. Whatever it was in nature, it was chewing at him within the core of his soul. I was worried that he would go mad if left unattended. I had suggested that he come with me to London for a week to distract himself, but he was adamant that he would not leave Clophill or Stellina.

I had tried to convince him that it was better for his sake to not hark on the tragedy of her death. He was not receptive to my suggestion. He began to then talk about her death to me, and what he would divulge would be disturbing in nature. Once we had discussed the details of her death, the more morbid, were the words he uttered. In his words, he described the weeks that led to her supposed suicide. He had told me that Stellina had been dejected ever since she had received the tidings that she had lost her pregnancy.

I was not aware that she was pregnant at the time. He proceeded to disclose more information. Ever since that day she was told, she had spiralled into a profound depression that she would never overcome and it would ultimately take her life unnecessarily.

I was not expecting to hear such drastic events, or the deteriorating state of mind of my sister. I had always known her to be very winsome and spry in her personality, not gorgonised. Judging from his reaction, he was not pleased with the miscarriage. This did not concern me at first, until I had observed in his comportment that this had tremendously incited his discontent. I wanted to know, what had betided on the day of her death.

When I had enquired, he did not attempt to ignore the question. Instead, what he had declared to me was not rational I had felt. He said that he had been sleeping in his room, when he was awakened by the strepent clangour from the bells of the belfry of the church.

It was ironic that these were the same bells that had awakened me as well. The worse of the story was yet to come. He then made the reluctant disclosure that I had dreaded to hear, her suicide. He would discover then that Stellina had not been in their bed and that she was gone. He had searched in every place for her presence, but he could not locate her.

It was not until he heard a knocking on his front door. It was Father Allbrook. He had come to inform him that Stellina was found hanging in the belfry. I had not heard about these lurid details until he had revealed them to me. I was astonished by his story, and I was in utter disbelief.

If this was true, then it would explain her suicide, yet if not, then who had placed her body up in the belfry and had murdered her? According to the version of my brother-in-law, this would imply that she indeed had taken her life in vain. I left his residence after we had ended our conversation and headed back towards the rectory to speak with Father Allbrook. I needed to confirm this version of this account and know what he knew about this apparent suicide.

When I found him in the church, he was seated in one of the pews praying. I had waited for him to finish, then I spoke to him about the matter that had brought me to the church. He would confirm to me that my sister's body was found exactly, as my brother-in-law had explained.

There was one significant thing that was not yet confirmed by the authorities, and that was the event that had led to the circumstances of her death. It was not proven whether or not she had been strangled before, or that she had leapt from the belfry with a rope around her neck. This would lead to my own investigation.

I had left Father Allbrook to tend inside to his clerical duties at the church. I had stepped outside to examine the belfry. It was cold and there was snow on the ground. I wanted to know from all the angles of the church, if it was possible that my sister could have slipped, whilst attempting suicide or had she been so waped by her miscarriage that she ultimately committed the act of suicide by wrapping a rope around her neck. From my position below, it was impossible to be accurate.

Thus, I reentered the church and had requested permission from Father Allbrook about climbing the stairway that led to the belfry above. He had no objection and had allowed me to reach the tower. At the tower, I began to ponder in my mind the scenario surrounding the death of my sister Stellina. Either scenario that was mentioned was feasible and could not be easily disregarded. I had wanted to belief that she did not take her life from a misgiving, yet there was no solid evidence discovered before that could corroborate my suspicion.

I had to be conformed with the notion that she had died somehow at the belfry, due to the lingering effects of her dispiriting resignation of life. Still deep down, I was not convinced that she had committed suicide. Slowly, I would learn the truth and the whole story about her death. I had made it a mission of mine to uncover all the precise facts.

As I was leaving the church, a stranger had approached me. He had identified himself, as Charles Wingrave and had addressed me as Mr Madison. He was the caretaker of the church that had tended to its menial tasks and toils. I had no idea what he had wanted to discuss with me, but it was about the death of my sister.

I was interested in knowing what he had known about her death. He had told me that Stellina had been arguing on that day with her husband. They were both coming outside of the church, when she had suddenly reentered. There was no mass during that time, or was Father Allbrook present inside the church. He then proceeded to tell me that Stellina had rushed up the stairway on to the belfry. Her husband had pursued her, yelling at her to come down.

When she did not, he climbed to get her. There was a struggle and the next thing that he saw afterwards was the listless body of my sister hanging from the belfry. That was all he could relate to me. I was horrified by his claim, and I did not know whether or not he was telling me the truth. Even though it had seemed obvious that the culprit to the death of Stellina was her beloved husband Alfred, I did not have enough evidence to report him nor accept it, as the basis of a factual account.

After all, the struggle did not implicate that my brother-in-law had murdered my sister. It only suggested that he was there when she had died. I had thanked the caretaker Mr Wingrave for his information and testimony. My immediate thought was to confront Alfred about what the caretaker had shared with me. When I reached his home, he was nowhere to be found. He had left the village.

I had reported him missing to the local authorities. There was not enough evidence accrued by me to report his possible crime at the church. Whilst I had allowed the authorities to do their diligence, I returned to the church to speak to Father Allbrook. He was not there.

He was back at the rectory. I went there and spoke to him about what the caretaker had revealed to me, concerning the struggle between my sister and her husband Alfred. He was at first, surprised about what I had told him had happened. Then, he disclosed something about Alfred that I was not prevalent to its importance. He had mentioned to me that Alfred my beloved brother-in-law had asked for a divorce. He was seeking to annul his marriage.

This perhaps was the main factor that had contributed to her death, and it was not the mere circumstance of her tragic miscarriage. A gentleman by the name of Mr Addlington, a banker had approached me. He wanted to speak in privacy with me, about an issue that I was not notified.

Unbeknownst to me, Alfred had amassed a large debt to his creditors and had forged false letters of accreditation and promissory notes. He had been swindling money that had not pertained to him. He did not reveal to me the exact amount, but it was a considerable sum. He had enquired, where he could be located? Naturally, I had told him, I did not know his whereabouts. I had mentioned to him that I too, including the police were searching for him. Alfred had left, without telling anyone from the village. I had wondered, whether or not Stellina was aware of his irresponsible debts and affairs.

That night, I had rolled in my bed side to side haunted with the dretching nightmare of seeing my sister hanging from the belfry, and seeing her wander then, amidst the fallen snowflakes of the adjacent church grounds. The nightmare was too intense that it awoke me from my sleep, within rapid chills.

Once more the bells of the belfry had rung. This time it was more of echoic chimes than obstreperous clanging. The wind began to howl from outside of my window, causing my shutters to open. When I tried to close them, I saw outside the inimitable guise of my sister Stellina dressed, in the same gown and manner that she was interred at the cemetery. Was it her apparition I had descried? Was it a nocturnal hallucination I had witnessed unannouncedly? She had emerged through the mist of clouds and obtenebration.

The howling wind had not permitted me to open the window, even though my desire was to see her more clearly. The dauntless apparition in its seeming was convincing, but I did not know if it was authentic in its actual embodiment. Her eyes were devoid of any natural colour reflected, for they were blanched. Her stare was a ghastly look, into the depth of the realm of a senseless death.

I was under the impression that she had wanted to tell me something that was pertinent. It was unbelievable that I had been standing, in front of the pallid image of my deceased sister. I had uttered her name thrice, attempting to see if she could hear me. There was no response from her, although her dried and parched lips were moving.

After several minutes had transpired, she had finally disappeared into the mist of clouds that had accompanied her. I was not a firm believer in the supernatural world of ghosts. There was nothing before in all my life that was cogent enough to accept such absurdity. I knew then, that the key in solving my sister's death was related somehow to the place, where she had died.

Was her appearance before the window, an indication of her need to be released from her hellish torment or was it a token sign that she had come to me to reveal the truth about her death? I had begun to make the connection with the incident at the church, the troubling marriage and the miscarriage. All of these events were enough to leave her mind unstable and loose control of her life. Her unhappiness was not only the cause of her death, but I had intuited that it was more the relationship she had in those last days with her husband.

Despite the snow and the chilly weather, I had decided to go to the church and to the belfry once more. My instinct had compelled me to prove that she did not die from her volition. I got dressed and left for the church. Father Allbrook was sleeping in his room, unaware that I had departed the parsonage. I had felt that there was no need to awake him.

He was already sleeping and had done all he could to assist me in my endeavour to discover the truth. It was then a task that I could only resolve in my attempt. I stood before the front door of the church, as it opened. There was no one inside the church, yet someone had opened the church door for me. I had stepped inside and there was a humming noise that was clearly audible, as if someone was humming a morose song.

I had begun to feel a cold breath that was caressing my neck and it then expanded on to the rest of the inner church. Was I witnessing the presence of my sister again? Had she come with me to the church, or had she been expecting me there? Whatever was the case, she was indeed nigh. I had called on her to appear before me. There was no reply or reaction.

I headed up the stairway that had led to the belfry. It was there that I had found, at last, my dearest sister. It was her wan image that I had discovered, not her earthly beauty that was radiant. Her disturbing eyes had penetrated into mine, with a haunting gaze that foretold of her horrifying ordeal. She had pointed to the vicinity of the cemetery, where she was buried and laid to rest.

It was then that she had leapt to the ground and vanished into the thin air. That was the last time that I would ever see her. The latter days of her life were very cruel to her, but I did not want to remember her for her tragic death. Life I had learnt was full of many wonders, as it was of many mysteries. Stellina was not the horrible monster that was depicted erroneously, by her husband. She was only the pawn and victim of her cruel tormentor that had exacted on her, his dominance.

This I would discover afterwards, through conversations I had with the villagers. They had appreciated Stellina and had done all they could for her, but as a private person, she had preferred to take her anguish to her death. Her death was not a suicide; it was a murder. Alfred it was then discovered had strangled my sister and threw her off the belfry, with an enraged passion amain.

I would be apprised by the caretaker, Mr Wingrave that during the night, two clever graverobbers had attempted to desecrate the sanctity of Stellina's grave and had unburied her. They had been in the process of removing the body, when they were caught by him indiscreetly.

He would then inform the local authorities and they would be apprehended. They would confess to their crime and would tell the authorities that they were paid by my brother-in-law to uncover her listless corpse. He had been the sole instigator of her death and was the person that had professed to love her unconditionally.

I was in deep gratitude to Mr Wingrave, for his bold action taken. It was an undeniable sign of Alfred's culpability and lack of probity. I had entrusted him the care and supervision of my beloved sister and he had only taken advantage of her unstable state of fragility. It would be her misfare.

Alfred would be found days later, hanging from a lone tree somewhere in England. It was never told to me where the location was, but I was relieved to know the truth, and that divine punishment was awaiting him in the chasm of his hell. Apparently, he had taken his own life in a cowardice act that would bewray his true character and temerity. He had made a written confession about the murder, in which he had accepted his culpability.

I had suspected that unsurmountable guilt that was consuming him was too unbearable and uneath to accept any longer. It was the wroth untowardness of his action that had doomed him afterwards. He was not allowed to be buried in Clophill, instead, he was buried in a remote, unmarked grave, in a cemetery unknown to me.

I had said my affectionate goodbyes to Father Allbrook, and for the nonce to my dearest sister also. My time in Clophill had abated, but not before I visited Stellina's grave. I could feel the serenity in the cemetery anon, with the empyrean wind that had disrupted the clum. There was no one present to interrupt us, nor to cause us any unwanted solicitude. I had begun to communicate to her through the usage of words, and she had responded with a cold breath from her spectral soul.

I had made the simple request to Father Allbrook that her favourite poem be placed on her epitaph. He had no objection to that petition and had embraced the idea. I was grateful to have been there for Stellina, even in the shadow of death. I knew my presence had consoled her aimless soul. I would often visit her grave and bring her fresh blooms that she had adored to awaken her with their familiar scent.

Erelong, I would read the bardic versifications of poetry that she had enjoyed reading and I had wist. Yonder sister that had once roamed thither, where the perennial bells had rung. In the end, the chimes of the phantom bells would be replaced with the chimes of new church bells.

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