A Death Knell

Curdled cream in a witch’s cup...

Or so my grandmother would have said with the gravity of a woman who had met a witch or two in her day. I would have just replied the refrigerator did its job too well, which is why my very fresh cream curdled the moment I poured it into my coffee this morning. It's just science, thermodynamics or whatever. I'm not a physicist. If I were, I am confident I would not have upended my normal life I once had for what I have now.

It has been a few months since I moved into the cottage. It sits on the property of an old, deconsecrated church tucked away deep in a northern province, that I oversee taking care of. Which if you knew me, might not be the best idea someone's ever had. It's not bad at all if I am being honest. There are, of course, some rules I must follow that seem a bit obscure, but who am I to argue with them? I get paid to take care of this place, not rent payment, and make sure the earth doesn't swallow it whole? The rules are fine! I have free reign to do what I will, just as long as I do not destroy the Church, the churchyard where bodies are interred, the gardens, or the land surrounding it and the cottage.

The town itself is very quiet. I don't think I have seen anyone walking about during the day. The older teenager that seems to be the sole employee of the grocery in town is one of the few people I have actually seen during normal day time hours. In the evening I will occasionally see a couple walking their little dog, but they are always walking about fifty meters in front of me. I have never seen their faces, but I can identify them by their coats. They walk pretty quickly, too, because no matter how fast I try to catch up, I want to meet their puppy, I can never manage it. I gave up after a month.

Occasionally when I am working in the gardens that sit at the front of the church yard right on the main road, I will hear children running and laughing. I think I am just really bad at timing to be able to spot them, as every time I get a peak over the fencing or hedge, they aren't there and the street is as quiet as ever. It is good to know there are some kids in the area I guess, I will have to be vigilant for the teenagers. They know how they are, and i am assuming it is worse since this is a small provincial town.

The skyline was ablaze with the glow of orange as I sat in the cemetery scrubbing gentle at an old head stone. A small project i had taken up was to clean and catalog all the stones within the graveyard, maybe even look up who they might have been one day. There is quite a bit of them, the oldest I have found dating back to the 16th century, the youngest was about the 1829. These grave markers do not stand upright like what most people see in cemeteries. They lay flat against the ground, long stones that are highly decorated and carved. Even I had to look it up. Only rich people actually had marked graves, let alone a grave at all. If you were super special, you got to be buried beneath the floor of the church. That's fun, it also explains why every time I walk across the nave I am tripping. If you were poor, you were tossed into a grave out in the yard until nothing, but your bones were left. The bones were then collected and placed into an ossuary. This one sits directly below the church, I might go down there later in the week.

I was almost done with the initial scrubbing of this one, belonging to someone who seemed to be quite wealthy from the detail upon the stone when a long-eared owl land directly across from me, shook itself and puffed up its feathers before giving a little screech to get my attention. I was so enamored at how cute this owl was, there was no questioning why, so early in the evening, it would have come down from its roost to squawk at me! Cue the cooing and babbling one does to cute forest animals when they get close, I couldn't help myself. The weird thing though, was the fact that this owl just sat there as I was finishing up with the gravestone. It jostled itself only a little when I finally stood up and collected the cleaning supplies. I bid it farewell and began to head back to the cottage, only for it to... follow me. It did not fly after me but instead hopped and waddled along like some lost baby penguin.

Now I know what you're thinking, maybe it was hurt and needed my assistance. I assure you, it swooped in like a perfectly capable owl and landed in front of me. It spread those great silent wings out as it walked after me, as if it meant business. I just kept walking, growing up in a swamp you learn to let the animals be no matter how much you want to unleash the cute aggression that swells inside your chest. It wasn't till I felt the nip at the back of my heel did I actually stop and stare down this adorably puffy raptor. It stared up at me with its large amber eyes, conveying a message I couldn't read. I don't speak owl, sue me.

Without warning, that tree bark patterned puffball launched itself at me, making my arms move to cover my face. My bucket of nasty gravestone water? Yeah, spilled right down my front as this owl took up its perch on my shoulder. I am sure if anyone was watching, they would have probably been wondering if I took my meds... or if they did. Some woman is standing in the middle of a bunch of grave plots in a church yard... fighting with an owl. No matter how much shrugging or arguing, this bird was not moving, which meant just conceding to its will and continuing my trek back to the cottage. One of the rules of the job was to make sure I was back in the cottage before the fall of darkness. There was never a real explanation, but I can imagine it has to do with the isolation of this property and the fact that I may or may not regularly test the theory of gravity. It is tough being a scientist.

 "Alright my guy, since you have decided to get a free ride. What should I call you?" Nothing really seemed to fit so I started prattling off names.

"Carl? No. How about Jim-Bob? Nah, that's too hillbilly and the hills are quite lacking here." There was no reaction from the bird, just the steady gaze of its almost glowing amber eyes looking around as I continued my journey.

"Ok, how about... Archibald? Hieronymus? Strix?" I was starting to get desperate, naming off the most ridiculous names I could. Though on the last one, the owl screeched softly at me and proceeded to nibble at my ear.

"Well then, Strix it is! It is quite the pleasure to meet you, I'm Morella. Yes, my mother is an Edgar Allan Poe fan. No, she did not die in childbirth and reincarnate into my body. She was just a nerd that really liked the name."

I am an insane person, talking to a bird of prey as if it understands anything I am saying.

Strix insisted upon entering the cottage, there are no rules against pets, so I assumed it was perfectly acceptable to bring in a wild animal. Well, Strix did. I am not in command of this ship anymore. I opened the window for it as I changed out of my wet clothes and tossed them into the washing machine, only to find that it had once again been closed. Latch set and everything. This was confusing as much as it was impressive. Animals are smart, there is no denying that. Working complex latches however seems a bit far-fetched. The owl just stared at me as I looked between it and the window before I shrugged in defeat.

"I am making my dinner now; you are more than welcome to join me since you have invited yourself." Though I was fresh out of rodent, raw chicken would have to suffice.

The sun sank low beneath the horizon, leaving nothing but a pale strip of blue that feathered into velvety black behind the silhouettes of trees. Strix had taken up sitting across from me on the back of one of the dining chairs as I quietly read on the sofa, its large amber eyes moving from the window that faced the church and then to with a swivel of its head. I had opened that window again a few times, but after it was shut all on its own accord the third time I just decided this owl would make a fuss if it wanted to leave. If anyone was a hostage, it was me. The universe must have known that the story I was reading was boring me to sleep when it decided to wake me up in the rudest way possible.

Beyond the church yard, high up in the tower, the bell rang out one forceful peal. Following the briefest of pauses, there were two quickly consecutive peals that hung in the air a lot longer than should have been possible. The sound didn't quite seem to be coming from the vibration of a brass bell, but the air holding the sound up on the breeze. Strix and I stared out the window towards the church in quiet disbelief. I could have sworn that the bells had been removed years before I arrived. I stood, dimmed the lights and crossed the stone floor to peer out the window with cupped hands. For a moment, nothing popped out to me as my eyes adjusted to the dark. Then I saw it.

Light flickered inside every window of the church, breathing steadily in the engulfing dark. The amber glow seemed to make the old stone building grow, as though it were alive and staring me down from across the way. Suddenly, I felt like a very bad babysitter that had let a toddler loose in a blackberry bramble, or something else as ominous as thorny bushes. I must have been holding my breath, because with Strix squawked at I not only nearly jumped out of my skin, but I also inhaled so sharply that my sternum ached.

"You have got to be kidding me. Why did you let hooligans in the church?" I huffed at the owl angrily.

I suddenly sounded like every cliche old man with khaki shorts, a beer gut, and the most precious lawn to stick a hose at. There was no response from the owl, he must have been offended by my accusation of him personally inviting a bunch of hooligans into a protected building.

"Guess I get to be the fact part of this urban legend" as if the bird knew what I was saying. I grabbed the battery-operated lantern that sat in the sideboard cupboard and the ring of old iron keys off a hook by the door. This was going to be enjoyable, scaring kids was the next best thing in life to sleeping animals on your lap and the accidental curly fry in your French fry order.

The choice had to be made quickly, and it had to be a good one. How often does one get to make a bunch of teens crap their pants? The walk across the yard seemed to be shorter than normal as I approached the door that led into the atrium. So. Many. Choices.

The choice became clear as I quietly slipped inside, the double doors that lead into the Nave were open just a little, allowing just the tiniest bit of light to peek through. There were a multitude of voices, but what was being said was unclear. It was as if a thick film had been placed over the doorway, generating a small whining hum along with the voices but preventing anything to be understood or distinguish any age, gender, or clique. In the sliver of light that fell across the atrium, a glint of gold caught my eye. Sitting on the bottom shelf of a long table beneath a window was a fairly sizable hand bell.

Oh, that would be good.

As the cacophony of voices continued to mask any movements I made, I scooped up the silver hand bell. It was not one of the pretty sounding ones you hear at Christmas time ethereally chiming Silent Night. No. This was for grabbing attention. In my case, spooking the piss out of some kids. Sure, there would be a mess for me to clean up, but it was all worth it just to see their faces. I wasn't going to let any more time pass. I yanked the door open and raised the bell over my head about to swing it down with as much force as I could possibly muster, then suddenly stopped.

There was no one.

Every single candelabra was lit, but there wasn't a soul in sight. It was so quiet in that moment, I could hear the whistling of a poorly sealed window as the wind blew into it. This did not make any sense. There were no groups scheduled to use the space today. The doors had been locked securely; I double checked twice before I set off to clean the day's tomb stone. All the windows were closed, and what sounded like at least fifty people couldn't have just jumped out of a window or vanished into thin air in the split second before the door was opened. I decided not to waste anymore thought on it. I returned the hand bell to its spot, collected my lantern and began to extinguish all the candles. I may be imagining things now, but I did not need the building going up in flames.

Darkness had once again returned to the church, what little light that came from the moon outside making the interior look skeletal. With the double doors firmly shut, I turned exit only to bumped into a something that was much large than me, firm yet slightly squishy.

I'll admit that the sound that came out of me was not exactly the grunt of the unbothered and more the squeal of a little girl. Once my wits came back, I recognized the figure not standing before me in the doorway. If you had the boss on your bingo card, you win.

"Cheesus, why didn't you warn me that you were there Silas?" Suppose I could have used a calmer tone, but he did infact just make me jump out of my skin.

"Morella, what in hell are you doing in here? The rule is to not be out in the dark." His voice boomed in the tiny room; he wasn't as much mad as he was concerned? At least that is what I tell myself.

"Look, while that may be the case, every single candle was lit, and they shouldn't have been. When I came in, it sounded as if there were a massive congregation going on in here. When I opened the door, there was absolutely no one. Did you want me to allow the place to burn down?"

It was hard to read Silas's face; piercing eyes just bore into me as the momentary silence hung chilly in the air.

"Fine. You completed the task, now please let’s get you back to the cottage. I got this."

"Yes sir." I shrugged, there was no point in arguing with him, I learned that lesson years ago when we were first starting out as friends.

"Next time, call me."

"I can do that."

Everything was as it should have been back at the cottage. Well, almost everything. That damn owl was still inside perched on the chair, watching Silas and I as we entered the cottage. The look that crossed Silas's face as he looked between the owl and myself was rather amusing if you ask me. It was a mixture of concern and heavy confusion.

"Strix, Silas. Silas, Strix. He decided he was going to stay the night. Best date I've had in years."

"I swear, just when I thought you couldn't get weirder."

"What can I say?" I couldn't help but shrug at that, making my way back to the chair I had once been sitting in.

"Right. Well, thank you for making sure the church didn't burn down. Please stick to the rules. I will catch up with you later." Silas said standing in the doorway still, almost as if he couldn't come in.

"You're welcome. Good night, Silas."

Once the door closed, I looked over at the owl that was just staring at me from across the way.

"You were no help. How are we supposed to be a dynamic duo if you leave me to go do things by myself?"

No answer, just the steady gaze of amber eyes. I stood and moved to open the window, giving the owl an exit if it wanted it. Just as the pane of glass opened, a sound soft and distant sound fluttered in on the breeze. It as voices, singing in unison from what sounds like the opposite side of the church. I stared out across the darkness a moment, then looked at the owl, who just stared right back at me.

"Nope."