The Bells - A Partial Story by Yours Truly - Please Forgive Any Bad Punctuation
The frigid northern wind lunged through the crack in the heavy cathedral doors drawing Nancy out into its arctic embrace. Nancy wrapped her scarf around her neck as she stepped into the blustery evening. Her hands sought the smooth, buttery leather of her favorite gloves as she crossed to the railing and began climbing down to street level.
"Could ya' spare some change," came a raspy voice from the shadows. The words, nearly lost within the sound of the bells chiming overhead, startled Nancy. She had seen no one near when the light had spilled onto the steps from the oaken doors above. Glancing in the direction of the Blessed Virgin on the landing below, she could discern a shadowed figure nestled at the bae.
Nancy drew her coat tighter and positioned herself on a path away from the voice, continuing downward. Her suede heels made smart clicks in time with the hurried beats of her heart as she descended the well-worn marble.
The man’s humble form shivered as another powerful gust of snow-coated wind invaded his pseudo-sanctuary of cold concrete. She winced at the thought of him freezing to death overnight, leaving her to call the police and have his lifeless body removed. She slowed and looked back at him over her shoulder.
“Listen to that,” he sang out, realizing she had decided to pay him notice. He began marking each bell chime with a sourly sang note, quietly at first, then a little louder, before trailing off into silence.
Nancy turned again and took another quick step down, seeking the comfortable familiarity of her apartment. She glanced a final time towards the shadowy figure and was struck by his tattered work boots as they slumped against the cement column at the entrance of the grotto. The smooth, blonde leather, stained by the city’s sludge, had given way at the seams revealing tender bare flesh. The frayed shoelaces were repaired by numerous knots and laced only the few scattered eyelets which had not torn through. The soles were tread-bare and weathered skin could be seen through the bottom of one shoe.
The man’s voice was raspy and coarse, but not unpleasant, as he hummed along with the bells. For a moment Nancy was struck by a very immediate and unyielding memory of her father. She could remember his hands, large yet gentle, as he held hers tightly. She remembered walking from her first bus ride down a busy main street, past a diner and a shoe store. She remembered looking at his tattered work boots walking along side her small, black patent leathers. On they had walked, down a house-lined side street and across a park to a gentle lane, with cherry trees in full bloom on either side. She could hear the creaking as she climbed the tall white steps up to the front porch. She could smell bread baking as they knocked on the screen door of a small, well-kept house on that street and a large, older woman opened it to ask them inside. She remembered her father kneeling beside her on that porch and telling her to obey the woman and to do what she asked. Then, patting her on the head, he turned to leave. She remembered crying as she watched his stained and torn work boots walk away from her, never to return.
A single tear slid down her cheek as she nodded her head. She began climbing the steps to where the man lay. A little closer now, she could see his torn pants and a wrinkled hand resting lightly on a torn and scabbed knee. Closer still she stepped and could make out light wisps of hair framing a shadowed face. She began to rummage through her purse as she stood on the landing near the alcove. She fished around until she found her coin purse and, rather uncharacteristically, fished out a $5 bill. She snapped her purse closed and took a step towards the man.
“Isn’t it lovely?” His voice was quieter now. It had changed into something softer, more intimate. Seeing her puzzled expression, he went on “The bells … aren’t they beautiful.”
“Yes, they ring every night at this time,” she replied as she leaned down to hand him the money. He leaned forward to receive her offering and light flooded his features. Nancy tilted her head up and saw the coldest gray-blue eyes she had ever seen. She started and stepped back, but he grabbed her wrist and held her tightly.
“Yes, every night the bells toll,” he hissed. “But tonight, they toll for you.” He tugged sharply on her arm as she tumbled into the shadows with him, too surprised to cry out. She struggled for a moment against his restraining embrace and bit at the salt-flavored hand over her mouth before feeling a sharp sting and seeing darkness creep into her vision.
The last thing in her mind was a row of sharp silver teeth smiling menacingly below winter colored eyes.
"Could ya' spare some change," came a raspy voice from the shadows. The words, nearly lost within the sound of the bells chiming overhead, startled Nancy. She had seen no one near when the light had spilled onto the steps from the oaken doors above. Glancing in the direction of the Blessed Virgin on the landing below, she could discern a shadowed figure nestled at the bae.
Nancy drew her coat tighter and positioned herself on a path away from the voice, continuing downward. Her suede heels made smart clicks in time with the hurried beats of her heart as she descended the well-worn marble.
The man’s humble form shivered as another powerful gust of snow-coated wind invaded his pseudo-sanctuary of cold concrete. She winced at the thought of him freezing to death overnight, leaving her to call the police and have his lifeless body removed. She slowed and looked back at him over her shoulder.
“Listen to that,” he sang out, realizing she had decided to pay him notice. He began marking each bell chime with a sourly sang note, quietly at first, then a little louder, before trailing off into silence.
Nancy turned again and took another quick step down, seeking the comfortable familiarity of her apartment. She glanced a final time towards the shadowy figure and was struck by his tattered work boots as they slumped against the cement column at the entrance of the grotto. The smooth, blonde leather, stained by the city’s sludge, had given way at the seams revealing tender bare flesh. The frayed shoelaces were repaired by numerous knots and laced only the few scattered eyelets which had not torn through. The soles were tread-bare and weathered skin could be seen through the bottom of one shoe.
The man’s voice was raspy and coarse, but not unpleasant, as he hummed along with the bells. For a moment Nancy was struck by a very immediate and unyielding memory of her father. She could remember his hands, large yet gentle, as he held hers tightly. She remembered walking from her first bus ride down a busy main street, past a diner and a shoe store. She remembered looking at his tattered work boots walking along side her small, black patent leathers. On they had walked, down a house-lined side street and across a park to a gentle lane, with cherry trees in full bloom on either side. She could hear the creaking as she climbed the tall white steps up to the front porch. She could smell bread baking as they knocked on the screen door of a small, well-kept house on that street and a large, older woman opened it to ask them inside. She remembered her father kneeling beside her on that porch and telling her to obey the woman and to do what she asked. Then, patting her on the head, he turned to leave. She remembered crying as she watched his stained and torn work boots walk away from her, never to return.
A single tear slid down her cheek as she nodded her head. She began climbing the steps to where the man lay. A little closer now, she could see his torn pants and a wrinkled hand resting lightly on a torn and scabbed knee. Closer still she stepped and could make out light wisps of hair framing a shadowed face. She began to rummage through her purse as she stood on the landing near the alcove. She fished around until she found her coin purse and, rather uncharacteristically, fished out a $5 bill. She snapped her purse closed and took a step towards the man.
“Isn’t it lovely?” His voice was quieter now. It had changed into something softer, more intimate. Seeing her puzzled expression, he went on “The bells … aren’t they beautiful.”
“Yes, they ring every night at this time,” she replied as she leaned down to hand him the money. He leaned forward to receive her offering and light flooded his features. Nancy tilted her head up and saw the coldest gray-blue eyes she had ever seen. She started and stepped back, but he grabbed her wrist and held her tightly.
“Yes, every night the bells toll,” he hissed. “But tonight, they toll for you.” He tugged sharply on her arm as she tumbled into the shadows with him, too surprised to cry out. She struggled for a moment against his restraining embrace and bit at the salt-flavored hand over her mouth before feeling a sharp sting and seeing darkness creep into her vision.
The last thing in her mind was a row of sharp silver teeth smiling menacingly below winter colored eyes.