Chapter Five | The Mothwick Bell

It rang on Halloween morning.

The bell tower hadn’t made a sound in decades—locals said the mechanism rusted shut, that the wind had long since forgotten how to move it. But at exactly 7:13 a.m., it rang. Once. Long and low, like a breath held too long.

Emery sat up in bed, heart pounding.

By the time she threw on her coat and boots, the fog had already begun to lift. Not all the way, just enough to show the rooftops of Mothwick like ghosts settling back into place.

She followed the sound.

Through the square, past the shuttered bakery and the old general store. Past the plaque that simply read Founded 1793—though no one could agree who had done the founding.

The bell tower stood open.

The door she’d never noticed before was wide, as if someone had invited her in.

She climbed the narrow spiral staircase, each step worn down by feet that hadn’t passed in lifetimes. At the top: dust, cobwebs, and the great iron bell. Silent again. Still.

And beside it, tucked in the hollow of the stone wall, was a letter.

Folded neatly. Addressed:
To Emery.

She opened it with fingers that felt both ancient and brand new.

You came.
That’s the whole magic of it, you know. Coming when you aren’t sure what’s waiting.
I never left. Not really. I just… didn’t know how to stay.
But you did. You saw me. And you stayed anyway.
Thank you.

—L

She stood there for a long time.

Eventually, she rang the bell.

No one else heard it.
Or if they did, no one said a word.

But later that evening, as trick-or-treaters wandered cobbled streets and pumpkins flickered from every porch, the museum lights flickered on for the first time in years.

And in the fog just beyond the village, a shape moved—briefly, softly—before becoming the night.