The Bell-Tower Murder.
I.
The place was haunted it was said. It all began when they found the body of the old hunch-backed gardener, Mister Jenkins, hanging from a bell-rope in the bell-tower. He was found hanging from his neck from a bell-rope, with his feet dangling only inches above the floor.
He body was twisted half into a knot, as he hung dangling in the air from the rope, and he had a grotesque grin on his face. His eyes stared fixedly ahead, as if looking with horror into the realms of the next world. It is said there was a stench about the place, as of fire and brimstone. The wind blew thin and cold out in the graveyard, and about the abbey, they will tell you.
The police investigated, but the murder was never solved. The docket still lies open in the filing cabinets of the local police-station. Eventually, the case was deserted and remained unsolved. All this while the mystery around the murder grew, and it acquired and element of the supernatural. It came to be believed in the small town, that the old man came to a foul and unexplainable end. It was the work devil and his servants, it was said.
The mystery of the bell-tower murder grew, and all those who lived in these parts came to believe that the old abbey was haunted by an evil, and male-violent, spirit. It lay peacefully in the little vale as the years passed, an always a cool wind swept over the grounds, and the green trees bent their heads in sorrowful acknowledgement.
II.
The night was dark although the hour was not late. It was seven o’ clock of a Sunday night, and the time of the evening service. The congregation was small, for not many folk came to this parish for worship anymore. They were all darkly clad, and the small group entered the small church silently and without greetings.
The few dark figures spread about the pews and sat solitarily and silently in the dark semi-lit church. Some mumbled amongst themselves, others sang softly, and yet a few more already knelt to pray. They were waiting for the pastor, and the sermon to begin. Dim torchlight flickered of the dark walls. A cross hung in front of the altar, it was dark and mysterious in the gloom. The soft voices of the people in the dimly-lit pews continued as they waited.
Then the bells started to toll the hour. The rang out loudly in the black night. They rang with passion and fury. They rang with honor and doom. They with love and hate. And still they kept on ringing. A fifth peal of the bells, and they rung out loud and commandingly. A sixth peal. A short pause, and then the seventh and final peal of the bells. The hour had been rung, and now they fell silent. The dark, mysterious congregation still sat waiting patiently in the pews.
The wind blew soft and gentle and cool, outside in the graveyard, and the pale crescent moon shone brightly above…
