Bell Minders

Now that I think about it, it all began with the bells.

Silver and tarnished, found in the back of an antique shop for less than three pounds. The shopkeeper couldn't seen to remember when they had appeared, or where she had aquired them. We asked if she had ever seen anything like them and she had shrugged and given us our receipt and wished us a good day.

We hung them first on our porch, where e suspected the wind would draw sound from them, like a musician. They looked old, like dust and forgotten things and sad stories. But they were as silent as if they lay still in the back of the antiques shop.

Soon we forgot about them, except to duck our heads and we left the house. "Mind the bell," we began to say, until the word lost all articulation. Mindthebell, it became.

Grandmother came to visit and stared at them for a long time. While I poured our tea in the kitchen she nodded toward the front of the house. "Bell like those cause trouble. Mark my words. When they start ringing, you'd better run." Grandmother said some weird things, so I nodded and promised her I would and offered her a biscuit for her tea.

I shared the superstition with a neighbour, who shared it with other neighbours, and soon a common greeting evolved. "Those bells ringing yet?" "Don't worry about the bells, they're quiet as mice."

The bells began to ring yesterday. I'm not sure I believed grandmother, but I began to run. So far I'm the only one who's got away.

Text by Lucie MacAulay

Art by Anonymous