The Bells at Dusk

The village had rules no one ever explained. At dusk, everyone stopped

what they were doing. Fires were lit. Curtains were closed. No one went outside after the bells

rang. I asked what the bells were for. “They remind us to behave,” an old

woman said, gripping my arm too tightly. That night, I ignored them.

Silence followed—no footsteps, no wind, no insects. Then something heavy

began dragging itself down the street, testing doors that were wisely left unlocked.

It stopped at my house. Not to get in. To make sure I was still inside.