First off, I was not really excited about this story. I've felt very pressed for time lately and a lack of creative ideas really didn't help this poor little narrative out. I couldn't seem to get the tone right, and I really dont think there's any real sense of proper tone at all. The narrative itself seemed like a good idea until I started writing it. By then I realized that if this was going to be a good story, it needed to be novel-length. I don't know what my problem is. I've been writing short stories when I wanted to write novels for forever. And now that I'm only asking myself for short stories, I've got unwanted novels. My character might as well not be there. They are pretty much shadows of real people. This story is a real "tell" rather than a "show" piece. In general, I am completely aware of how much work needs to be done, here. I feel like if I would have been more motivated and excited about this story, it would have come out a lot better. The best thing about this story is how ridiculous it is that I got a deadly bell tower out of a picture with a newspaper in it. :)

Is this the worst thing ever written? Probably not. Is it the worst thing I've ever written? Maybe.

The Bell Tower

Kate Anne Laughtin

17, of Kent. Deceased March 24. Service will be held March 30, at White Hill Unitarian Chapel. In lieu of flowers, contributions can be made to the Bell Tower Family’s Fund.

Kate had been this year’s Wednesday death and just like all the others, had died as the ghostly bell from the ruined tower struck noon. The Laughtin’s lived in the next apartment and June and her mother had heard their weeping through the walls.

Timothy Logan Mills

38, Kent, VA. Service will be held March 29, at Good Shepherd Lutheran Church. In lieu of flowers, contributions can be made to the Bell Tower Family’s Fund.

Through the window of the coffee shop she could just see the remains of the old bell tower, surrounded by modern office buildings and a busy road. For the moment they looked no different than they ever had. The tallest bit was a slice of wall, six feet high surrounded by rubble. No one had touched it since 1975, when a grief-crazed father had undermined the supports, forcing a collapse. Of course that was just the last of hundreds of documented attempts to rid the city of the bell tower’s influence. In 1788, the local blacksmith stole the bell from its tower and buried it at the foot of his wife’s grave. Despite this and the gradual destruction of the tower itself, a ghostly bell still tolled at noon for one week every year.

Until yesterday. Friday, March 26 dawned just as early as any other spring morning. In the fashion of residents during this terrifying week, families awoke well before noon and spent the morning together. June’s family suffered through a quiet breakfast and heard the gunshot quite clearly through the connecting wall.

Richard Laughtin

49, of Kent. Passed away March 26, at home. A private memorial will be held for the family. Donations may be made to the Bell Tower Family’s Fund.

June noticed that there was no mention of Victoria Laughtin. Maybe it was because almost no one needed to know her end. The bells had found her at noon slumped against the remains of the tower, gun in hand. The prevailing theory was that she had given herself to the bell tower. It was an unprecedented move. In the 230 or so years since the bells had begun their dreadful ringing, no one had given themselves willingly to the tower’s fate.

But now the tower was silent and the only noise out of the ordinary was the beeping of a solitary tractor, scooping the old brick, wood, and the remains of the belfry into one big pile. June ordered a coffee to go, and left the newspaper on the table.