The Wind Chime

      Frank Bauman did not receive a lot of fan mail but he got some. He was not that kind of writer and, frankly, he was proud of the fact. He didn't have a new book out every month. He was never on the New York Times Bestseller List. He was an underground hit, he liked to think, a cult classic. And with the fans he did have, mostly middle age, always strange, he had built firm relationships. In fact, he had married one, at least for a little while. The fan mail he got was often deeply personal. Often artwork, caricatures of his own creations in his stories. Hideous recreations of monsters or dismembered body parts, self published fan fiction, paintings and the occasional nude photo. Each package was sent with love and received with equal amounts of love. Frank Bauman was unafraid of his dear fans, he felt a communion with them.

      One afternoon on a brisk autumn morning in October Frank received a package. He did not recognize the address. It was unusual for a fan to send such an unassuming gift. It was just a normal UPS box, the return address was a PO box in the Illinois area, nearby. He took it to his kitchen, laying it on his gray granite counter top next to a few wine bottles and a bottle opener in the shape of a human skull. He pulled out a mini samurai sword from below the counter, his box opener, another fan present, and cut the box open with a few skillful swings.

     Inside the cardboard box, among the Styrofoam peanuts was a narrow case, closed and wrapped in leather, with a light blue sticky note. Frank pulled the case out of the box and pulled off the sticky note. “Every time a bell rings. . .” it said. Written in black sharpie. A line from It's a Wonderful Life and also the name of Frank's first novel about a cursed bell in a church. Jack frowned and opened the box. Inside was a wind chime, shiny and metal. 6 bells hung from strings which fed into a second layer of 6 which fed into a third and final layer of 6. At the very top holding all the bells was a thin metal panel painted black.

Frank pulled the box closer to see and in the shifting angle of his kitchen lights he caught sight of a shape moving in the black of the panel. Barely visible, black upon black, subtle and strange. He liked the style. It was some kind of creature the size and shape of a bear. It's fur was given a jagged unrealistic feel etched on like teeth. It was bent over on all fours and looking over its shoulder at Frank but instead of a snout or teeth like a bear it had more of a face like a man. A man that seems utterly aware of its own deformity, seeming angry, terrified and helpless.

      Frank pulled the chimes out of the case for a closer look and a piece of paper fell out onto the counter. It looked like a scrap piece of notebook paper. Folded up many times into the size of a dime. He put the box back down and the picked paper up and unfolded it. Another message written in a different style. Much more messy and with a dull pencil. Don't let it ring! It said. Frank laughed. A good touch, he thought. He even noticed a drop of blood on the paper. A little overdone but sweet.

He pulled the chime out from the felt inner casing and the bells swung back and forth together. No sound came out. He frowned and shook the chimes again. Still no sound. He pulled up one of the bells and inspected the inside. There was no clapper init. There were no clappers in any of the bells. They were permanently silenced. He shrugged and looked for a place to hang it. In the entrance way from his kitchen to his living room there was a nail protruding from the head of the doorway so he hung it there and stood back. Just a temporary location, he thought while opening a beer with a skull. He sat back on one of his black bar stools and sighed.

      As the Wind Chime swung back and forth, finding a comfortable hang in its new location, the golden evening sunlight streamed in from the kitchen window and caught the shape etched in black. As it swung, the light picked up the shape of the creature etched there and the creature seemed to move unnaturally with each swing. Frank laughed to himself and took another swig from his beer and headed to his study to write.

      After several hours of light progress but heavy drinking. Frank crouched over his computer screen leaning on a half empty bottle trying to think of the word for when you are trapped into staring at something. He knew it was kind of like hypnotized but different and not so hard to say. Suddenly he heard a soft ring coming from behind him. He turned around in his swivel chair.

      He had been so engrossed in his drinking and his writing that he had forgotten to turn any lights on in his house. Just the soft blue light of his computer screen lit the surrounding area. The door to his living room was open ahead of him and as he sat looking out into the blackness thinking about what could possibly have made the noise he suddenly felt very cold and uneasy. He picked up his bottle and, clutching it to his chest, stood up and flipped a light switch on his wall all the while looking out the door as if sure something was there watching him. The light came on and for a brief moment he froze at a dark shape motionless in the distance but he soon realized it was just his living room arm chair. He went to the door of his study and flipped on the light in the living room giving the room a quick glance. He looked over towards his kitchen. Also nothing there but hanging over the doorway was the wind chime swaying slightly. He frowned and wandered over to the chime. Looking up he scanned each individual bell, still empty inside every one. He flicked one of the bells with his finger but only received a dull hollow clink in response like a coin being placed on a counter top. The chime swung more violently now in complete silence. Frank drained his bottle and put it on the counter top and walked back to his study. His heart was still beating hard and he smiled at his own paranoia. He had a great idea for his story.

      He sat back down to the computer and started typing away furiously. Transfixed! That was the word he was looking for!

Jasmine stood transfixed, gazing into the eyes of the beast. Its teeth dripping with the blood of her lover who now lay groaning on the granite steps behind it. There was a smell of decay and of death and she could see bits of hair and a fingernail on the beast's tongue. Jasmine's shirt clung to her supple body and heaving breast from cold sweat. Every part of her being was telling her to run but she could not move she was frozen in panic and in terror. The dark priest stood to her left with his ebony staff raised above him laughing at his dark creation. The hellish portal, cast in a swirling gray cloud, began slowly to shrink and before her the beast inched ever closer to...

     There was a crash. Frank jumped from his seat at the sound. He ran into the next room only to find the wind chime now lying on the ground. He strode up to it this time a little less confidently. Laughing uneasily to himself he looked up at the doorway guessing the nail had fallen out from the weight but the nail still hung there as if nothing had happened. He reached up and tried to pull it out but he couldn't move it. He stepped over the chimes and went to the window of his kitchen over the sink. Guessing that there had been a gust of wind but the window was closed. He had closed it yesterday because the October winds had become too brisk and uncomfortable at the sink. He walked back to the chime and bent to pick it up. He walked to the counter where the chime's case still lay and he placed them gently back inside the box trying to talk himself down from his building terror.

     Lowering the chime back into the box he glanced back up at the solid black, metal paneling. He could no longer see the etching of the beast. He tilted the box to catch the light again but still there was nothing. It was just a solid black piece of metal. He frowned and pulled the chimes back out of the box and held them over his head as close to the light as he could. Examining both sides. Still nothing. Had he only imagined the horrific beast? Was it a trick of the metal? Some kind of time release screen that faded in the low light?

As he held the chimes out at arms length above his head, pondering to him himself, he heard again the soft rustling ring. A chill ran down his back. Before him he held the chimes completely still and there was no breeze in the house but there in front of him the bells of the chime began to ring. Softly at first and then harder as if caught in a thunderstorm but they were not moving and neither was he. And then behind him on his neck he felt a soft bristle of fur and the sour wet heat of breath. He dropped the chime and swung around. The chime crashed onto the tile counter top, slid down and dropped again onto the floor. In front of Frank there was nothing but his empty kitchen and the doorway leading into his living room and office.

      Cold sweat beaded on his forehead and his heart was again beating so hard he could hear the rushing of blood being pumped through his veins. He was keenly aware of the chime lying at his feet but he made no move to pick it up or even touch it. He was breathing hard now, glancing around the room in the kind of frantic searching manner of a man who doesn't want to find what he is looking for. Suddenly, making up his mind, he ran through his living room towards his closet and swung open the doors. At the base of the closet was a small wardrobe. He wrenched the cover open and pulled out the heavy winter blanket and sheets inside and running back to the now silent chime threw the pile on it.

      ″That will silence you!″ He said. His eyes now glazed with maddening terror. He bent down and picked up the bundle of sheets with the muffled chime inside, ran back to the closet, threw the whole mess inside the wardrobe and shut it. Running into his office he picked a couple old hardback of his first novel, ″Womb Wombats,″ and placed them on top of the wardrobe for good measure. He slammed shut the closet door and looked around. Noticing the couch nearby he grabbed the closest arm and slid it over with much effort until it stopped against the closet door and then he backed up. All the moving around had calmed him down a bit more and as he stood looking at the closet and breathing heavily he began to chuckle again to himself. Half out of amusement and half to hear his own voice.

      He thought of calling someone just to tell them the story and hear them laugh. He checked his watch, 2:53. He knew someone would be up but whomever he called at this hour would know that Frank was really shaken up about the whole thing and he was not sure what that would do to his reputation as a horror writer. He took a deep breath and suddenly felt exhausted. Perhaps it was time to go to bed. He did not really want to go back into his office to shut down his computer. He didn't want to explore any other dark corners of his house. In fact, he did not even want to turn any of the lights off. Better to leave them on and just go to sleep. He headed to his bedroom at the opposite end of his kitchen and shut the door. Taking off his shirt and straightening out his dark red comforter, still unmade from the night before, he sat down on the bed rubbing his eyes. The lamp next to his bed was an antique with a stained glass shade and was held upright by some gothic style talons. He shivered a bit in spite of himself at the sight of the thing and then chuckling lay back in bed. He thought of the chime buried deep beneath the sheets in his wardrobe. It would make for a great story tomorrow morning when his panic would be ebbed by the morning light. He reached up, clicked off his lamp and closed his eyes.

      He was very tired and it did not take long before he was drifting off into the world of his dreams. He was in that sweet spot, the limbo between waking and dreaming when the ringing started again. For a moment he lay still as his mind slowly made its return from the edge of the dream world and back to reality. There was another soft rustling ring. He shot up in his bed. Straining his ears. There it was again. Muffled but undoubtedly the same ring as before. The ringing of a light summer breeze. The ringing that would make one think of sitting on a porch in summer drinking coffee and watching the sunrise. And then the wind picked up and the ringing became more constant and he felt his heart begin to beat faster and the hairs on his neck stand up. The ringing was no longer peaceful sounding but now harsh and panicked. As if the chimes were trying to free themselves from their trap or trying to warn Frank of something. Frank sat in his bed listening in stillness praying the sound would stop. Praying that it was just a dream or some automatic speaker system. Some practical joke from one of his fans. This was the kind of thing they would do, he told himself. It was clever and artistic and right up his alley. He would appreciate it if it were not so late and if he were not so alone. And the ringing was so endlessly annoying. Sooner or later the batteries would run out or something. It could not last forever like this. And then he saw something move.

      A shadow eclipsed the kitchen light which streamed beneath his door. He could not move or even breath now but just sat in his bed looking at the shadow. There was a shuffle as the doorknob began to turn. Frank was now so terrified tears were streaming from his eyes. The doorknob reached it's final position and the door, slowly, crept open. The ringing of the chimes now grew to an impenetrable pitch. Ringing with terror or with victory, the sound enveloped the entire house and in its ceaseless noise Frank screamed and his scream rose in depth and in volume until the sound of his screams and the ringing of the chime could no longer be separated. And then, just as it had started, the ringing stopped and the house was again silent.

End.

By Sam Patwell.