Letter I

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To Mr. Edward

Sept. 18th,18-

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It is with great longing and remorse that I am resigned to write to you. These compositions will have to be sufficient conversation for the time being since I have no one to confide in here. I arrived but a week ago and one of my first tasks is to assure my dear brother that I am both alive and engaged in my profession. I will be forward in admitting that the events that have transpired are of great concern and anxiety to me. This case was not complex in its occurrence, but in its effects, which I will explain in the latter part of this letter. I know you are fascinated by the macabre and beg me to spare you no detail on account of your age. And so I oblige. Here is as vivid an account as I dare to produce.

The honorable magistrate had left his home and wife at high noon. It was not unusual for him to be absent for lengthy durations, but it was his practice to inform his bride of his whereabouts, especially if he would be indisposed into the night. His wife stated that he did not return that evening nor the days that followed… Multiple villagers informed me that the town bells rang abruptly at dusk, they seemed disturbed, yet I have found no connection to be made between such events.

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They found him the following week, not intentionally you understand. The torrid summer breeze had distributed the charnel stench over the entire village. It emanated from the looming manor of the late mayor. With the fate of the judge at the forefront of their minds, the men of the town did not forbear from investigation. After entering the residence, void of any invitation, they found the bloated remnants of the man draped across the edge of the metal washbasin located in the yard. With his arms pinioned, and his feet bound the extent of his suffering was evident. Smatters of blood had dripped across the tin and pooled glossily at the bottom. The sage and lavender tints of his skin indicated the origin of the fetid aroma. The verdict of his mortality was clear.

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From their account, they found the owner of the mansion contentedly sipping wine in his study. They hauled him off to the jailhouse which is where he resided in solitary confinement until my arrival. Upon my perusal of the evidence I composed the questions required to ascertain his guilt. I sat across from the man…monster… and began my interrogation. He gleefully claimed fault for the corpse. In simplicity, he had never forgiven the judge for doubting his competency and sanity. He admitted that their latest interaction had led to an “unintended” result with every emotion exempt of remorse. With such a clear confession I felt no need to defer his penalization so I handed him over to the men of the town and approved of their desire to execute him.  He giggled until the gallows strangled his excitement.

As you can see, both justice and order have left this town, which unfortunately leaves me as the ambassador of both virtues. This power that has been given to me is not responsibility that I desire, but it is my duty to remain until replacement…

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Please give Mother and Father my greetings and update them on my circumstances.

Your brother,

Edmond

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Letter II

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To Mr. Edward

Oct. 15th,18-

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Edward, you must believe me when I say that my spirits are dampened. This ghastly town is rural and abandoned in life. My days are long and lonely. The people come to me only when they have some sort of need that only a constable can fulfill which is never a merry affair. For the most part, I am left to my own devices and thoughts which as you are aware are not the most jolly. My home is humble filled with bare, obstinate furnishings. It lacks the grandeur of my bachelor’s apartment and is not enhanced by the few belongings I carried with me. From my window I see only the town belfry. It looms ominously over every other structure. My vision is only the grey stone which does nothing to enhance my mood.

Today I attended the funeral for the old widow who drowned. It was an unpretentious affair, the epitome of utmost simplicity. The minister cast a hesitant omen of hope over those in attendance.  It only required two men to lower the coffer into the pit. The old widow had no relatives and no one to claim her yet some generous soul still showered the grave with dandelions as a final touch of beauty to precede the impending decay.

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Her death was under strange circumstances. The only witness to it was a young boy. From his account, he had been unaware that she was near the riverbed. He had been enjoying a bath in the river. The silence of nature was first broken by the clanging of the town bells. When he lifted his head to steal a breath of air, the chorus of the bells was joined by a shriek and splash. Understandably, panic muddled his veins. He spluttered to focus on the origin of the piercing cry. She was there, by the bank, sinking into the cold mire. His lithe and pale form streaked through the water. Their hands entwined as he strove to pull her from the depths. His efforts amounted to no avail; the lake demanded the fabric ballast that covered her spindled bones. Each of her convulsions jarred him, and horror tempted him to contribute his own screams. He journeyed with her to the sodden crypt for as long as his lungs would allow. At last she stilled until her skin seemed to match the sullen hue of her hair. He clawed for the rough surface and wrenched himself out of the water. Nauseated and unhinged he gave a carnal cry and allowed his bare body to sink into the mud. This is how I found him after I had bolted towards the origin of such a scream. He was pitiful to look at and utterly exhausted. In frantic breath he recounted his tale and I found no reason to doubt him. The bath he had sought for cleansing, now wrought him tainted by unnecessary guilt.

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The villagers do not acquaint any malevolence with this occurrence and instead prefer to label it a tragedy. I do not meddle with their emotions, but I doubt the innocence of the old woman. I can think of no good reason for her to be present and concealed at the event of private bathing ... But alas, any judgement I may cast is but a shadow compared to the eternal inquisition she may yet experience.

I appreciate your updates about the status of Mother and Father. You are good to care for them in my absence. It is my earnest desire that we are all reunited soon.

Sincerely,

Edmond

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Letter III

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To Mr. Edward

Nov. 5th,18-

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I cannot tell you new great tales of interest to break your boredom. The only casualty as of late is the loss of a drunkard. The tavern master asked for my assistance in this case, because he wanted the arm of the law to be responsible for his customer’s eviction.

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I stepped over the vomit and kicked the young man’s foot to prompt him to move. He was strewn across the doorway and while at night his presence would not discourage the debauchees from entering his tavern, the more reputable customers of the day would be dissuaded by the likes of him. The scraggy hair and pale disposition identified him as the most avid attendee of the barkeep’s establishment. Each night he would enter to drown in the soothing embrace of the spirits and gorge on hedonistic pleasures. By these rites he lived, and by these rituals he died. A sigh escaped me as I came to the solemn realization that I was trying to inspire a corpse to stir to life. The morning light doused his still form in a brilliant aura, invoking a kaleidoscope of color from the empty bottle in his hand. The illumination did not suit his sordid and pathetic form. I squirmed in the sunbeam as I became, once again, an intimate audience to what the wages of sin bought. At this moment, the tavern keeper was keen to tell me of the bells that rang as the man exited. He seemed wary of the occurrence which I found absurd, but I admit I did take it to heart.  

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There is something amiss with the bell tower. I have clambered up the spiral stairs, but found nothing to indicate any malice. The tavern master gave me snippets of ancient lore about it, but I have seen no signs to support such narrative other than my own apprehension.

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Take care that you never fall under the spell of beer and mead. A little liquor is good for the spirit, but to much addles the mind and body.

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How are Mother and Father? I think of their health as the weather grows more bitter…

Your brother, 

Edmond

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Letter IV

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To Mr. Edward

Dec. 16th,18-

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     In your last letter you mentioned that you were anxious for more tales of my occupation. I will not detail this latest victimization as I normally would. For even I become nauseated when I think of it. This village is of the vilest sort and the sickness that I fear lays upon it seizes me.

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In this case, the deceased is an eleven-year-old girl. A child, yet issued an adult penalization for her crimes. Under cover of darkness she stole into a residence to take an object from the mantle in the living room. The winters here are cold, so the master of the house had left a fire burning. It is apparent, that given her height the hand that held her skirt back from the fire, restrained her ability to grasp the metal siding of the clock. She must have dropped the fabric in order to extend her grasp. Her skirts fell into the flame and upon her awareness of such she yelped. The master of the house awakened with a start to the screech and pounding from below. He accounted that he groggily flung open the drawer beside him and grabbed the revolver that he kept prepared for such a time as this. In that moment, he believed that the sound that had stirred him did not origin from mankind, he was sure of it. Deep superstition prevailed in his mind and he refused to bow to the unnatural. He was down the stairs in an instant.  Visions of demons and specters flooded his imagination in a grotesque phantasmagoria. Before he could retain his sensibility, he had pulled the trigger which crimsoned the couch and generated a horror greater than any his mind could have concocted. He might have tried to hide his deed, but I was awakened at the very hour of occurrence by the town bells! I was afeared that some disaster had occurred and it seems that my fears were not misplaced. No sooner had I stepped outside after the bells subsided, I heard the gunshot ring and was upon the threshold of the house with my own revolver brandished.

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I have dealt with the matter concerning the girl, but I find myself now exhausted after striving to pursue justice in such an ordeal. I wish I had more cheerful tidings to give you, but alas my occupation is only essential where sin abounds.

 

There is something to these bells and I must uncover it…even though I know the tower to be empty, I cannot get it out of my mind.

 

I also hope you all have a splendid Christmas; I can send no gift other than my blessing and love. I wish I was there to celebrate with you, but alas I am shackled to the law.

Give my regards to Mother and Father,

Edmond

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Letter V

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To Mr. Edward

Jan.22nd,18-

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No, I have not yet been informed of orders to forsake this town and work elsewhere. Unfortunately, I am very adept at my job, so they have no reason to expedite my return. I do not have enough status to request another placement, so I must do the best I can with the responsibilities I am given. You would do good to do the same.

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I have yet another story to regale you with. Not a crime in itself you see, but I still consider it an effect of the human whim. When the barn caught fire, the old man had been engaged in a game of chess with his wife. He was finally stirred from his engagement in the game by the crackle of the timber snapping under the burden of the roof. His eyes shot open and he burst through the door and into the grass with speed that was remarkable for his age. One of his myriads of barns was burning. He could smell the fervent pall of tobacco in the air. The black gold he had stocked up was being licked by the tongues of the flame. It was an inferno, as if the very maw of hell was yawning before him. Against symphony of his wife’s screams, I was told that he surged into the heat, an obsequious slave to his greed. This first endeavor reaped benefit as he saved a single rod of dried tobacco from the blaze.

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The violent clanging of the town bells spurned me to action. I have now come to acquaint it as a harbinger of death. I know not who rings it, but yet I find myself trusting its solemn judgment. I rushed to grab my coat and abandon the tea I was drinking. By the time, I identified the crisis he had already scorned his life in favor of the future he perceived he could purchase. When the roof collapsed, the scorching of his skin became immolation to his avarice.

Those bells…Edward, they baffle me. I am not a coward by any means nor do I place value in the occult, but something perturbs me Edward…something is not right. Let us keep my apprehensions between us. It would not serve Mother and Father to know.

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Your writing is getting stronger. I can see that your education is improving your vocabulary. Keep hard at work, maybe one day you and I will converse in Latin.

Sincerely,

Edmond

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Letter VI

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To Mr. Edward

Feb. 17th,18-

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The latest update comes within the bounds of the law, but with no less gloomy tidings. It is common for the farmers to share tales of their past lives while working in the field. This social aspect of the labor is, as I am told, what makes the collaboration enjoyable. The great war is often the subject of great discussion. Valor, honor, bravery, either displayed by the men themselves or their ancestors is revered. They are humbled and pained by their defeat, but embraced their new lives even in the shadow of the scorn of the victors.

 

A new hand joined them at their labor and listened to the tales. Each memory recounted generated new offense and anger within his spirit. He had fought for the other side and did not feel the smears of remorse that seemed present in their narratives. Their rumination had been his glory. His sympathies remained quiet in lieu of the wage he would earn. When of the men described the fray where his scars originated, his composure was shattered. He flung his pitchfork to the ground and spat insult at the man.

 

Instead of apology for the offense, his harshness was returned in equal measure. Abetted by his sense of ego he demanded that the man defend his words with blood. A deal was struck, they would duel that evening to the scarlet backdrop of the setting sun. While the national conflict had concluded, he was determined to contend for his dignity with exaggerated unction.

 

I was called upon to officiate the duel. I found my composition close to shattered as the bell tower seemed to echo the drums of war from ages past. Here I was again, warned by these bells that death would follow. They have never led me astray.

The man arrived at the field, weapon in hand with no intention to tarry in his retribution. With a sneer he goaded his opponent to action. The eyes of those watching condemned them to their fight. Taking heed to ensure that their weapons would be lethal, the men stood facing away from each other. They walked fifteen paces forward before halting to wait for my signal to turn and fire. At the signal they wrenched forward and pulled the triggers. The shots rang out and life watered the ground as one man fell with a crater bored through his chest. I could only watch in disgusted silence. This fight was without need.

 

I find myself lying awake at night. I ache to hear them. The ringing…I am scared that I will miss them. If I do not hear them, then how will I bring about justice? I must know of each err and this belfry is my solitary companion. The whispers in my head are not welcome company, but these are the stripes I must bear in my seclusion.

 

I am glad to hear that all is well with you. May such prosperity continue.

Your brother,

Edmond

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Letter VII

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To Mr. Edward

March. 5th,18-

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I must confide in you that I am struggling. I sense a turn in my demeanor. I am a man of science with no submission to the supernatural, but I have come to doubt such sensibilities. I have noticed a pattern in each of my accounts. A single thread that connects them beyond the intricacies of human nature. I am sure you are aware. The bells…oh those dreadful, damned bells…I can hear them now. You must forgive me, and I do not mean to alarm you, but you must know my state of mind.

 

For the first time since the voices in my head had overwhelmed me, I heard another sound. A form of communication I could recognize fully: music. Soft and mellow the sound of the bells was methodical and slow unlike the sheer chaos of the convoluted voices.  The tone had a darkness about it which was strange because it seemed to provide the only source of light in the dimness of my mind. Each set of rhythm was unique in pattern and resonance. It changed repeatedly until finally it seemed that a given tune was selected. I turned towards the bell tower, but could see no figure striking the gilded bells.

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It was intoxicating, and I longed to hear it better. With each step upwards, I strained to drown out all other racket so I could find peace within the notes. Slowly the music increased in volume and I found that soft could not possibly describe it when I finally stood before the bell itself. It was utterly bodacious and held an arrogance within its sensible, sharp intonation. I could feel it all, the raw passion and a semblance of creativity that imbibed the brilliant inflections of pitch I was experiencing. The revelation caused me to limply fall away as I was overwhelmed once more. It was an embodiment of grief, alluring, graceful, but ultimately mournful. The bells did not toll for me you see, but for her.

She stood upon the precipice. I could see her, but while I desired to reach her, I could do naught but listen to each sweeping symphony of the bell. She did not acknowledge my presence, but resumed her doleful dance with a gallant leap over the edge. Everything was lost to her. Husband, snuffed by the machine of war. Infant, extinguished by the weight of her grief and body. She sought to join them in the ash. She suddenly became one with the instrument, experiencing the same percussion as her emaciated form collided with the earth. The spell was broken, I lurched towards the edge but my reach could not bring her back. The bells fell silent and I was left with this sacred communion.

 

My brother, in this sequence I have felt the pangs of my own iniquity. I do not desire to fall victim to death knells of my own making. I will heed each tocsin from that guileful tower and am a servant to its warnings. I cannot leave it, nor abandon it. I believe the bell is bound to me and I to it. We are one.

Until we meet again,

Edmond

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