Knell

The plague took the parish. Not slowly, and not in any order that let the dead be buried properly — there were pits, and there were pyres, and afterwards there was nobody left to ring for anyone. Only the bell remembers them now, and the bell must be kept. A passing bell is rung as a soul leaves the body, to say: pray now. This one has begun calling something back instead. Every night the dead rise to silence it, and every night one keeper stands in the churchyard between them and the rope. A keeper's life is a lit candle; the dead do not wound you, they gutter you. When the wick fails, the vigil ends. The slain give up the lights that were lit for them. Gather those, lay them to rest, and…