The Bell
It was 1818 in London. Carriages, pulled by tired horses, clopped loudly on the cobblestone street. Gas street lamps lighted the misty night, but visibility was poor through dense fog, playing its cottony fingers around the shops and houses.
“Guidry-Loo!” Someone shouted. A man emptied his chamber pot out the window. Joshua crossed the road, along with others. He cursed as a fly bit him in the neck. Flies, garbage, and sewage in the street gutters accompanied the autumn night. Joshua was sweating under his wrinkled linen jacket. He hurried home on foot to his wife and three children.
Joshua thought of Elizabeth, baking some homemade bread to go with the hard cheese and a tankard of ale for dinner. The children would be home from school by now, and their mother would be helping them with their lessons for tomorrow. When he arrived home, he kissed his wife while smelling the aroma of fresh bread baking on the wood stove.
Joshua felt so tired. This is not like me. It was just a hard day at work, he thought.
Elizabeth looked closely at him and remarked,
“Joshua, you look very peaked. Was it a difficult day at the office today?”
He replied, “No more than usual; the walk home is usually invigorating, but tonight a fly landed on the back of my neck, and it really stung for a while.”
“Come sit down, darling,” Elizabeth said. “I will make you some tea.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Joshua replied.
He heard the children bounding down the stairs; they jumped, in turn, into his arms.
“Father,” Ian, the oldest, said. “Mrs. Haddleton made us read a terrifying story today called the “Premature Burial, By Edgar Allen Poe.”
Joshua imagined himself waking in a casket, frantically clawing with his hands to escape.
“Mrs. Haddleton should not be reading such stories to children,” Joshua said. “Alice in Wonderland would be much more appropriate.”
“Oh, Father!” Ian exclaimed. “It was so scary. In the story, the doctors thought the man was dead, but he was not. They buried him with a little bell to ring just in case he was still alive!”
“It’s time for supper, children,” Elizabeth called, giving Joshua a knowing look. She remembered Joshua waking up in the night screaming and shouting, “Get me out!”
The children knew nothing about this, and Elizabeth and Joshua didn’t want to pass along his paralyzing fear to them. The family sat around the kitchen table and passed around the warm, freshly baked bread and hard cheese. They each shared about their day.
“Come, girls, Elizabeth said when supper was finished, “Help me clean up. Your father wants to speak to Ian alone.”
Elizabeth pumped water into a large pot on the stove to warm it. She reached under the sink for the lye soap.
Ian followed his father into the small living room, furnished with Victorian chairs and a faded green velvet divan. Beveled glass windows faced the street. Father's desk was at the end of the room.
“Son,” Joshua said. “I wish you would not bring up such scary subjects, especially at dinner. You must know by now that doctors can not always tell if a person is dead.”
When the women were finished in the kitchen, they used the outhouse, washed their faces from the cold pump, and brushed their teeth with twigs. Sarah and Margaret climbed the stairs to their bedroom, and Ian to the room next to theirs. Joshua and Elizabeth soon followed the same bedtime routine as the children, and they climbed into their feather bed and fell instantly asleep, tired after a long day.
Joshua woke up later with a start, sweating. My throat feels raspy, and I can't breathe well. He thought. As the night wore on, he shivered with chills as his fever rose rapidly. He didn’t want to awaken his wife, but his restlessness roused her.
“Dear God, Joshua, you are burning up! I must summon Dr. Willoughby right away!”
“I am so thirsty,” Joshua croaked. Elizabeth fetched a cup of cold water. By six a.m., Elizabeth set the water kettle to boil for tea and called Ian for breakfast.
“Ian, your father is ill! I will fetch Dr. Willoughby. Please stay here with your sisters. I have scones in the oven and jam. Please take them out of the oven and call the girls to prepare for school.”
Elizabeth wrapped her shawl around her shoulders, hiked the mile to Dr. Willoughby’s cottage, and knocked on the door. The elderly doctor appeared at the door. His grey hair was sticking out in all directions, fresh from sleep.
“Yes, Elizabeth, what can I do for you?”
“Joshua is very ill. He is burning up with a fever. Can you come quickly?”
“Give me five minutes,” the doctor replied.
Doc Willoughby helped Elizabeth into a cart and hitched the horse. He climbed into the front seat.
“Giddyap!” he called to the horses, flicking the reins.
Both the doctor and Elizabeth heard Joshua's wheezing when they arrived at Elizabeth’s home.
Joshua was delirious by this time. “Get me out of the box! It’s dark in here, and I can’t breathe!”
Elizabeth and the doctor rushed up the stairs and discovered Sarah and Margaret in tears standing by the bed, applying cool washcloths to their father's head. Dr. Willoughby removed his stethoscope from his black bag and listened to Joshua’s heart.
“His heartbeat is faint. His lungs are very congested. I fear it's pneumonia or consumption, and he may not last much longer,” Dr. Willoughby said.
Joshua saw the children crowded around his bed. The children’s faces reflected fear. They kissed their beloved father individually, giving Elizabeth time to say goodbye.
My dearest Joshua,” his wife said, “What a beautiful family you have given me. I love you and know we will be together again someday.”
She looked in horror as Joshua's eyes suddenly glazed over and stared blankly at the ceiling.
Dr. Willoughby listened to Joshua’s heart once more. “There is no heartbeat. I am sorry, Elizabeth, but he is gone.”
A hospital cart arrived to remove Joshua’s body.
Later that day, Elizabeth, the children, the minister, and friends attended his burial.
Several hours later, Joshua awoke in darkness. He felt around in the dark. He discovered he was in a box. And beside him, was a small bell. No one could hear his screams in the dark cemetery on this rainy night.
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3 comments
You write very descriptively, and I felt like I was there. Being buried alive has got to be one of the worst things imaginable. great story. I love the way the kid brings it up and spooks the father, the way he thinks about it while he's delirious. just perfect. Thanks for sharing!
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Hello, I am developing mobile app about short horror stories and i really liked your storie. Can i get a permission from you to use the storie in my app. I will use your name as the author and I can give credit to your website or social media if you want. Regards, Spas Spasov
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This story will be published in an anthology via the writer's gild of Delco. I mention that here to also include Reedsy Prompts story submission
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