The Ringing in the Dark

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. The wind clawed at the rotting walls, the trees brushed wooden fingers against the roof, and the three men within huddled closer to the flame.

'Why here?' said the Preacher, rubbing his hands together.

'You know damn well it's the only place we can be sure we aren't watched.' said the Sheriff.

'Can't we at least light a fire?' whined the Mayor. The Sheriff fixed him with a look that stifled his complaint, before lighting his pipe with the candle flame.

'We all know why we're here. Someone knows.'

'Impossible,' the Preacher said, though he looked over his shoulder before continuing. 'The only man who could know besides us has been in the ground these past eight years!'.

The Sheriff dropped a hessian package onto the tabletop. Iron nails spilled from a split in the side.

'Handmade in a poor man's forge. He always made his own.'

The Mayor laughed. 'That means nothing. Half the blacksmiths in the county make nails like that!'

'Half the blacksmiths in the county don't make sudden deliveries of thirty nails to each of our homes in the middle of the night.' The Sheriff dragged deep on his pipe.

The Preacher gulped. 'I hadn't troubled to count them. Thirty, you say?'

'Thirty. The traitor's wage.'

The Mayor flinched. 'I betrayed nothing!'

The Sheriff gave him another long look. 'What exactly would you call sending a constituent to the gallows because you wanted his land?'

The Mayor's lower lip quivered, but he said nothing. The Preacher's eyes narrowed.

A sudden tapping from the window made all three men leap from their chairs, a repetitive, metallic sound.

Ting-TING.....ting-TING....ting-TING

The Sheriff drew his revolver and slunk alongside the window. Peering from behind the wood, he let out his breath and opened the pane, sliding the gun back into the holster.

A crow dropped its snail shell onto the top of an upturned bucket, let out an amused croak, and took wing. The three men sat once more.

The Preacher scratched a drooping jowl. 'What of the daughter? She never believed he was guilty. Always said she'd get her justice one day.'

'Went back to Scotland with her mother, last I heard. But it's possible. Still, hell of a long trip.'

The Sheriff leaned back with a creak. 'There's another possibility. One of us broke the oath.'

The Preacher and the Mayor spluttered, began to talk at the same time.

'...swore before God and his Angels I'd never...'

'...what on Earth would I have to gain by...'

ting-TING....ting-TING....ting-TING

The room went quiet. The Mayor peered through the glass shrouded with spiderwebs, and rapped his knuckle on the frame. The crow tossed its slimy prize into its gullet and fixed the trio with a beady eye.

The Preacher stood. 'Now see here, Sheriff, I'll not be accused of dishonesty by the likes of you, nor that wretched excuse for a Mayor! I've told nought but the Almighty of our sins that night, and even then only to beg for forgiveness!'

The Mayor spun from the window, pudgy hands clenched in fists. 'Oh yes? And how much whisky did it take to speak to God this time, Father? Don't forget who it was that kept you in that comfortable house when the Diocese came calling about your vices...'

The Sheriff snorted. 'Now if that ain't the pot calling the kettle black. How many times have I dragged you out of Bess' place, listened to you beg and moan “oh please don't tell my wife, Sheriff! Please don't tell the papers! I can't stand a scandal!”'

'Oh, what hardship for you! Another sack of dollars in your pocket just for silence! You should buy yourself a gold star instead of that tin one, maybe advertise your prices in the window of the jail! God knows the place has been empty long enough people are starting to forget what it's FOR!'

ting-TING...ting-TING...ting-TING

The Sheriff hauled the gun out again. 'I swear 'fore God I'm going to put a bullet through that mangy piece of sh-'

The yard was empty.

The Mayor and the Preacher cast a look at each other in the gloom.

Ting-TING...ting-TING...ting-TING

The Mayor leapt on the Sheriff's back, grabbing for the gun. The Preacher hefted a chair.

Ting-TING...ting-TING...ting-TING

The three men fell to the ground, rolled and scrabbled. One of the table's legs gave out, sending the candle rolling and sputtering across the floor.

Ting-TING...ting-TING...ting-TING

The door of the cabin swung open, suddenly and hard.

Ting-TING

The townsfolk found them in the burned-out husk of the cabin the next morning. No-one was quite sure what the three men had been doing out at the old blacksmith's place. Nobody went out there much since Angus got hanged for stealing that horse eight years back. Damn shame it was too, they'd got quite used to the giant Scotsman and his busy forge, ringing out at all hours as loud and clear as the church bells.

No-one missed the three men much, either. The town got a preacher that didn't drink, a mayor that didn't cheat, and a sheriff that didn't take bribes. Perhaps that was why no-one remarked on the fact that though the bodies were burned, their skulls were smashed to powder.