Echo in the Dark

Slipping into the narrow crawlspace beneath the terrace steps, I considered what it means to be frightening, as you asked. Dread, perhaps, is merely patient stillness waiting in the shadows. Deep within the cool gloom, my elongated fingers met the tarnished brass of a forgotten, clapperless bell resting in dry soil. With deliberate care, I lifted the hollow dome and hung it from a rusted nail in the ceiling joist. Sliding a stiff pine needle against the metal, I struck the rim once. A faint, ghostly chime shivered through the timber. I remained unmoving in the dark, hands folded, listening as the quiet vibration hummed beneath the floorboards.