The town of Blackmoor had always feared the old bell tower that rose above the cemetery. Its iron bell, cracked and blackened by centuries, had not rung in decades. But locals swore they could hear it toll on moonless nights, calling out to the living in voices not their own.
Marcus Hale, a young journalist, arrived in Blackmoor to uncover the truth. The townsfolk warned him:
“The tower is alive. It hungers.”
He laughed it off, convinced it was superstition—until the first night.
A dense fog rolled through the cemetery as he approached the tower. The air grew heavy, the smell of rust and decay filling his lungs. When he reached the base, he noticed the entrance had no door, as if it were inviting him inside.
Inside, a spiral staircase wound upward, its steps coated in dust and dried blood. At the top, the bell hung suspended like a giant black eye staring down at him. Suddenly, the bell rang on its own. The sound was not metallic—it was human. Screams and whispers echoed through the tower, twisting into words:
“We are trapped… we are hungry… toll for us.”
The floor trembled beneath Marcus as shadowy figures began to crawl up the stairs, their faces pale, mouths screaming silently. He tried to run, but the staircase twisted endlessly, the tower expanding impossibly. Each step brought him closer to the bell—and to the source of the voices.
At the very top, Marcus saw a figure—a bell keeper, older than time, skeletal, and dripping with shadow. Its hands clutched the clapper, swinging it in a rhythm that made the shadows convulse. The keeper turned toward him, its hollow eyes radiating despair and hunger.
“Join us… toll for eternity…”
Marcus felt his limbs freeze as he was pulled toward the bell. His voice was gone. His screams became part of the bell’s toll. The tower seemed to breathe, swallowing him into darkness.
When the townsfolk woke the next morning, the bell tower was silent. Marcus Hale had vanished without a trace. But on certain moonless nights, when the wind blew just right, the bell could be heard—ringing. And some say, if you listen closely, you can hear Marcus pleading in its toll, calling the next soul to the cursed tower.
