When the bells began ringing, I remember, it sent a shiver up my spine. This strange, gothic world of escheresque cathedrals—you were never in or out of a building, for everything was a ceaseless coming and going of spires and stained glass and candles. It wasn’t until the bells stopped ringing that I became afraid. The great ringing started up all at once, like a tsunami; and once that strange wave passed over, it left an interminable silence I was not brave enough to break. Even the quiet sound of my breath seemed a sacrilege, my soft footfalls profane.
The Church
Tale Told 