The bell beneath the water

Marco couldn't say for sure when he'd first seen the young woman - or when she'd first seen him.
He'd gone to the baths at Witterswick on Saturday morning as usual, and was cycling back along the riverside with Liam and Stuart when he saw her on the path ahead. As he passed, she half-turned and smiled at him.
It wasn't much - just a simple smile - but something made him brake suddenly and call out to his friends to wait.
"What is it?" Liam asked.
"I just remembered - I said I'd fetch something for Mum in town. I'll see you later."
His friends made "duh!" noises and cycled on. When they'd vanished down the path, Marco turned round, and wheeled his bike back to the spot where the woman had been.
She was sitting on a bench on one of the concrete platforms by the water's edge. Seeing Marco approach she smiled again, and motioned him to sit beside her. She was wearing dark slacks and a blue-grey cardigan.
"Hello." Her voice sounded posh, but friendly. "Sit down. Have you heard it too?"
"Heard ...?"
"The bell." She made a sweeping gesture with her hand. "Out there."
Puzzled, Marco followed her gaze, past the line of reeds to the broad stretch of water beyond. In summer the river was filled with yachts, schooners and smaller craft, but now it was October and most of the boats were laid up in boatyards. Only a few dinghies swung here and there at their moorings, their rigging clunking gently in the breeze.
"You know the story, don't you?" The young woman pointed across to the wooded slopes on the far bank. "About the Abbey?"
"Our teacher said ... there used to be an abbey there - years ago ..."
"Centuries ago," she corrected him. "Five hundred years, to be precise. "But do you know what happened to it?"
"There was a storm ... the river burst its banks."
"And the abbey was washed away - with everyone in it." She leaned closer. "But you don't know why that happened, do you? They never teach you the really important stuff in school."
She smiled again. Marco felt an odd chill creeping over him.
"There was a girl working in the abbey kitcens - so the story goes. One day she was arrested, along with a couple of the monks. The Abbot claimed they'd been involved in witchcraft - devil-worship - and handed them over to the town magistrates. They protested their innocence, but it was their word against his."
"What happened?"
"They were hanged. In the town square. But it's said that before she died, the girl cursed the abbey, saying that within a year the river would rise up and swallow it. And within a year - it did. The abbey and all its community vanished without trace."
"And saved King Henry the job of closing it a few years later!" A white-haired man came down the steps behind them, followed by a younger man in jeans and a corduroy jacket. He chuckled. "Easy on him, Jane - you'll be giving the poor lad nightmares!"
"Nonsense, Tom - they're tough as nails these days!" The girl playfully jabbed Marco with her elbow. "Aren't you?"
"So ..." Marco was still grappling with what he'd been told. "So she really was a witch?"
"Who knows?" The woman's smile dimmed. "But the story doesn't end there."
"No." The young man took up the tale. "She made another prophecy from the gallows. That in five hundred years' time, the great bell of the abbey church would ring again, from under the water. And then their spirits would appear and take revenge - this time on the town itself."
Nobody was smiling now. In a low voice, the old man intoned:

"Three days and nights the bell shall toll,
Upon the town the flood shall roll,
And then shall rise our hellish souls."

"How do you know all this?" Marco stared at the three solemn faces around him. This had to be a joke - hadn't it?
"Long years of study," the old man said. "Fragmented texts, old documents, ancient books - scattered in libraries around the world. Finally we knew the truth. These past two days, the bell has begun to toll. Tonight, at midnight, it will toll again. And then ..."
A low, hollow boom sounded from somewhere below the water, sending ripples out across the river's surface. Ducks, geese and swans rose in a panic and scattered.
"You heard that?" the young man asked.
Mutely, Marco nodded.
"Tonight we shall be here," the older man said. "We have spells and charms that should stop their spirits from rising and - with luck - we can subdue them for eternity. But we need help. There is power in us, but they are powerful too. Someone else: a child, whose innocence is strong enough to resist their evil."
Marco realised they were looking at him.
"Can you help us, boy - what's your name?"
"Marco."
"Marco. Will you be able to slip out tonight and come back here? Before midnight? Help us to lay this curse - for all our sakes?"

Marco sat up in bed, watching the hands slowly travel round the face of his alarm clock.
Why on earth had he agreed to come along? Hadn't he always been told not to go with strangers?
You can still duck out of it, he told himself. Roll over and go to sleep. Forget the whole stupid business. Why do they need you anyway? Monks? Curses? Bunch of weirdos, more like!
But then he remembered: that terrible, thunderous booming of the bell under the river. And the looks on all their faces - serious, yes, but more than that. They were frightened. No: it wasn't a joke, or a game.
And there was something else he couldn't get out of his head. That woman's haunting, beautiful smile.
He glanced at the clock. Quarter past eleven. Through the doorway he could hear the gentle breathing of his mother and sisters.
Silently he rolled back the duvet and reached for his clothes.

The moon was hidden behind clouds, and a low mist lay on the river. Marco pedalled along the bank towards the place where he'd heard the bell. From the town wafted the shouts of a few late-night revellers. Nobody else was about.
The old man stepped across his path, making him swerve and almost crash.
"You came. Good. Quickly now." Without another word, the man took Marco by the hand and led him down to the concrete platform, where the others were waiting. All three were dressed in dark overcoats. The young man nodded at Marco and led him to the edge of the platform.
"What are we -" Marco began, but the woman shushed him.
The bell again sounded from below the waterline. As Marco watched, the river began to ripple and bubble. Shapes arose and broke the surface: formless masses with tiny eyes that gleamed in the blackness.
The young man was still holding Marco tightly by his arm. He tried to shake himself loose, but the man's grip only tightened. All of a sudden, Marco was starting to feel afraid. Something was very wrong here.
There were five figures now, hovering above the water as if floating. From the foremost shape, a voice murmured softly:
"It is time."
"Aye," the old man replied.
"Are you ready?"
"We are ready, masters," the three people chorused.
"Then come."
"No!" said the old man.
There was a silence. The figures' eyes shimmered.
"No? You have a substitute?"
"Right here!" Without warning, the old man flung an arm around Marco's chest and lifted him off the ground. Marco struggled and tried to cry out, but a hand was clamped over his mouth.
"So ..." said the dark shape. "Did he come willingly?"
"Like a lamb to the slaughter!" said the young lady, with a tinkling laugh
And Marco, gazing wildly about him, saw that the dark capes they wore were not overcoats but robes - long, dark robes of the kind worn by monks.
"Very well," said the shape. "The laws are clear. His blood will free you from our summons. Proceed."
With a grin, the young man drew a knife from his belt. Marco felt his head being pulled back, exposing his throat. As the knife came at him, he desperately kicked out with both feet, catching the young man on his shins. The man gasped with pain, the hand holding the knife wavered, and slashed at the older man's sleeve. The man's grip slackened, and in that second Marco had wriggled free and plunged into the reeds.
"Get him!" the woman shrieked.
Marco wallowed through the mud, thrusting the reeds aside. Behind him he heard shouts of fury as his captors came squelching after him. He tried to pick up his pace, but with every step he felt himself sinking deeper and deeper into the black muck. Not daring to look back, he floundered on, expecting any moment to feel a hand on his shoulder, a cold knife at his throat ... His foot caught against a tree-root and he pitched forwards into the slimy murk. Gasping he raised his head.
The white-haired man stood over him. His eyes narrowed as he reached a long skeletal hand down to grasp Marco's collar.
There was a chime - not from the abbey bell, but from somewhere further off. It was the town hall clock: striking midnight. The hand froze.
The creature's voice sounded:
"It is time."
"No - wait!" The old man's voice quavered. "A moment more - I beg you -!"
"It is time," the voice repeated.
The three people stood motionless on the river bank as the dark shapes advanced on them. Marco lay where he'd fallen, too terrified to move.
Screams ripped through the air - the anguished screams of people faced with some unnameable horror. Marco wrapped his arms around his ears. The dark shapes closed in on the three people, engulfing them. The screams rose to a screech, and stopped.
Without another sound, the shapes turned, glided out on to the surface of the water, and sank from sight. The great bell tolled once more, then fell silent.
Marco dragged himself out of the mud and crawled up on to the bank, shivering with cold and shock. He lay there, listening to the ragged sound of his breath and feeling the thud of his heart, until there came the bobbing light of torches, a babble of voices, and footsteps running towards him along the path from town.