The Bell Tower by Walter Blum

Author:Walter Blum [Blum, Walter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Blue Pepper Press
Published: 2019-12-04T22:00:00+00:00

17

Little by little, the road began to climb. As it ascended, he found himself clutching the wheel, his palms sweaty, his heart thudding inside his chest. For a moment he was disoriented. As he rounded a curve and approached the top of the hill, he could see his destination looming before him.

There was no way you could miss it. From one end of the county to the other it could be seen, 162 feet high, twelve feet in circumference at the base and inside a staircase rising like a corkscrew to the top. Gray stone for walls, taken from a nearby quarry. On rainy afternoons they seemed to weep, and rivulets formed in a ditch near the front door. Two arched windows, crisscrossed with metal bars that let in enough light during the day so anyone climbing the stairs could see where he was going. At night, a series of bare bulbs on a cord lit the stairs. Below, a narrow, unpaved road that led to the tower; drivers were warned to sound their horns and watch out for cars coming down the steep incline the other way.

Tonight, rain came down so hard it seemed to be falling sideways. The tiny parking lot beside the building had turned to mud, lightning flashed and thunder rattled the slippery stones as he fumbled with the key that let him in. It was a big oak door with hinges that had grown rusty with time and screeched as he pushed inside. There had been a power surge earlier, and several of the bulbs were blown out. Adam thrust the door closed behind him, fighting the wind that threatened to blow it open again.

He leaned against the door. The weather was worsening. There was a terrible howling outside, like an animal clawing the tower in a desperate effort to get in. The sound would have frightened him if he let it, but he knew it had to be just the wind.

From time to time the staircase seemed to be ablaze with a white electric fire. The walls dripped with water that had somehow seeped through from outside. Slowly, gripping the flimsy iron banister that was always threatening to collapse, he began his climb. He had been sleeping poorly the past few nights, and his body felt drained, enervated. It was as though he were enveloped in a vast spider web, palpated by fingers struggling to push through the skin, to gain access to places where they didn’t belong.

He began counting steps as he climbed, something he had done so often he knew exactly how many there were and what they felt like, a little slippery perhaps but manageable. The banister rattled, and if you didn’t know better you’d think it was about to come loose, but it was bolted firmly to the wall. He tried to hurry his steps, aware that once he made it to the room at the top, he could sink into the soft leather armchair that faced the curved, plate-glass

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