Most people say my job is morbid. I disagree; unlike the mortician, I don't actually have to look at dead bodies or bury them in the ground. No, I'm the bellringer, and it's my duty to spread the word whenever a member of our small village dies. Little Timmy just drowned in the well? I'm the first one to know. Cranky Aunt Petunia finally did everyone a favor and kicked the bucket? I'm up to the bell tower in less than a minute. In fact, just last week, I rang the bell for Meredith Carpenter, the-- pun intended-- belle of the town. It was the event of the month, a tragedy that rocked the entire village to its core.
But something's wrong. I woke up today to find that no one's crying anymore, no one's wearing black, the shrine in Meredith's remembrance is simply gone.
And Meredith is still alive.