PROLOGUE
A Bell
Appears just before something is about to awaken.
It was a well-known secret that something was not quite right about the house tucked at the very center of the street.
For one, strange silhouettes always stretched across the vast marble facade whenever the sun began to set and the gas lamps flickered to life. Anyone who lingered on the sidewalk and turned their face toward the darkened windows would see shadows twisting there that sometimes took the shape of people, though there wasn’t another soul to be found along the road.
For another, whenever the windows were left open, whispers drifted into the neighbors’ homes, carrying with them notes of longing and a desire to be heard. They snuck through the cracks in the plaster and sank into silences, causing gooseflesh to rise along the necks of those who came across the sound. And on nights when the light of a full moon flickered against the manor, the murmurs grew louder, the soft hushes sharpening into something that sounded like secrets slipping through a keyhole.
But because these oddities were too fantastical to put into words, no one spoke of them aloud. After catching sight of the dancing shadows in the corners of their eyes, the neighbors simply shifted their gaze to the more practicallooking brick homes on the other side of the street. And when those hushed whispers emerged between the regular rhythm of chores, whoever heard them turned their focus to the clicking of their knitting needles, muttering to themselves that nothing good ever came from giving way to flights of fancy.
For it is easier to brush aside the mere possibility of magic than to consider that it might be resting beneath the familiar comfort of the everyday.
In fact, the only outward sign that the neighbors suspected something was amiss was the way they let their pace quicken as they shuffled past the house. It was an arrangement that suited everyone perfectly well, and so these peculiarities remained an open secret to the mutual contentment of all.
The problem now, though, was that the house had gone entirely silent.
Though shadows could still be seen on the other side of the windows, they didn’t reach beneath the panes and trickle onto the sidewalks. And even when the neighbors grew still and strained to hear the raspy voices that had always been waiting for a chance to speak before, they couldn’t hear anything but the creaking of their floorboards.
It was one thing to have known about these oddities and brushed them aside, but to recognize that they were gone now meant acknowledging that they’d existed in the first place. And so, everyone grew warier, peeking between the gaps in their curtains to see if anything else was changing about the marble manor.
And one night, they did manage to catch a glimpse of something curious.
It happened just after the sun had well and truly set, when the man who lit the gas lamps had turned the corner and everyone was beginning to let the fires flickering in the grate ease the tensions of a busy day.
As a stillness settled along the street, they heard it: the barest of whispers creeping into the silent pause.
More than one inquisitive neighbor had risen from their chair then and gone to the window, where they parted the curtains just an inch so that they could peer outside.
At first, they couldn’t find anything to be remarked upon about the house. Things were just as they had been when they’d passed by it on their way home only an hour or two before. After a moment, they wondered if they’d only imagined the sound and considered abandoning their posts by the glass panes.
But something kept them from moving back toward the familiar comfort of their hearths, and soon, their patience was rewarded.
A figure suddenly emerged at the bottom of the stoop, and everyone looking on gasped in surprise, wondering how the stranger had managed to slip out of thin air.
But after a moment, they realized that the visitor was merely wearing black, giving the illusion that he’d suddenly risen from the shadows of the sidewalk. When he pulled away his hat, though, they could see him easily enough, for his hair was shockingly white, nearly the same shade as the marble that all but glimmered in the light of the gas lamps.
The stranger stared up at the house then, and as his foot landed on the first step, the pulse of those gazing on from the other side of the windowpanes began to beat faster and faster, though they didn’t understand why.
As the man came closer to the front door, the shadows started to slip beneath the sills, trailing toward him like they were trying to curl around his coattails and usher him inside.
When he came to rest at the threshold and reached toward the handle, the neighbors realized that they were all holding their breath, not daring to make a single sound as they waited to see what happened next.
For some reason, they half expected him to find the door locked, that he would turn around in disappointment and slip back into the darkness once more.
But something else happened that felt ordinary and spectacular all at once.
The door opened, and all the whispers that had faded from the silence of the everyday returned, quieter now but still noticeable to anyone who had heard them before.
As the neighbors listened to the soft murmurs creep through the floorboards, they saw the stranger hesitate before the threshold, as if he was just as surprised that the door had clicked open when his fingers touched the handle. And though his hand remained still, he took the barest step backward, the stiff rise of his shoulders hinting that a new burden had come to rest there.
But when he turned his face upward to peer at the shadows dancing through the panes, everyone pressed their cheeks a bit closer to their own windows and watched as the worry lines that marked his brow gave way to an unmistakable expression of determination.
Before they could guess what had brought about this sudden change, the man slipped into the house, snapping the door shut behind him.
And though the neighbors let out a sigh of relief as they returned to the warm chairs before their hearths, they couldn’t help but think that the silence of the street had been replaced by something much more troublesome: questions so extraordinary that they might slip beyond the safe confines of their imagination.
