To Silence a Love

"To Silence a Love"


Cold blows the wind upon my true love
Soft falls the gentle rain
I never had but one true love
And in Greenwood she lies slain

The Unquiet Grave - Traditional



James began to pray for the silence. The silence he had dreaded for so long was now his heart’s sole desire. His body rocked back and forth, as he sat in the blue chair by the window. His eyes remained fixed on the old elm outside and the instrument that jerked beneath its canopy. With erratic fervor, the clanging of the chimes cut through the whispers of the wind. Their desperate voice pounded on the man's eardrums – sending spiked waves into the recesses of his brain.

The end is near, he thought; it won’t last much longer. He started to regret what he had set into motion, but also felt it was far too late to reverse the deed. The twine continued to jerk the disk into the bells – transforming their normally beautiful song into a sharp, unhallowed report. Through the heartless jarring, thoughts of his wife surfaced. He wondered what happened to the happiness they once shared. The man closed his eyes and continued to pray.

“They’re from hell!”

“I want them taken down… now!”

Screeches from the past began thundering in James’ head, while the bells continued their sporadic dance. The man pressed his hands against his ears, as the rocking motion of his body escalated. 



The chimes were hung on the elm years earlier by James and his wife, Martha. The newlywed couple had just purchased their first property - located just two short miles from the Atlantic Sea coast. James insisted on the purchase, claiming the lot held a certain enchantment which suited the spirit of the couple. Martha, though not as enthusiastic, admitted that there was an undeniable charm to the estate and agreed to the purchase.

Upon moving into the home, the hanging of the chimes was top priority. The wind-bells were cherished by James and had been in his possession since he was a child. Throughout the years, their song had ministered to his soul, diminishing the fears that had once plagued him.

Since his childhood, James had feared complete silence. He would often wake in the middle of night to an eerie stillness. His ears would strive to capture a hint of sound, but all too often the only return would be his own heart – slowly accelerating with each quiet moment. The silence echoed through his mind, as his thoughts raced to near panic. The anxiety grew to such a level, that young James, for a short period, was placed under the counsel of a psychiatrist. This did little to solve the problem however. Relief from the condition finally came during a long visit at his grandparents'.

Some of his fondest childhood memories were from the months he lived by the ocean at his grandparents’ home. Through the winter nights, James would lie in bed and listen to the howling winds, as their pitch screeched and cried off the violent sea. He felt their voice was the most beautiful he had ever heard, and yet, their register delivered a sense of profound loneliness and isolation within his heart. Notwithstanding these feelings, James was drawn to their haunting song, and his spirit found comfort in their calling. Before the boy moved back inland, his grandfather gave him some weathered wind chimes as a parting gift.

“These chimes have a song of their own,” his grandfather told him. “The winds will carry the chime’s voice to your soul and cast away the fear. Find a good place for them, and they will serve you well through the years.”

The chimes were much larger than the boy had ever seen. Six, engraved cylinders, all close to two feet in length, hung suspended from a large tarnished ring. Alluring Celtic symbols, arranged in a descending spiral, were etched into the surface of each musical pipe. Their voice rang true whenever the disk, which hovered amid the instrument, brushed into the chambers. A rich and bewitching song would resonate and fill the air.



James’ blood ran with sheer elation at the thought of hanging the chimes at the new home. The task of finding the perfect location was not taken lightly. The man spent hours walking the span of the estate, studying the terrain, assessing the wind currents, and weighing the seemingly infinite possibilities the large lot had to offer. After thorough consideration, the old elm, which sat alone on the north side of the property, was chosen.

The elm's canopy stretched into a magnificent array of strong limbs and vibrant colors, and in spite of its grandeur, an unassuming spirit radiated from every fiber of its composition. According to James, this meek landmark whispered an uncanny desire to serve as host to the wind-bells.

The wind currents on the property's north side were cool and frequent. They brushed past the large musical pipes, awakening the disk and stirring a haunting air. A melodic essence cloaked the estate and tempered fears. Over the next three years, James and Martha lived peacefully at their new home.



James' body thrusted in violent contortions, while the bells sounded with discernible ferocity. The man's lips moved as if he were reciting a lengthy poem, but instead of poetic composition, a high pitched wheezing ensued. The legs of the blue chair began to lift and hammer back into the floor, producing an erratic gallop sound. The calming melodies of the chimes were gone – desperation and hopelessness saw to that. Now, in the song's place, a hell-bent clatter bellowed with grand irregularity.

It’s almost over, he thought. She can't go on much longer. She did it to herself…always plotting and sneaking. She pushed me to it. She knows I can’t take that. She had to push me…push me too far. The irregular clanking splintered off the channels within James' mind, as the voices from the past continued their torment.

“Look what they’re doing to you, James.”

“I want them destroyed!”

“They’re from hell!”

There were moments - stretching into what seemed eternity, when the jerking of the line subsided and the bells became still. It was during these brief and precious moments that the man’s own breathing would become shallow, and the convulsions of his body would temper to a gentle oscillation. The beating of his own heart would slow to a faint drone, as he listened ever so carefully for the silence.

The circumstances, which lead up to the dreary state, still wove through the outer reaches of the man’s thoughts.

An unexplained sickness had invaded Martha - causing a rapid change in her character, appearance and spirit. The affliction caused unrest within the couples’ small home. The once loving and caring wife of James evolved into a relentless lunatic who commonly exhibited bouts of violence and paranoia.

Nevertheless, James exercised profound tolerance to the sudden onslaught – in spite of a growing desire to remedy the situation. The fears were rising from the darkness, however. The man knew it was only a matter of time before panic would breed desperation.


Through his fragile sanity, evil schemes began to work their way into the man’s mind. Terrible thoughts and visions invaded most of his waking hours and indeed continued through most nights. The horrors of his childhood surfaced from the darkness of his being. The wind-bells themselves delivered little comfort during the dreaded period.

One particular notion loomed in James’ brain with uncanny patience. Its beginning settled into his spirit like a lone seed waiting for nurture. Soon, details began to emerge and mature. Initially, the idea was just a warped form of amusement for the man. He never seriously considered carrying through with it, though he’d often marvel at the plan’s true wickedness.

All the man’s efforts of restraint fared well, until his wife, in her increasingly maddening mind, began to attack his very soul. She placed her fury on his most prized possession - his wind-bells.

Martha  became convinced that James' beloved chimes were fashioned and delivered from hell itself.

“They’re the voice of Lucifer, and I believe you know it!” she would blare.

“You’re bewitched by his wicked song, and it’s leading you into the depths of hell. I want them gone. You know they’re evil…I’m sure you know it!”

In time, James felt he was left with no choice. The thought of silencing the song of the chimes stirred panic in his heart. The thoughts which plagued him in his childhood began to scream ever louder. James decided that the fiendish plan, which began to evolve at the start of his wife’s sickness, would be carried out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~_________________________________~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sky was cast in magical silver, as a light, cold rain began to fall toward an earthly beckon. Martha began to awake from her induced slumber, as small droplets touched her face. Through blurred vision, the image of her husband began to transpire. He appeared to be standing directly over her, and yet he seemed very tall and distant. A subtle grin graced his face, as he knelt to lean in close to her head.

“Don’t try to speak,” James whispered. “It will be difficult.” He paused for a moment, as his grin faded.

“I think it is important for you to know that this is difficult for me. I’ve tried…I mean really tried to deal with the whole situation – you know, with you turning on me. I mean...all that talk about the devil...really, Martha. A man can take just so much, and then he'll start...he'll start to break a little."

James stopped to look up into the sky. The rain coated his face, as he drew a deep breath and opened his mouth wide.

"Don't you just love the rain?" he said, still staring skyward. "I love the sound when it touches the earth and its coolness...I love the coolness. It brings life to so many things. The cycles in life are breathtaking, don't you think?"

He became quiet as if waiting for a response. The man slowly turned back to his wife. His face, soaked with rain, took on a serious visage.

"I'm sorry," he said, "here I am rambling on. Please forgive me." He paused for a long moment before continuing.

"We can both agree, I'm sure, that I’ve been very patient, Martha. You just haven't been fair. You had to keep at it...just kept on pushing and pushing...yelling, that voice of yours -  always yelling.”

He stopped suddenly and placed an index finger to his lips. "Shhhhhhhhhhh," he whispered, "we just can't have that anymore."

His gaze pierced Martha's bewildered eyes. Her lips started moving, but only a slight whimper could be heard. He reached over to gently wipe some of the raindrops from her face.

“I’ve tried to handle this in a rational and sane manner," he said, in a candid tone, "but I feel I’m left with no choice.”

James looked down at Martha’s right hand. A piece of twine was secured to her wrist. Its length trailed away from the woman to some undisclosed location. He tugged on the twine.

“Take care to keep the line close, my love. The very same chimes you so vehemently despise may be your only hope for survival. Ring them loud and true and maybe you’ll stir enough racket to cause a passerby to stop and investigate.”

The man paused for a long moment, as a nervous bout of laughter emerged. He made a decent effort to calm himself before he continued to speak.

“If you should happen to fail in your efforts, please be sure to give a rattle or two from HELL.”

James brightened his smile, as he leaned in to kiss his wife’s forehead.


The pine crate lay three feet below the grounds’ surface on the north side of the house. Its cover was carefully put into place and nailed closed. The twine exited the box through a small crack in the pine board cover. A muffled cry could be heard as the dirt covered the crate’s surface.

~~~~~~~~~~____________________________~~~~~~~~~~

The hideous tolling of the bells had lasted much longer than expected. Finally, they hung in silence. Calm embraced the man’s soul like a warm, thick blanket. He rose from the blue chair and stared out the window. The twine, taut and motionless, trailed from the wooden disk into the damp ground. The man walked outside and slowly made his way to the old elm. He reached out and detached the twine from the disk. A beautiful song emerged, as the chimes, stirred by a gentle breeze, began to sway.

James turned from the elm and started to walk down the long path that led away from the quiet house. She’s at peace now, he thought. We’re both at peace. The image of the house began to fade in the far distance, as the man walked on. A cool breeze brushed passed - carrying the report of a loud clang. The sudden burst wrenched the man's heart - causing him to stop and look back. His breathing became rapid, as his eyes strained to view the distant elm. A second violent clang erupted. It trumpeted off the wind like a demonic herald. James slowly turned away and continued his walk to the coast.


Word Count: 2,041