Gripping the rope hard, he threw himself towards the floor to force the heavy mechanism into motion. The rope lifted slightly, pulling him back to his feet and he threw himself down again, timing the force expertly to provide impetus at exactly the right moment. With increasing vigour he repeated his solitary exercise before the bell started to ring in earnest and his body felt that miraculous moment of weightlessness. The pain in his back receded as his spine was stretched, nerves free for the moment from the punishing effects of gravity on ruined cartilage. High up in the belfry, the force of his endeavours was transferred via a secondary mechanism, quite separate to the bell. A large circular bone cog connected to a reciprocating steel saw, a parasitic addition which had never been imagined by the original medieval craftsmen who had built this tower. The saw was cutting upwards through the oak beam that held the cast iron bell aloft. The minister was correct; over the last few months the bell had been increasingly resistant to his efforts. A younger bell ringer may have been less likely to blame the inadequacies of an aging body and had the bell tower mechanism investigated, but the minister put the increasing stiffness down to age and infirmity. Then, without warning, the oak gave way, parting along the line of the saw as the weight of the bell and vibration proved too much. Old mortar crumbled as the oak beam twisted in stone sockets, the stone giving way almost as easily as the mortar, and the bell began its fall from grace.

The minister felt something was awry as the vibration travelled down the rope, a sudden grip as the cord dug deeply into his flesh harder than a vengeful angel’s clasp – then nothing. He stood looking upwards in confusion, the rope starting to gather in coils at his feet as the tower groaned like a wounded giant. In the few seconds it took for the bell to shake free, the minister realised his peril. There was nowhere for him to go, save through the locked belfry tower door which resisted his panicked attempts to pull open. A discordant peel alerted him to his fate and his wide eyes stared heavenwards for the last time. The bell was in free fall, no longer held above the earth it accelerated downwards, smashing through the fragile ringing chamber roof in a cloud of plaster dust and reducing the minister to bone, blood and offal in one final act. The bell lodged against the bell tower door, dull metallic sounds still issued from its cracked surface as falling masonry hit the solid bronze before the church fell silent.

The small congregation had mostly taken their places in the pews. Faces turned to stone as the cacophony sounded, staring blankly at the white dust slowly filling the knave. Standing or sitting, frozen in shock, they remained mute until blood began trickling under the belfry door. The first scream cut the air like a knife, a release of tension that transferred to the other parishioners who reacted with a unity of purpose and vigour that would have put the young evangelists to shame. As one, they ran to push on the locked belfry door, but the oak remained irresolute, jammed solid against the weight of the bell and fallen masonry.