Billy Kelly was a burglar. He was born in the years when a leading female figure discarded the tender loving care of the British Mum, and revealed other qualities that were colder and more uncaring than the male. Regardless of the difference in political views, other susceptible females adopted the same materialistic traits. In city suburbs throughout the land, children were brought up to be spoiled and overprotected, with a complete and callous disregard for others. Computers and electronic toys took the place of cuddles and love. The result was Billy. A creature who was cunning but not educated, active but not constructive, and avaricious without the means to buy the things he wanted. So he stole. He took whatever he could, whenever he could, and didn’t care where his spoils came
from. Tonight, the local pensioners could sleep easy. His target, for a change, wasn't them. Tonight his job would be even easier. Money for old rope. Or, in this case, old metal. His objective was the old bell of St Aloysius, the derelict church which had suffered under the onslaught of German bombers, and then suffered the final indignity of being decalcified during the sixties when the church discovered a surplus of saints. The last revellers had long left the pubs. Dawn was still some hours away, and the night had developed an eerie stillness. The streets were empty and ...
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from. Tonight, the local pensioners could sleep easy. His target, for a change, wasn't them. Tonight his job would be even easier. Money for old rope. Or, in this case, old metal. His objective was the old bell of St Aloysius, the derelict church which had suffered under the onslaught of German bombers, and then suffered the final indignity of being decalcified during the sixties when the church discovered a surplus of saints. The last revellers had long left the pubs. Dawn was still some hours away, and the night had developed an eerie stillness. The streets were empty and cold in the chill of the midnight hour. A faint mist in the air helped to hide his movements. His heavy duty canvas holdall, containing the tools of his trade, went sailing over the churchyard wall. His muscular young body quickly followed it into the neglected graveyard. The faint light from his torch revealed row on row of headstones, in all manner of disarray. Some hung at crazy angles, defying gravity, while others had succumbed to the march of time. Death had visited here, then gone to discover fresher pastures. He hunched his shoulders and moved on. The church door hung open on broken hinges. A trail of soil and debris led up to the altar. Vandals had had a field day, breaking the font, and most of the stained glass windows, while the crucifix lay in fallen splendour on the floor, a sad reflection of the times. He ignored the desecration and headed for the vestry. Narrow winding stairs went up to the belfry, by-passing the small platform where ancient campanologists had once rung the changes. There it was. The great bell, hanging discarded and overlooked for half a century, waiting for Billy’s greedy little hands to claim it. As he reached forward to grasp it, the clapper swung softly against the metal casing of the bell, almost like a greeting. A silvery tongue of sound sifted through the still night air. It filtered down into the darkness beneath the church, into the deepest bowels of the crypt. It echoed amongst those old, rotting coffins, a mere whisper to the long dead. In the heart of this decay, something stirred, an alien life force resting in an alien Bed. A surge of power animated the recumbent frame. Great red eyes opened, achieving instant focus in the stygian blackness. Hypersonic ears recorded and analysed the sounds from above. Long sharp claws opened and closed convulsively, as though it was already grasping its prey. The nostrils dilated as the beast drew a deep breath .With patience instilled by long, long centuries of solitude, it waited. Billy swore to himself. He listened for sounds of alarm, and hearing nothing, he unhooked the clapper and placed it on one side. He opened his holdall and extracted a strong line a hammer and a small cold chisel. He lashed the bell firmly to the safety railing, and with a quick sharp blow, he removed the pivot holding the bell in it’s housing. Unfortunately, he had sadly underestimated the weight of the bell. The line stretched tight, then snapped, and the bell fell away, crashing and banging against walls and stairs until it hit the floor below with a resounding crash. A crash almost loud enough to awaken the dead. In the crypt, the vampire stepped out of its Transylvanian coffin. It stretched to its full height, and brushed the soil from its cloak. It smiled, a huge, vulpine smile, revealing teeth like razors, and a long pointed tongue, already dripping with saliva at the thought of what lay ahead. Supper had arrived.
