Out of the Mist by EvergreenWritersGroup Page A

happens in this town.”
    As they caught the
breeze bearing them back towards their old neighbourhood, Frank
suddenly said, “Do you smell something?”
    “ Smoke!” William
could see a stream of smoke coming from the woodshed by his
daughter’s house. “Oh, lord! It’s a fire!”
    Both of them could
see flames now, lapping out from inside the shed, sending spears
through the gaps in the wooden sides.
    “ It’ll catch the
houses! We have to do something!” Frank called in alarm. Even as
they watched, the shed, whose side was practically touching
William’s daughter’s house, sent sparks through its roof, sparks
which landed on the home of Frank’s son, just a few feet
away.
    “ Fire! Fire!” both
yelled. They did not have human voices, so of course no one could
hear.
    Frank slipped through
the window to his son’s bedroom and circled the sleepers. “I’d like
to shake you!” he cried in frustration, as his son lay with his arm
out, head back, snoring a little, his wife sound asleep, curled up
with her head partly under the pillow.
    William had slipped
through the smoke and flame to his daughter’s back doorstep. There
was a full watering can by the step, but he had neither hands nor
strength to lift it. “Oh, God, why am I so helpless?”
    “ We must do
something!” Frank dropped beside William. “Come on! We must ring
the bell and wake the town!”
    “ But how can we?”
William groaned.
    “ We’ll have to find a
way. We must try!” Frank barrelled ahead, rising on the breeze as
fast as he could to the top of the bell tower, two blocks away.
William was beside him. The two ghosts slipped through the lattice
where the great brass bell hung. It was heavy and immobile as the
two franticly threw themselves against it.
    “ And I was 190 pounds
when I was alive,” Frank said, in despair. William whirled in
anguish round and round the bell, leaving a stream of luminescence
in his wake. Through the belfry slats he could see the flames
reaching towards his daughter’s home.
    A rush, a flapping, a
hundred squeaking cries. All at once, the two ghosts were enveloped
in what seemed like a swarm of a hundred squealing, flying mice,
their wings unfolding like small umbrellas, their eyes bright with
alarm as they swirled around, trying to dodge the
ghosts.
    “ Bats!”
    “ They see us!” said
Frank.
    “ They hear us!”
William realized. "They can hear things people can’t
hear!”
    The bats circled away
from the ghosts, hiding inside the bell, hanging upside down from
the clapper. More and more of them swooped to get away from the
ghosts until dozens—hundreds—covered the clapper. When the ghosts
moved to one side of the bell-tower, the bats swerved to the
opposite side of the clapper.
    A soft clang rang
out; the movement of the bats rocked the clapper.
    “ Move! Fly!” Frank
and William rocketed around to keep the bats moving, to keep them
seeking a safe place opposite the ghosts.
    Clang! The clapper
hit one side of the bell. Clang! With every clang the ghosts
circled to the opposite side, making sure the bats kept moving back
and forth.
    Clang!
    Windows were thrown
up in the town below.
    “ What’s the alarm?
What’s happening?”
    The neighbours across
the street saw the fire. “Call the fire department!” one shouted to
his wife.
    “ Wake up the
neighbours!” his wife called back.
    Soon people were
running up the street, shouting, pounding on house
doors.
    Clang! The ghosts
kept the bats moving, flying, clinging inside the bell.
    Clang! The bats kept
the clapper moving.
    The firehouse horn
began sounding to call in the volunteers. The engine fired up and
sirens howling, like a quarrelsome cat, roared up the
street.
    “ Here’s the hydrant!”
a boy shouted. The hose men completed the hook-up while other
firemen rushed inside the house, making sure everyone was
out.
    Frank’s son stood in
his pyjamas in the street, one arm around his wife, the other
holding young Jack. “I don’t know