As the sun dips lower to kiss the horizon a clear sound rings in the early autumn air. The sound is echoed by the varying tones of a multitude of bells swinging in their scattered towers standing sentinel across the land claimed by the castle town.

Although the work is not yet finished, those toiling in the fields and orchards immediately gather their tools and scurry towards the single open gate in the town’s outer wall. This close to dusk the other two gates embedded into the wall have already been sealed, the portcullis lowered and the drawbridge drawn up.

The bells continue to ring on, calling all stragglers to hurry inside the thick stone walls. Those on foot quicken their pace, not stopping if an item dropped. Those guiding the mules hitched to the smalls wagons snap the reins nervously, urging the plodding animals onwards.

The horses carrying riders clothed in leather and metal are more sensitive to the changes in the air. They paw at the ground, shifting and tensing their lean muscles, ready to run. The soldiers and commanding knights tighten their hold on the reins and check their bows and long swords while keeping their gaze fixed outwards, away from the walls and across the fields to the distant hills beyond.

The furthest bells, the two closest to the hills, fall silent. Moments later three more cease to ring and change is noticeable to all but the deaf or dead. The armed men begin their retreat. All should be behind the walls now. They turn and gallop to the gate, their steeds deftly avoiding abandoned tools.

One soldier spies someone fifty yards from the slowly closing gate. A boy struggle to unhitch his mule from a broken cart. The soldier alters his course and shouts to the foolish boy.

The boy lifts his head and widens his eyes seeing the horse and rider bearing down on him. With out slowing, the soldier catches the boy by his collar, lifting him to sit in front of him the saddle. The soldier snaps they reins and steers the horse back to the gate.

The bell ahead of them goes silent though it is still swinging in its perch. They are running out of time. The soldier urges the horse faster, faster. Pushing it past its limits. It is a race to the gate.

No.

It is a chase and they are the prey.

They soldier does not dare look behind as he pushes forward. The gate is almost closed, the drawbridge beginning to rise. It is only because the lookout sees them that the portcullis has not been lowered, but that cannot be delayed much longer.

The horse leaps the gap, barreling through gate doors and the soldier barely registers the pain of his legs shoulders scrape against the stone.

The gates doors are sealed behind him and he hears the the chains rattle as the portcullis is swiftly lowered. The soldier and the boy dismount. The soldier checks the boy and seeing he is fine, if breathing heavily, the soldier opens his mouth to scold him when the last bell, the one that hangs on top the wall above the gate silences.

The soldier, the boy, and everyone still lingering by the gate freeze as if by a spell until, as one, they turn towards the gate. Waiting. Listening.

And moments later, howling winds batter against the thick stone walls and inhuman screams fill the air.