The Lonely Harbor Bell

Tobin liked the quay best at lantern time, when everything had a place. The ropes lay coiled. The crates stayed stacked. The gulls settled down on the roofs and the little sheds turned gold at the edges.

So when the old harbor bell rang all by itself, Tobin stopped with a handful of net line in his hands.

BONG.

The sound rolled over the water. Seagulls burst up from the pier in a flapping white cloud. A few fishers looked up from their work. Tobin did too, frowning as he counted the rings in his head, as if counting might make them behave.

Then it happened again.

BONG.

This time Tobin saw the answer to one part of the puzzle: the painted door along the quay, the one with peeling blue paint, rattled hard on its hinges. Not a wind-rattle. A sharp little shake, like something inside had heard the bell and answered back.

Tobin took two careful steps toward it, then stopped. The bell sat high on its post by the water. The door waited farther along the quay. And just beyond them, Mira had her bright face turned up, and Nell was peering out from the tea room window, both of them clearly hearing the same strange thing.

Tobin could go to the rattling door, climb to the bell, or ask one of them what they had noticed first.