🌙 Chapter Nine: The Whisper in the Office
The next morning, the four friends huddled outside the Carillon Journal building—an aging brick structure across from the tower, its windows dark except for a dim light in the janitor’s closet.
“Let’s do it,” Rita whispered, and they crept inside.
The place smelled like old ink and lemon-scented cleaner. Dust motes danced in the sunlight. Kyle tiptoed past a stack of newspapers with bold headlines:
CARILLON SILENT: A TOWN MOURNS.
NEW OWNERSHIP, NEW VISION: THE JOURNAL’S FUTURE.
Rita paused, tracing her fingers over a framed photo on the wall—an older man and woman standing proudly in front of the tower.
“That’s Mr. and Mrs. Garrison,” Lane whispered. “The original owners. They built the Carillon.”
A soft clang echoed from the back of the office. The kids froze.
“Who’s there?” called a shaky voice.
It was Mr. Binks, the janitor—an older man with a shock of white hair, pushing a mop bucket. His eyes darted nervously between the kids and the shadows.
Kyle stepped forward. “It’s okay, Mr. Binks. We’re... doing research. For school.”
Mr. Binks’ hands trembled as he wiped them on his overalls. “You kids shouldn’t be here. She doesn’t like it when people snoop.”
“She?” Rita echoed, heart racing.
Binks lowered his voice, leaning in like a man sharing a terrible secret. “The old lady. Mrs. Garrison. I think her spirit’s still here... watching.”
He glanced over his shoulder, then muttered, “The bells—they were her pride and joy. After she passed, the auto-player stopped working... like it broke when her heart did.”
Georgia’s eyes widened. “Wait... are you saying the ghost of Mrs. Garrison is keeping the bells silent?”
Mr. Binks nodded quickly, tapping his temple like a nervous tic. “I hear the bells at night sometimes—just a few notes, like she’s trying to remind us. So I ring my little handbell while I clean... to keep her at bay.”
He pulled a tarnished brass bell from his pocket, its handle worn smooth.
“Do you know anything about the auto-player? Or Mr. Halloway’s last song?” Rita asked.
Binks hesitated, then shuffled toward an old filing cabinet. He fumbled with the lock and pried it open, revealing a thin folder labeled Halloway, L. – Final Composition.
“I found this years ago, buried in a stack of invoices. Nobody cared. The new owners—bah! They don’t want to fix the Carillon; they want to sell it off piece by piece. Scrap the bells, flatten the tower for condos. That’s why they’re not repairing the auto-player.”
Rita’s stomach turned cold. “So... the Foundation, the new owners... they’re trying to erase the Carillon?”
Binks nodded grimly. “Unless someone stops them. Unless...” He trailed off, staring at the sheet music in Rita’s hands.
“Maybe it’s not a ghost. Maybe it’s just... an unfinished song waiting to be heard.”
The bells in the tower let out a faint, almost imperceptible chime—a single note in the afternoon breeze.
The kids exchanged wide-eyed glances.
“We need to get this music to Kyle’s dad,” Rita whispered fiercely. “And we need to find a way to play that song—before the Foundation silences the Carillon forever.”
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