Dark Entries by Robert Aickman

discernible beyond the end of the street.
    ‘Not only.’
    ‘Everything but the sea. The sea’s invisible.’
    ‘You can smell it.’
    ‘I certainly can’t hear it.’
    She slackened her embrace and cocked her head away from him.
    ‘The bells echo so much, it’s as if there were two churches.’
    ‘I’m sure there are more than that. There always are in old towns like this.’ Suddenly he was struck by the significance of his words in relation to what she had said. He shrank into himself, tautly listening.
    ‘Yes,’ cried Phrynne delightedly. ‘It is another church.’
    ‘Impossible,’ said Gerald. ‘Two churches wouldn’t have practice ringing on the same night.’
    ‘I’m quite sure. I can hear one lot of bells with my left ear, and another lot with my right.’
    They had still seen no one. The sparse gas lights fell on the furnishings of a stone quay, small but plainly inregular use.
    ‘The whole population must be ringing the bells.’ His own remark discomfited Gerald.
    ‘Good for them.’ She took his hand. ‘Let’s go down on the beach and look for the sea.’
    They descended a flight of stone steps at which the sea had sucked and bitten. The beach was as stony as the steps, but lumpier.
    ‘We’ll just go straight on,’ said Phrynne. ‘Until we find it.’
    Left to himself, Gerald would have been less keen. The stones were very large and very slippery, and his eyes did not seem to be becoming accustomed to the dark.
    ‘You’re right, Phrynne, about the smell.’
    ‘Honest sea smell.’
    ‘Just as you say.’ He took it rather to be the smell of dense rotting weed; across which he supposed they must be slithering. It was not a smell he had previously encountered in such strength.
    Energy could hardly be spared for thinking, and advancing hand in hand was impossible.
    After various random remarks on both sides and the lapse of what seemed a very long time, Phrynne spoke again. ‘Gerald, where is it? What sort of seaport is it that has no sea?’
    She continued onwards, but Gerald stopped and looked back. He had thought the distance they had gone overlong, but was startled to see how great it was. The darkness was doubtless deceitful, but the few lights on the quay appeared as on a distant horizon.
    The far glimmering specks still in his eyes, he turned and looked after Phrynne. He could barely see her. Perhaps she was progressing faster without him.
    ‘Phrynne! Darling!’
    Unexpectedly she gave a sharp cry.
    ‘Phrynne!’
    She did not answer.
    ‘Phrynne!’
    Then she spoke more or less calmly. ‘Panic over. Sorry, darling. I stood on something.’
    He realised that a panic it had indeed been; at least in him.
    ‘You’re all right?’
    ‘Think so.’
    He struggled up to her. ‘The smell’s worse than ever.’ It was overpowering.
    ‘I think it’s coming from what I stepped on. My foot went right in, and then there was the smell.’
    ‘I’ve never known anything like it.’
    ‘Sorry darling,’ she said gently mocking him. ‘Let’s go away.’
    ‘Let’s go back. Don’t you think?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Phrynne. ‘But I must warn you I’m very disappointed. I think that seaside attractions should include the sea.’
    He noticed that as they retreated, she was scraping the sides of one shoe against the stones, as if trying to clean it.
    ‘I think the whole place is a disappointment,’ he said. ‘I really must apologise. We’ll go somewhere else.’
    ‘I like the bells,’ she replied, making a careful reservation.
    Gerald said nothing.
    ‘I don’t want to go somewhere where you’ve been before.’
    The bells rang out over the desolate unattractive beach. Now the sound seemed to be coming from every point along the shore.
    ‘I suppose all the churches practise on the same night in order to get it over with,’ said Gerald.
    ‘They do it in order to see which can ring the loudest,’ said Phrynne.
    ‘Take care you don’t twist your ankle.’
    The din as they reached