Somewhere above, in the steeple, bells struck off the hour of eight. A timing device did that. Many churches had such timing devices to save labor. And as though that were a signal, a loudspeaker, attached way up on the spire especially for this festive season, began to growl out preparatory scratching noises, like a big metal monster clearing its throat. Gannett pulled on the wrought brass handles of the closed oaken door. The door didn't budge. He grabbed the handles in both hands and braced his feet. He pulled hard. The door was locked. "God," he whispered hoarsely. "God, this is me. I gotta get in, God. God, listen, _I gotta get in_!" High above, in the steeple, the loudspeaker was finally ready with a cheerful little carol. "_God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen!_" the voices of a dead choir roared out upon the silent city. End of Project Gutenberg's Not a Creature Was Stirring, by Dean Evans