Crouched in the belfry, clustered like lions, inimical as scorpions, first one and then legion came into sight. Like her dream, they appalled her, but unlike her dream, she could see them clearly, and wished with all her soul she could not. The unkindly light showed her things she could never unsee.

Below, in the narrow space the bells would clear when in motion, a cluster of beasts sat thick as ticks on a hedgehog, and in turn they bent their horrid heads to whatever lay beneath them, dipping, dipping . . .

Few things evoke the timeless peace and charm of the English countryside as vividly as the sound of church bells ringing out across the landscape. In the stories of A. F. Kidd, however, this seemingly placid surface hides a world of demons and spirits, magic and mystery, malice and revenge. There is no telling what may be lurking amid the bells and peal-boards, watching and waiting, ready to exact payment for some misdeed of the past, or feast upon the body or spirit of the living.

The author, a mainstay of the British small press for over twenty years, who is herself an avid bellringer, has drawn on her own experiences for many of the incidents in her stories; yet another, stronger influence, the ghost stories of M. R. James, also informs and inspires many of the forty-seven tales in Summoning Knells. Here are the understated horrors, the elegance of tone, and the suggestion of another world whose rules we do not know and at which we can only dimly guess, that will be familiar to, and welcomed by, all enthusiasts of the classic English ghost story.