You never know when you'll hear it, but when you do, you'll never hear another sound again
I had a boxer. He was three years old at the time. He was a good dog, if a little rowdy at times. Bigger than he thought he was. But he was relatively quiet, didn't bark much. Just very playful.
My wife and I moved into this house. We were first-time home buyers, so obviously we were new to the whole process. In hindsight, I wish we would've done a little more research, learned more about the acre or so of property we were purchasing. But you know what they say about hindsight.
The first winter was rough, but that was just nature. Any problems we had weren't related to the house or the property. In fact, the place stayed pretty warm, and we all felt quite happy. Then the thaw came, and summer.
Summer is my favorite time of year. I never associated it with death before--that was always Autumn, when trees and grass and nature seemed to just die away. But that summer, all those years ago--that summer changed my life forever.
I first noticed something was off when I had the dog outside in late June. It was about 75 out or so that day, a beautiful sunny day, hardly a cloud in the sky. Perfect. Brutus was running around chasing his frisbee. Just a normal day, nothing spectacular, nothing really out of the ordinary.
Until Brutus froze. He'd locked in on something out back. He was staring at the treeline, and whatever he saw, I sure as hell couldn't see it. It must've been in the woods a little, inside the first line of oaks there and behind the prickly brush.
But who can say for sure?
Anyways, something was off. Brutus didn't growl, but he stood there frozen, for far longer than anyone would, in my estimation, under normal circumstances. Something about the whole thing gave me a sinking feeling--like when you watch a scary movie, and you know somthing's about to make you jump. Brutus wasn't even paying attention to his frisbee, and it took me a few tries of calling his name to get him to snap out of it.
That was just the first time, and I always wondered before that why scary shit happens so slow. Why, when something evil is after someone in the movies, does it always, always have to start small and build up? Well, I would learn soon that this is true of real life, as well.
Brutus started acting funny in the house, too. He pissed on the floor a couple times--something he hadn't done in more than a year. My wife and I figured, maybe it's just him getting used to a new environment--but I never forgot the weird ordeal in the back yard, so I had a bad feeling about this, as well.
Brutus would stop in his tracks and stare up into the air, as if something had caught and held his attention. Except, of course, nothing was ever there. I'd watch him, and wait, and most of the time I'd have to clap my hands or holler at him to snap him out of it.
And then, I had the dream:
*I'm standing in a room so perfectly white I can't tell where the floor ends and the wall begins. It's very bright in here. I'm wearing a black suit with a white shirt and black tie. On the other side of the room, seemingly a hundred yards away, is a window, and outside the window it's a beautiful sunny day--I can see treetops rustling, bright green leaves flickering in the daylight.
And there's music. I look over, and there's an enormous black grand piano to my right. The most amazing, heart-wrenching music I've ever heard. The kind of music that changes you somehow. And it's a very old woman playing the music, hear face turned down to the keys before her.
I approach her and she motions for me to sit. She has a kind face--beady black eyes behind thin lenses inside thick black frames. She has a lovely smile and such white, white teeth. Her hair is curly--typical old lady hair, I guess--but it's so white. She must be very old. She's wearing a black dress. She's altogether very lovely.
I sit next to her on the bench and she motions for me to play. She never says a word, but somehow I know what she's asking, and I try to explain to her that I can't play the piano, I've never tried--but she motions with her hands again, indicating the keys, so I place my fingers on them and...I can just play. I'm playing the same beautiful song, the song of my heart, the song of God...
Then I pull away, rising out of my body, and I have a bird's eye view of myself and the old woman at the piano. My face is turned down as I'm focused on the keys, focused so intently on playing the song--but the old woman's face is right next to mine. And her teeth are gritted. Sharp. Evil...*
I woke up, but it wasn't one of those theatrical awakenings like in the movies. I didn't fly up to sitting position and I didn't yell. I just jerked a little, and it woke me up. My wife didn't even notice.
But Brutus was sitting on the floor next to me, staring at me. I patted his head and rolled over, but he whimpered a couple of times, so with some annoyance I decided to get up and take him outside, figuring he had to pee or take a dump. It wasn't totally out of the ordinary for the dog to get one of us up at 2am to go outside. No big deal.
I walked him through the dark house, which was only lit by a couple of those little plug-in nightlights--you know, the little ones that glow an eerie orange color. But when I opened the door to take Brutus outside, it was a perfect sunny day. Blue sky. Enormous clouds like fluffy white brains. Chirping birds. A pleasant breeze.
And despite all of that, I was shaken to my core. I glanced behind me, and the house was still dark--yet there, in front of me, it was impossibly bright outside.
Brutus jerked on his leash then, tugging me out the door, and somehow his leash extended out. I could feel him tugging, but somehow, like some rubber band, Brutus was able to move further and further away from me. I held tight, but as he moved away, I grew worried that I'd lose him, so I called out to him.
He turned around. His eyes were black--blacker than they've ever been. He stared at me and I felt hypnotized, so I stared back. Eye contact for what seemed like decades. Each of us standing our ground--until I blinked.
In the time it took my eyes to close and open again--in that infinitesimal fraction of a second--Brutus had opened his mouth wide, as if he, like a snake, could unhinge his jaw. I recoiled, though he was probably 20 yards away.
A thick, red bile that looked a lot like strawberry filling oozed out of his mouth, and his head flipped impossibly upside down. His black eyes began to glow. And then, behind the bile, came a sound--a sound so palpable I could actually see it.
It was the music--the music from my dream. And I could see it, yellow and red, gliding through the air towards me. It was exactly how I'd imagine a sound would look--like a series of waves in water--but it was yellow and red, and those colors would flow around one another until they seemed analogous to each other.
The waves came towards me, and I was at that moment so comforted--in spite of all the horrific things I'd just seen--I waited patiently. And then, THWAP! the waves crashed against my forehead. In my brain I heard a female voice say, "I am the siren, you are my son..."
I awoke in my bed. My wife was still asleep next to me. A sliver of sunlight seeped in between the small space between the curtains that hugged the bedroom's only window. Brutus was fast asleep on the floor beside me.
It was quiet. Wonderfully quiet.
Except that, well, I'd woken up deaf.
The worst part is I can't remember what my wife's voice sounds like. I can't remember her laugh, or the tone she'd get when she would tease me. It's as if my memory of those sounds has been wiped clean.
And I can't get that song out of my head...
Years later, it occurred to me that the voice I'd heard had said more than I had previously remembered. Yes, she'd said, "I am the siren, you are my son..." but there was more. She had sung them like song lyrics, or a nursery rhyme:
"I am the siren, you are my son. Soon I'll be coming for everyone."
submitted by portly_fellow
I see your dog sitting in a chair looking out the window and raise you Brutus.