Wednesday, April 16, 2008


It's a strange sound, a pained groan, from deep inside the house, rasping and grating, such a strange sound against the first chirps and bird song trickling through the open window. There's a hint of flatulence on the end of the groan as if exhaling, or exuding, something more than pain, a buzzing groan that lingers in the pipes like a nearly spent metallic fly caught in a narrow stricture unable to get free.

It started an hour ago and comes without warning, held like a submerged breath between tightly clamped lips clawing for the surface until the lungs, burning with need, force the lips open and... There it is again. A dog barks. A door scrapes and slams. Feet clomp down the stairs. The front door opens and the feet thump across the porch. The sky pales to a washed out midnight blue while cars and trucks whoosh past on the dry pavement.

Here it comes again, that buzzing, groaning cry, almost human and yet deeper, darker, more nightmarish. It's incongruous among the waking sounds of the neighborhood and the house, ominous and strange, a sinister invitation. Should I wait for the sun to investigate or check it out now? Would the sun even protect me, banish the danger or reveal something more horrifying and strange, dangerous, ravenous, ancient?

I'll go check.

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