The Sound

Here’s a bit of short fiction I wrote a few years back. In the spirit of Halloween, I thought I’d share it here. It’s loosely inspired by some personal experiences, but I think I’ll leave it up to you to imagine which parts are real. 😉

As a musician, I never doubted the power of sound on the human mind. But the strangest thing happened to me the finals week of my freshman year of college, something I don’t think I’ll ever be able to explain.

During that first year on campus, nothing particularly out of place happened. I stayed in room 313 of one of the older dorms, the honors dorm, to be exact, which housed four students in one modestly-sized suite. I didn’t interact much with my suitemates, instead choosing to spend what little free time I had with my fellow music majors. I played classical guitar and was very serious about it,using most of my time to practice new pieces or relearn old ones. Around the end of the year, I befriended another guitar major named Trevor who was just as obsessed with his art. By the time the last month of classes rolled around, he and I were officially a couple.

As my freshman year came to an end, though, I encountered one character flaw in myself that had never quite reared its head. I cracked under pressure, the kind of pressure I’d never had until college-level finals. My music theory class had a huge final project due, I had to rehearse relentlessly for my semester-end juries (which is basically you performing alone in front of the scariest crowd you’ll ever play for – music professors), and I still had to start clearing out my dorm room. I realized I was far more stressed than I could handle on my own and my anxiety started getting to me, so after confiding in Trevor, he persuaded me to contact the on-campus counseling services.

My first appointment was spent pulling nervously at my sundress and absent-mindedly rambling about my fears. I hated the idea of failure. I hated the idea of being less than perfect. I hated the idea of other people knowing Iwas less than perfect. I told her about my rigorous practice routine and how I’d hardly seen any friends my entire freshman year because I’d practically locked myself away in the laundry room, which was my usual study spot.

“Music major, I see,” Dr. Patterson said, scribbling on a yellow notepad. “Have you ever heard of guided imagery?”

“A little bit,” I said. “They talked about it some at this music therapy seminar last fall.”

She smiled. “How do you feel about trying it? Meditation is always healthy for someone with such high stress levels, and because it’s set to music, it’ll be easier for you to hold your interest.” She scribbled a few more words and ripped out the sheet. “Here are a few experiences for you to try.”

That night, I completed my typical nightly ritual – run through scales, fix a cup of warm chamomile tea, and flip through flashcards with theory notes – but this time adding a final step. I fired up my laptop, searched for the name on the little yellow sheet Dr. Patterson gave me, and plugged in my headphones. Lying on my bunk bed, I closed my eyes and listened as a disembodied voice instructed me to “Close your eyes and feel the weight of your body on the bed, letting the feeling stay with you for a while.” I did, letting the background noise of soft synth and rolling waves wash over me, but it wasn’t long before my thoughts began racing again. I needed something more to reach me.

Trevor and I sat in the grass in front of the music building the next day, strumming our guitars and discussing how therapy went.

“The meditation isn’t cutting it for me,” I said. “I did exactly what Dr. Patterson told me to do.”

He paused for a second. “There are these songs this guy made, they’re almost like auditory drugs. You play the song, and it’s supposed to be scientifically engineered to recreate a certain feeling. Like happy, relaxed, even high.”

“But do they work?” I asked.

“I can’t speak for everyone, but I do them sometimes, and believe it or not, I actually feel something,” he said. “I can’t place what it is, but there’s something there.”

“Something?” I shot him a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”

For a split second, it looked as if he was staring at something behind my head.Then he snapped back into reality. “You have to try it yourself to know. I can’t explain it.”

That night, Trevor sent me the link to a video that was simply titled “Happy.” I scoffed a little at the video, which had a background of a smiley face. Sipping my tea, I played the first few seconds of the video, which filled the room with a blaring bleep sound.

“What the hell is that noise?” one of my suitemates called from the living room.

I quickly shoved the headphones in the jack and positioned myself on the bed the same way I had the night before. Only this time, instead of being treated to gentle ocean sounds and a quiet keyboard backing a soothing voice, a constant tone played through the tiny speakers. The tone, which consisted of two dissonant notes, came together within the confines of my body, reverberating in the crevices of my brain. The lights in the bedroom were already off, so I let my eyes close and mind be calm. I didn’t know how long the calmness would last,but I savored every moment of it. But it didn’t take long for the constant tone to grow irritating, almost like the feeling of someone rubbing sandpaper against my skin. I removed the headphones, gathered my thoughts, and searched for a song I liked, letting that lull me to sleep.

The next day, I found Trevor in the same spot I’d met with him before. He looked like he hadn’t slept the night before, which was understandable since his jury was that day. I imagined he had spent the wee hours of the morning in one of the music building’s practice rooms rehearsing his jury pieces. Still, even with his long blond hair in a greasy ponytail and wearing a wrinkled black t-shirt, he looked handsome.

“I listened to the song you sent me,” I said, taking a seat beside him.

He smiled. “What did you think?”

“It was alright for the first few minutes,” I said. “Got annoying, so I shut it off.”

“That’s fine,” he said. “You get used to it. It took me a few tries to get the right effect as well. Are you feeling more relaxed lately?”

“I’m getting there. I think once finals are done, I’ll be better. I need this summer break.”

Laughing, he said, “You’re telling me.”

That night, I decided to give the video he sent another try, this time resolving to let it play through. The experience that night was, quite honestly, uneventful,but I managed to get through the ten-minute tone without shutting it off.Honestly, I felt rather proud, if not a little uneasy. The slight dissonance made me feel a bit dizzy, but aside from that, I didn’t feel anything out of the ordinary during the time the video played. On the list of suggested videos was another by the same creator, this one called “Ecstasy.” I figured since ecstasy is kind of like an even happier happy, this video might have an even stronger effect.

I clicked on the link to “Ecstasy” and put the headphones back on. I settled into my bed, hoping the sound would put me in a deep euphoric trance. The tone played, this one different, higher pitched, but retaining that grating dissonance. A minute into the song, I felt an odd feeling gathering in my stomach, a feeling that something was a little off. I paused the video,glancing around the darkened room. A little stream of light poured in from the living room, where my suitemates were still awake, studying and doing some last minute packing. Nothing was in the room besides my guitars, carefully stacked boxes of my suitemate’s soon-to-be-moved stuff, the bunk bed and a pair of desks. After surveying the room, alert to any unusual sounds or shadows, I put on one of my favorite songs and tried to forget about the incident.

The next day, I received a call from my mother, who lives on the other side of the state, saying that she wasn’t going to be able to pick me up on the last day of finals due to car issues. I was going to have to stay an extra couple of days on campus, which was fine with me – at least I could postpone packing and focus on practicing and finishing my final project. It was Wednesday, everything was due Friday, and the earliest I could leave was Sunday. I wasn’t going to argue with that.

 

I spent that day putting the final touches on the project, a composition. Trevor helped me a little, but he seemed paler than usual when I met up with him.

“Sick?” I asked.

“Maybe a teeny bit,” he said, mumbling.

That night, I went to pick a song to fall asleep to. There, in my browser history,were the videos, “Ecstasy” being the most recent. I knew it probably wasn’t a good idea, considering how much the last time freaked me out, but I felt compelled to try it again. I left the lights on this time, hoping it would make the experience more pleasant. Closing my eyes, I let the tones envelope me.This time, nothing that unusual happened, but when I opened my eyes, the lights weren’t on anymore. My suitemate probably turned them off because she thought I was asleep, which was understandable, and I accepted that thought as truth.

Friday finally came, and by that time, I’d practiced until my fingers were worn raw and red and my final project was as done as it was going to get. After breezing through the final jury, I raced outside to meet with Trevor before he went home for summer. He seemed to have already left, though, so I sent him a text telling him I’d miss him.

After my suitemates were gone for good, my dorm took on a different feeling. I was never much of a people person, but having no one around at all was quite eerie.I was used to being around people, so left to my own devices, I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to be doing. I sulked around catching up on episodes of TV shows I hadn’t been able to watch since the semester started and playing modes on my guitar from memory, making sure I hadn’t forgotten them already. At somepoint during the evening, I received a text from Trevor, but he didn’t write anything. The message was blank.

I sat up until around one in the morning, when I began to grow tired. I decided that I would rather crash in the living room than climb all the way up to my bed, so I curled up on the beanbag chair and searched for my sleep music. Once again, the strange videos were right there waiting for me. Somewhat leery but still intrigued, I put on “Ecstasy” one more time for kicks.

The first couple minutes were uneventful. At around the four minute mark, my gut began tying itself into knots. I stared uneasily at the doors – the two that led to the bedrooms, the one leading to the bathroom, and the one to the hallway, which had a tiny peephole with a little bit of light coming from it. My guard was high. I kept my phone close to me, ready to call my mother or Trevor if something went seriously wrong.

Five minute mark. Nothing.

I looked behind me, out the window overlooking a somewhat wooded part of campus. The window was

open and the cool breeze felt chilling on my bare skin. At this point, I was huddled into the beanbag chair entirely, clutching my legs against my chest in an almost-fetal position. I didn’t want to touch the ground. The unsettling tone almost made the feel of the floor seem foreign to me. Every feeling was amplified.

Seven minute mark. Still nothing.

At this point my hands were sweaty. I nibbled at the calluses on my fingertips nervously, as I sometimes did before a recital.

Ten minute mark. Still nothing.

The tone came to a halt, and as soon as the pretty background image faded, a number of related videos came up. One was by the same user, titled “Despair.” A little proud I’d made it through “Ecstasy” and wildly curious, I clicked on “Despair” and put the headphones back on.

The tone was deeper than the last one and even more dissonant. The sound literally made every hair on my body stand on end. The room was still dark, but the tone seemed to make everything around me an uncanny dark.

Still, nothing was happening. I could still see every corner of the room with the light of my computer and with the peephole in the main door.

Three minute mark. Nothing yet.

My body was quivering, mostly from nerves. My senses were heightened. About halfway into the video, I thought I heard the neighbors who lived above me, even though I was certain nearly all of the dorm’s residents had moved out save for a scarce few with circumstances like my own. Perhaps someone in the room above me was stuck here, I thought.

Five minute mark. Nothing.

I closed my eyes, hoping that would take my mind off of the more frightening thoughts I was having, but instead, my mind was taken to a place even darker than the room I was in. While my eyes saw shadows, my mind saw fire, fire with an almost-human expression. My leg slipped off the beanbag and as it hit the rough carpet, it almost felt like pressing it to warm concrete. I opened my eyes in shock.

Something really  wasn’t right.

I glanced around the room, making sure nothing was out of place. My guitars were there. My clothes were there.

My mini-fridge was there. My laptop, my phone, my microwave. The doors were all in the same position I’d left them.

THE PEEPHOLE. There was no light coming from the peephole.

I was now in a state of panic. I couldn’t see the handle on the door clearly, but I recognized the sound it made when someone was trying to wiggle it open. The door was locked –I wasn’t that dumb – but I wasn’t going to take my chances. I ripped off the headphones, ran across the room to the light switch, and fell down against the wall, dizzy. I reached up to touch the handle on the door. It was hot, like metal laying in the sun, but otherwise, looked completely untampered with. I cracked the door open and peeked my head out into the hall. Nothing out of the ordinary. I then broke down in the middle of the room and called my mom. I had to get out of here. Soon.

The next day, I cleared the history on my computer and resolved not to watch the videos again. For the rest of my time on the campus that weekend, I didn’t even touch my laptop. Saturday night was spent with every light in the dorm on full blast and with the radio on. I texted my mom constantly as well. I tried to contact Trevor,but he never responded. In fact, I never heard from him again.

I moved back in with my parents that summer and didn’t have any more odd experiences like I did that week. One weird thing did happen, though. My parents were watching the news when it was reported that there was an incident at my college. I guess one of the dorms, the honors dorm, experienced a pretty bad electrical fire. The funny thing is, the fire was confined to only one room – room 313.