The Loudest Silence

Sometimes I feel like I’ll wake up in Hell, completely unawares until Satan asks me what I’m making for breakfast.

This morning I thought I was in Hell. At least, that’s how I imagine it’s like: dark, suffocating, swarming with unknown creatures that watch you float by in your metal bubble. Only it was just my bottom bunk in the galley of a submarine. Until, of course, I heard the captain calling for all hands on deck. Then this place really did become like Hell. It’s now pure chaos. Bodies clash in the darkness, flashlights die, tearing down layers of hope as they do. Most people who aren’t having panic attacks are huddled together around the radio, praying, or whatever it is they do that makes them feel better about our situation. Regardless of our personal beliefs now, we’re all praying. Begging whoever will listen to turn the power of our little submarine back on, and send the hundreds of distress signals we’ve made out into the void blackness of the ocean.

We’re lost. Powerless. Sinking aimlessly until we eventually either die from suffocation or from our safety bubble of steel imploding instantaneously.

I used to love the silence of being underwater, where the busy world couldn’t reach my ears. We all hold our breaths for hours, the silence of the eternal sea being the loudest thing I’ve ever heard.

“I won’t lie,” the captain sighs heavily. “We’re screwed.” He says. He rubs his thumb and forefinger on his tightly shut eyes. “I hate to say it, but our only hope is that base received our signal the first time the power cut.”

sometime last night, our main power supply went down. We don’t know why or how or when, but it was like it just vanished. Our emergency power kicked in for a few hours. And then that went out too.

“Listen,” one of the head scientists ducks into the room. “I know I’m no submariner, but can’t we figure this out? Can’t we at least try to fix it?”

there’s another moment of loud silence before anyone dares take away the sliver of hope he gave us just by suggesting we could fix it.

another one of the scientists, a woman, she’s been staring blankly out one of the tiny windows along the wall all morning. She slowly turns around to face us all. “Didn’t you hear him?” She asks. “Hope is pointless. It means nothing now.” She turns back around towards the window. I’m standing next to her so I hear her chuckle to herself. “To think I was just hoping to see a squid.” She says.

and as much as her statement makes me feel worse about this situation, I can relate. I didn’t come onto this submarine because I’m an engineer or some brilliant marine biologist. I’m here to serve food and keep whatever equipment or supplies they may need available and organized. Like a golf caddy, or whatever those guys are called. I’m unimportant to the original purpose of why we’re all here now. And yet I’m standing among them all as an equal now, slowly sucking their lives from them, and all of them collectively sucking my life from me.

inhale.

exhale.

I don’t know if I’d call it ironic that the very thing that most people think keeps you alive is what’s going to kill all of us.

“There must be some way.” Another one of the scientists chips in to the optimistic side of the conversation. “Captain, can we see the power grid?” He asks.

the captain laughs in his face. “Be my guest!” He sings. “Let me know how the four thousand pounds of pressure feels out there. Though it’s probably a heck of a lot more than that now that we’re actively sinking. Why don’t we all just go out there for a little check-up. What do you say?” Clearly he’s being sarcastic, but it’s the way no one says anything after that makes his words hit like a hammer to the skull. If hearts sink, mine is already at the bottom of where we’re headed.

four thousand pounds of pressure. That’s two tons. That’s one male hippo on every square inch of your body.

I’m honestly not sure where that hippo fact came from, but still. I can’t even imagine it.

one of the two engineers that know about the system and how everything works stands up from his squatting position on the ground. I expect him to make some comment about how the power works, or something about conserving energy. Instead his eyes stayed glued to the ceiling. The window above us instantly becomes darker. We all look up now.

hail is little frozen balls of ice falling from the sky. I know that much.

I also know that whatever keeps tapping on the window is not hail.

our pulses all speed up with each tap. I know mine specifically is probably nearing a dangerous rate.

shadows dart back and forth all around the submarine. It feels like we are surrounded by either one big something or hundreds, if not thousands of something’s.

god, I wish we could turn on a light.

eventually someone has the nerves to talk. “What is it?” It’s the engineer. His voice is low, in almost a whisper. Like our voices might startle the creature teasing us with its arrhythmic beat.

tap.

tap.

inhale.

tap.

exhale.

No one answers the engineer. And eventually the tapping is no longer a frightening new sound.

tap.

tap.

inhale.

tap.

tap.

exhale.

tap.

minutes turn to hours. The air is starting to become heavier. I can feel my breaths not satisfying my body. My lungs crave for more oxygen, beg me for fresh air.

tap.

tap.

tap.

I haven’t spoken all day. My wristwatch tells me it’s nearly two in the afternoon. We already drank all the water available. The freeze-dried food is chalky and flavorless when your mouth is also dry.

tap.

the woman who was staring out the window leaves and shuts herself into the bathroom area. I’m willing to bet the air in there is worse, but to each their own. Maybe she’s becoming claustrophobic. I know people tend to do that when they feel panicked, even if they’re not normally.

tap.

tap.

tap.

tap.

the captain speaks up above the tapping. “You,” he points at me. I raise my eyebrows in acknowledgment of his addressing of me. “Find a flashlight.” He says.

immediately I jump up and run back to the bunk space. I first dig through my own bag, tossing underwear and other ridiculous things I thought necessary to bring with me. I know I packed at least two flashlights because I like to read at night.

tap.

the pressure to find it is only heightened by the thought that whatever is making the tapping noise will go away if I do not find a flashlight fast.

tap.

tap.

my fingers wrap around the cool, hard plastic surface of my flashlight. I laugh out in celebration.

“you find one?” The captain asks. He takes it from my hand the moment I hold it out.

“yes, sir.” I tell him, even though he’s already holding it.

he hands it to the head scientist. “Here,” he tells him. “You do what you came here for.”

tap.

The head scientist takes an individual look at each of us in the room. I subtly notice him breathe deeply and want to reprimand him for it, but hold back. He seems to debate with himself whether or not he really wants to see what’s tapping on our ceiling.

tap.

tap.

tap.

the flashlight clicks on, right in my eyes, and then points up at the window where the tapping suddenly stops.

the shadows have crept away from the beam of light shining onto the glass, but they are still near. I can see their faint outlines just out of reach of the light.

he turns the flashlight off.

tap.

back on.

silence.

off.

tap.

tap.

on.

silence.

this is now a game. One which a scientist plays with an unknown sea creature in an attempt to turn the flashlight on before the creature has a chance to hide.

it is a terrifying game to play. I feel we are already playing one game called: who can suffocate the slowest. I’d rather not test an animal we know nothing about. Or, more accurately, hundreds of animals we know nothing about.

The flashlight does not go off this time. He stares up, the stale air around us, frozen.

I slowly tilt my gaze upward as well. When my eyes land of another set of eyes, my skin goes cold.

there the creature sits, staring back at us with the most human eyes I’ve ever seen, glowing bioluminescent in the darkness around us.

it doesn’t tap anymore. It just stares. As we stare.

I know the battery on that old flashlight will go out soon. When it does, will this creature continue to stare at us even as we die? Will it go back to its silly little tapping that is surely the most horrible sound in existence?

surely.

there is no worse sound than that of unknowing. It’s the loudest noise: silence.

and soon I’ll wake up in Hell.