Noises in the Dark

“Are you sure? I can stay. I bet I’d enjoy whatever you have planned.”

I knew that wasn’t true. My plans included frozen pizza, popcorn, and Netflix. “No, no. You should go. You’ve been looking forward to this for weeks. It’s bad enough you had to shorten your trip to only overnight.”

“Actually, I’d be okay with making it a day trip. It's not like it's a milestone birthday.”

“What do you mean? You only turn forty-two once in a lifetime. Besides, I’ve been left alone for longer periods of time in the past. And don’t forget, taking separate vacations was your idea.”

Cornell Rodrigo Morgan Parks IV, aka Rod, was the birthday boy and my husband of the past fifteen years. Although we dated two years prior to tying the knot, it wasn’t until our third year of marriage that we discovered our conflicting views on vacations. We had just completed a five hour drive. Rod wanted to skip checking into our hotel and instead begin a jet tour of various destinations. We compromised by going to the hotel to briefly freshen up before heading to the first location on his vacation list. We were only at location number one for ten minutes before Rod was ready to head to the second location on his list. When he only wanted to spend 10 minutes at the second and third locations, we argued. By the time we were leaving the fourth location on his list, I had become an expert at giving him the silent treatment. We spent the rest of the vacation at odds with each other. Rod had no idea that my only agenda items were rest and relaxation followed by more rest and relaxation. After several more missteps and completely disastrous vacations, Rod suggested and I agreed we should vacation separately. 

“Mary, are you sure you’re going to be okay? What about the house sounds?”

“Of course I’ll be ok. Besides, we've discussed this. The noises are just normal sounds the house makes when it's settling,” I responded bravely.

“I know you don’t believe in house settling sounds. If that were true, I would not have woken up this morning alone again. This is the third time you chose to sleep in the guest room. And don’t tell me it’s because I was snoring.”

“You’re right I do wig out sometimes. But I promise I’ll be okay.”

And with that, Rod was on his way, backing his car out of the driveway. I soon dropped my brave mask as I began to make the most of Rod’s birthday alone. I started by making cupcakes and cooking a frozen pizza. While the pizza and cupcakes were in the oven, I channel surfed. Eventually I found something to watch on Netflix. In honor of Rod’s birthday I picked an action movie. After consuming a bag of popcorn, six cupcakes, and one slice of supreme pizza,  I managed to drift off to sleep. This was quite a feat considering the movie included a number of explosions and car chases. 

Sprawled on the couch, I awoke to the sounds of running feet followed by a swish. Clearly the squirrels were getting in an evening workout, as they ran across the roof and jumped into the trees. The high pitched whine and window rattling sounds were a little harder to explain and harder still to pass off as normal house sounds. I had recently done an internet search and it stated that sounds associated with a house settling usually occurred within two to three years after the house was built. We had not purchased our house new, so by now the house was close to 20 years old.   

The idea of Rod celebrating his birthday away from home made sense in theory. At the moment however, I was having trouble appreciating the reality of an empty house. An empty noisy and if I’m honest, scary house. 

After deciding there was nothing more to watch on television, I headed to my room to read an Ebook. Before I finished a single page, it started. I told myself, it's the wind, it's the wind over and over. But the rattling just got louder. Just when I thought I could no longer ignore it, it stopped.  I settled back down and within five minutes, the rattling began again but this time I heard music. Rather than fear, I thought to myself, well that’s new. Maybe the neighbors are having a party. Logical, yes. Likely, no. We live at the end of the block. We have woods on one side and the neighbors on the other side are a retired couple in their 80s. Not to mention the fact that by now it was closing in on one in the morning. Over the years through casual conversations, I had learned that my neighbors went to bed early. Ten oclock was a late night for them because they liked to wake at sunrise. 

Ok, so music was a little harder to explain. away as house sounds or wind. Before I could think about it further, there was silence, no rattling, no wind, and no music.  But now, I had to go to the bathroom. I didn’t really want to leave the warm and protective cocoon I had created under the covers.  Of course my mind immediately went to all the bladder and kidney diseases related to holding one’s urine for prolonged periods of time.  

Not wanting to add these issues to my obvious mental instability, I got up and headed toward our ensuite bathroom.  A shadow crossed outside the bedroom window. 

Our bedroom has a floor to ceiling window facing the back corner of the house. We have a 12 foot high fence surrounding our backyard. To pass outside that corner window, a person would have to be in our backyard. Just in case, I rechecked the house alarm using an app on my phone. I also decided to send Rod a quick text to confirm his location.

How’s it going? I hope you are having fun. I’m going to bed now. 

The last part was said so he didn’t call me. I waited for Rod’s responding text, 

which I knew would come quickly.  

I just arrived. I think I’m too old for overnight road trips. I’m going to check into the hotel and start my birthday fun tomorrow. Love you.

I responded, love you too, goodnight.

Ok, so Rod is not outside in the backyard. Let’s think logically. I’m home alone. But I’m in a house with all the doors and windows locked and an alarm. 

While trying to reason through the full ramifications of my situation, a new sound interrupted my thoughts. A squish-like sound followed by a pop and then repeat. “Squish, pop, squish, pop.” That’s the only way I could describe it. Unfortunately my imagination had me thinking of a horror film in which someone’s head was being twisted off their head. The squish sound occurring when the neck muscles are twisted more than 180 degrees followed by a pop as the head is finally dislocated from the spine. This line of thinking was not helpful. If I didn’t switch gears, I was definitely going to be moving to the guest room. 

Packing up my favorite pillow and comforter to sleep in the guest room was a frequent alternative to remaining in my bedroom. Early on, I would attempt to drown out the sounds by listening to an audiobook. When these efforts proved unsuccessful I adopted the practice of moving to the guest room, since it usually netted me at least five hours of sleep. Why I always attempted to begin my night in the master bedroom, I have no idea. Maybe it was stubbornness or bewilderment over the fact that Rod never seemed troubled by any of the sounds emanating from our bedroom.

Oddly enough the sound that replaced the squish pop was worse, a light tapping on the bedroom window. It reminded me of the time I was caught taking a nap in my car at school. I was between classes just thirty minutes before my scheduled office hours. Needing a moment to myself away from students and colleagues, my car seemed like a convenient location. My boss came up to the driver’s side window and lightly tapped, surprising me out of my nap. Since it was unlikely that my boss would be tapping on my bedroom window in the middle of the night, I reasoned that maybe it was the neighbors' grandkids. Nevermind the fact, the neighbors had never mentioned having children let alone grandchildren but anything was possible. Regardless, I thought it was time for me to move to the guest room. Clearly I wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight if I stayed in the master bedroom. As I gathered a few items for the move, the tapping increased in frequency. 

Before I reached the door to the hallway to exit my room I heard it, “Wait, please.”

I bolted. I made it to the guest room on the other side of our ranch style home. Once inside, I slammed the door and looked at it like it was the vault door in Fort Knox. As I attempted to control my breathing, I tried to calmly assess my circumstances. In my haste, I dropped my special pillow and comforter. More importantly, my phone was still charging on the nightstand in my bedroom. We don’t have a landline so without my phone I had no means of calling anyone. 

I needed to calm down, so I could explain away the voice I obviously Did Not Hear. Equally disturbing was the large wall-sized window in the guest room. Why did we buy a house with so many windows? Who needs windows at night? Tons of natural light didn’t sound like much of a selling point right now. In fact, I was starting to find every window in this house completely unappealing. As my internal dialogue bordered on hysteria, I heard the voice again. This time right outside the guest room window. 

“Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.”

The guest room window faces the front of the house. So, if this was an actual person, they had somehow scaled the backyard fence and ran around to the front of the house. At this revelation, my breathing became erratic and I feared passing out. I needed to calm down and think. First of all, I am Dr. Mary Parks. I have a Ph.D. in biology. I am an intelligent adult, a rational human being. Since none of these self-affirming statements were actually helping, I switched back to denial. This is all in my head. I didn’t actually hear anything. I’m probably still asleep on the couch. That’s it. All I have to do is breathe deeply and I will exit this dream and continue to sleep.

“Please listen,” said the unknown voice.

Ok, so breathing deeply is not working. Clearly I’m crazy. Nothing to lose now. I thought about my two great aunts. Everyone said they were crazy. Isn’t there a hereditary component to mental illness? For some reason, this line of reasoning was helping. My breathing had calmed. I guess acceptance is more than a final step to the stages of grief. Maybe acceptance was a healthy part of mental health. When Rod gets back, we can formulate a plan. We’ll start with outpatient care and if that works, great. If not, I guess I’ll have to take a leave of absence. 

“Stop! You are not crazy and you are not asleep,” yelled the voice. “My name is Jack and we need your help.”

Before the blackness took me, I thought I heard someone say, “we should have just stuck to making noises.”