Ears Open

(TW: Religious zealotry, mild violence, ear stuff)

That summer in the small town of Newton Springs, all the babies began crying. Not unusual on its own, except none of them had stopped since. 

At home, Anna Tuille, age 11, spun the dials on her pocket radio. She wore her headphones snug against her ears as she listened for the anomalous high-pitched frequency that often frustrated her quest for secret stations and extraterrestrial signals. 

For months on end, two hundred and eighty-three infants—an unprecedented boom in births that year—emitted the piercing screams of the utterly inconsolable. Nothing would quiet them—not warm bottles or ready breasts, not swaddling or cooing, burping or bouncing. Not binkies or car rides or noise machines. Not even a finger dipped furtively in whiskey and rubbed along the gums, as some grandmothers suggested. 

Anna’s radio buzzed a little and then nothing, just flat static. She tugged at her headphones in frustration, eyes rolling upward as soon as her ears were free. The average pitch of a baby’s cry measured around 400 to 650 Hertz. Her mother’s voice came in at 185 Hz, while Anna’s own voice hit 255 Hz. Anna hung the pocket radio on its lanyard and slipped the loop over her head, so that the radio rested against her chest. Then she went upstairs to the nursery.

All across Newton Springs, families went insane. 

New mothers wept wantonly in the aisles of the Puggly Wuggly, holding their wailing children to their chests as they swayed between boxes of formula and diapers. Wild-haired women with dark-moon eyes pushed strollers through the streets, visibly haunted by the unending hollers of their offspring. 

Fathers huddled at the union hall on the corner of Peach and Main, content to fall asleep in their beers while their wives descended into madness. Expectant mothers watched the chaos unfold with mounting concern, their joy replaced by dread. Even the dogs of Newton Springs seemed afflicted, whimpering incessantly, tails tucked between their legs. Most escaped under backyard fences or slipped from their leads to disappear without a trace. 

Thirteen babies had been abandoned at the local firehouse. 

Anna scrunched up her face as she peered over the edge of the crib at her little sister: Emma, 11 months. She laid a hand on Emma’s chest, feeling the vibrations of her lungs as she bellowed. 

“What a racket, Em,” she said, as patiently as she could manage. “Do you even hear yourself?”

Emma howled on, heedless of any reproach. 

Anna tossed her head back and screamed for a bit too. Together, they made an incredible sound—like a terrible bell ringing and ringing. But soon Anna’s throat began to hurt. She coughed and looked at Emma in amazement. 

They were the only ones home. Her mother had left for neighboring Shrewsbury to ask grandma for advice, but that was three days ago. 

Anna lifted the safety latch on the crib and let down the gate, then reached in and scooped up her sister. 

“Come on, let’s go,” she said.

Out on the street, Anna adjusted her headphones until the world muted. She looked back at her little sister, nestled amidst a pile of cushions in the plastic wagon they always took for walks. Emma’s pink mouth remained open, tears streaming down her face. Anna pulled her along. 

They passed a pile of construction work, started months ago and never finished. Such an eyesore, her mother complained whenever she saw it. NEWTON SPRINGS ELECTRIC CO. announced itself in big block letters on each of the orange safety barrels that forced Anna to pull her wagon over a neighbor’s lawn for a stretch. 

As she struggled past the site, Anna tugged on her headphones. Emma’s shrieks had reached a new pitch of unpleasant. Anna grimaced. Suddenly, her radio buzzed like a firecracker against her chest. She stopped and gave it a tap, examining the dials.

“Hush, Emma,” she said, holding the speaker up to her ear. “I’m trying to listen.”

But Emma wouldn’t hush and Anna felt too hot and cranky to stand there any longer. 

Farther on, they passed a woman in a flimsy robe. The woman muttered to herself as she shoved an unplugged vacuum through the fallen leaves in her yard. Anna giggled, then stopped as the lady’s eyes shot to her. 

“Get that thing AWAY FROM ME,” the woman screamed, spit flying from her mouth. She charged them, pushing the vacuum toward Emma’s wagon. Her robe fluttered open, shocking Anna. 

“Sorry!” Anna called out and used both hands to pull the wagon faster. Emma bounced precariously.

A few blocks in, Anna stopped to read a flier posted to the local bulletin board.

— EMERGENCY TOWN MEETING — 

TODAY @ 5PM

NO BABIES ALLOWED

Her mother always went to town meetings. It was important to stay involved in your local government. Maybe she’d hear about the meeting and show up. Maybe they’d solved the crying problem. But what could Anna do with Emma in the meantime? 

She kept walking. Headphones askew, one ear open.

Down on Poplar, Reverend Stewart of Newton Spring’s First Baptist Church of God’s Eternal Light stood outside the Puggly Wuggly and preached, straining to be heard over the lamentations of his littlest congregants.

He waved his bible at the few passersby. “God’s wrath spares none! He condemns us through our children for they are the blessed vessels of His rage!” 

Anna didn’t care much for Reverend Stewart, though her mother warned her never to say so aloud. The few times she’d been close enough to speak to him, he’d said awful things about hell and God and little girls being quiet or else. Also, his beard smelled. 

He clasped his bible to his chest and stared at Anna. “Repent now or know no peace!”

Anna wrinkled her nose at him and hurried on—past the school, which was canceled, and the daycare, which still had yellow police tape strung across the doors. All the way to the park, which had the best swings in Newton Springs. 

As she crossed the street to the park, an old woman driving a white station wagon spotted them. She lowered her car window and shouted something Anna wasn’t allowed to repeat in front of grown-ups. 

Anna raised her fist and shouted back, “Repent now or know no peace!”

The old woman’s short, flippy haircut bounced as she sped off. 

There were no kids in the park. No parents, either. Nothing but the crunch of wagon wheels over dry leaves and the ongoing sobs of baby Emma. Anna looked back at her sister and sighed. Maybe Emma was sick of all the crying, too. 

Anna stopped by the swings and knelt down at Emma’s side. 

“Here,” Anna said, slipping her headphones off and placing them over her sister’s head. She pressed the pads gently against Emma’s ears to form a seal. 

For the first time in months, Emma hiccuped and grew calm. Strings of snot swung from her nose as her splotchy face relaxed. “Whoa,” Anna said. 

Tentatively, she lifted the headphones away from her sister’s ears. Emma’s face quickly crumpled and she began to cry again. When Anna pressed the headphones back down, Emma grew calm again. 

“So you like the quiet,” Anna said, curiously. 

She grasped the pocket radio and thought for a minute. In fifth grade, they had just learned about sound waves and how people couldn’t hear certain pitches—like dog whistles. 

“Is it the frequency I’ve been looking for?” she wondered. Maybe the babies could hear something that none of the grown-ups could. Maybe that’s why the dogs went crazy too. 

One baby could just be a coincidence. To prove her theory, she had to test another baby.

Outside the union hall, one of the dads had left a carrier at the door. Anna crouched down to greet its disgruntled occupant. 

“Hi there,” she said. The baby screamed at her, his face pinched and red beneath a blue little bonnet. “Hold still, please.”

She transferred the headphones from Emma to the other baby. Almost at once, Emma began to shriek again, but the other baby grew quiet. Anna patted his dark curls and smiled. 

So she was right. She could tell everyone at the town meeting. Together, they could find the sound and turn it off. Her mother would come home for sure. 

At precisely 5pm, Anna pulled her wagon up to Newton Springs’ Community Center, where all town meetings took place. She retrieved Emma from the wagon and braced her sister against her hip. 

The room was packed. No one else had brought any babies. Anna hovered at the very back of the room, unsure of what to do. 

The council gaveled the meeting to order. Hundreds of voices began to speak at once. 

Ban all babies! We need a baby ban!

Snip their vocal cords - it’s practically painless!

No new moms in Newton! No new moms in Newton!

It’s a protein deficiency! Feed them mashed mealworms and they’ll stop crying!

No, it’s a parasite! You’ve got to add dish soap to their formula!

At Anna’s side, Emma began to fuss. She tugged on the headphones, her face crinkling. 

“Oh no,” Anna whispered, but it was too late.

Angry shouting erupted. She has a baby with her! That girl has a baby!

Everyone turned in their seats. The room felt dangerous. 

“No, I have—I have a solution!” Anna called back. “There’s this frequency that’s been messing with my pocket radio, this invisible sound,” she explained. “Like a dog whistle. We can’t hear it, but it’s hurting the babies’ ears and that’s why they won’t stop crying.”

“A sound none of us can hear?” The Reverend rose to his feet from the front row. His grim mouth grew grimmer still. “That’s preposterous.”

“I’m telling the truth,” Anna protested. “There’s a frequency on my radio. Maybe the electric company, they’ve been doing that construction—”

“Hear me, Newton Springs,” the Reverend boomed in his most Sunday voice. “We are being punished for our sins. We must repent or suffer for eternity.”

A woman stood up toward the back of the room. Anna recognized her as the lady who’d been vacuuming her yard earlier. 

“The devil tempts us!” the woman shouted, stretching a bony finger in Anna’s direction. 

A murmur of ascent swept up from the crowd. 

Reverend Stewart leapt on this, his eyes electric and righteous. “Listen not to the devil! The tongue of Satan works through this wretched child even now.” 

“I’m not the devil!” Anna objected, but no one paid her any mind. 

The Reverend raised his voice and spread his arms wide toward the crowd. “To free our babes from the devil’s grasp, we must cleanse ourselves. We must deafen our ears to Satan’s call.”

The old lady—the one with the flippy hair and foul mouth—grabbed her handbag and ran through the crowd to where the Reverend stood. She rifled in her bag, then withdrew a pair of metal knitting needles and held them over her head. Her face shone with tears. 

“Please, I beg you,” she said, urging the Reverend to take the needles. “Release us from this hell. Guide the light of the Lord through our ears and into our hearts.”

“No,” Anna pleaded. “This won’t help my sister or any of the other babies!”

But the crowd was entranced by the old woman and the Reverend. 

Anna held Emma tighter and stepped back. Why wouldn’t they listen? She just needed something stronger than a pocket radio to pinpoint the signal. They could fix this. It didn’t have to be so bad. 

Slowly, Reverend Stewart took the needles from the old woman’s hands and held them out at either side. His eyes rolled back into his head and he shouted, “Lord, we listen not with our ears but our hearts. Therefore, take our ears from us so that we may hear you better.”

With a quick, violent motion, he jabbed the needles into her ears. The old woman screamed and fell to the ground. The crowd went silent. Anna froze in place, her body filled with horror. Emma thrashed in her arms, her agony the only other sound. 

“Stand up, Agnes,” the Reverend commanded. “Only God’s voice is with you now.”

Agnes stood, blood pooling in her hands. “Nothing!” her voice trembled. She began to laugh hysterically. “Silence! Peace! Nothing! Reverend, you have saved me!”

The Reverend smiled graciously. 

Anna’s body came back to her. She hoped her mother hadn’t shown up after all. The pocket radio buzzed against her chest. She pressed Emma to her, headphones forgotten. 

The crowd surged toward the front of the room where the Reverend stood waiting, needles in hand. 

Anna slipped out the door and ran as fast she could, tracing her way back to the construction site where her radio had gone wild.

She set her sister down on the neighbor’s lawn. Emma wailed frantically. 

“I know,” Anna commiserated. “I’m going to fix this, okay? Just hang in there.”

She pulled the lanyard of her radio over her head and began to twist the dials. The little speaker squealed as Anna paced through the site in search of a sound she couldn’t hear. 

The radio buzzed furiously each time she neared the orange safety barrels. One by one, Anna knocked them over. Underneath, she discovered a pit hastily concealed by plywood panels. 

As Anna hoisted the panels to one side, her radio emitted an ear-splitting squeal. Like a hundred nails down a chalkboard. She slapped the thing and twisted the dials again. 

On the lawn, Emma’s cries intensified.

“Come on,” Anna groaned, “where are you?”

The last slip of sun dipped below the horizon, leaving a blue dusk behind. Cautiously, Anna peered over the edge of the pit. Shimmering veins of ice traced the walls inside. She got down and reached her hand into the pit. 

Not cold. Not ice. The moment she made contact, the pit resonated like a tuning fork. She pulled her hand back quick. A series of soft clicks came from her radio. 

The shimmering felt hard as a diamond and glowed softly against the oncoming night. Anna had learned about lithophonic rocks—rocks that rang like a bell when struck—as part of her class’s unit on sound. But this seemed different. 

Slowly, Anna ventured her hand again. She ran her fingers over the smooth network of shining stone. The pit sang softly as she did so. 

“Is anyone listening?” whispered a strange, distant voice. “Does anyone hear us?”

Anna pulled back, alarmed. The voice had come from her radio. Was this the frequency, then? She looked over at her sister. Tears gone, Emma clutched handfuls of grass in her little hands and giggled.

“Who are you?” Anna asked the clicking radio. 

“Keep your ears open,” the voice murmured. “We’ll be there soon.”