In the summer of 1998 I gave the bell demon my best friend’s voice. Yesterday I heard it again for the first time in almost thirty years.
I spent a lot of time at my friend’s houses. I know it must have killed my grandpa that I spent so much time away from him, but I was a selfish kid and just wanted… more. Better. It ate me alive. At seventeen I think my every waking moment was consumed by jealousy.
All I wanted was what other people had. Robin- my best friend- and I used to spend hours on the phone or texting one another on our brick-y old nokia phones. I loved her with my whole heart, but I hated her a little bit too. She was the sweetest, most generous soul I’ve ever known but she had everything. Two parents that loved her, a nice house in the suburbs, the right clothes, the right makeup and a brand-new convertible that her parents had bought her for her sixteenth.
She was also the only reason I had a phone. Any contact with the outside world at all when I was home. Her parents paid for our plan- something to the tune of a hundred and fifty dollars a month for one of us.
Anything for their baby girl though.
I would sit on my porch at night battling moths while she perched on the edge of her pretty-pink-bed in her air conditioned room, both of us talking about our futures and what we wanted.
It used to kill me that all she wanted was a family. Her parents were going to pay for her to go to college for any degree she desired, but as far as she was concerned it was just an avenue to meet Mr. Right. She wanted a good husband and two point five kids stat.
What a waste of a life, I thought. To be a Suzy Homemaker when you could be anything at all. I would have killed to have the options she had. To have any options at all.
And I think that desire summoned something.
I was sitting on my porch as usual, except that particular night I didn’t feel like talking to anyone. I remember watching my phone light up with text message after text message, voicemail after voicemail. Robin wanted to talk. She was so excited! Acceptance letters had come back and she wanted to decide what college we’d be going to. Together.
Have you ever been so mad it felt like you were physically on fire? Like the back of your neck and your ears were burning, the base of your throat and scalp felt tight, like your ribs were squeezing your lungs?
I was incandescent with rage when the light spilled across the porch steps. It took me so long to notice it. Actually, I think it was the moths that did it. I noticed I hadn’t been swatted by one in a minute.
I looked up just as I heard it.
There are so many sounds that are perfectly normal with context- but without can put one’s hair on end.
The cry of a loon. The whistle of reeds. The bugle of an elk. The wind rustling in dry grass. In the dark- the dead of night- without explanation for them, a body to pin them to, they could be eerie. Frightening, even. Add a little accordion music to those?
Suddenly it’s not just frightening anymore.
We lived on the last remnants of a farm. Crumpled out buildings were scattered around what was left of the land my great-grandfather had cleared. The forest had taken back most of it, including the old home.
There were so many false doorways. Between sheds and fallen trees- slumped against ruined walls like sleepy drunkards- they were everywhere. All around. Most of them were dead ends. The music emanated from one the darkest. So pitch black that even the best night vision would have struggled to see in.
Not that it was entirely necessary. The two thin, knobby knees that protruded from the darkness painted a vivid enough picture. The long, soot-gray legs they were attached to told a story of their own. As did the gnarled, sharp toes poking between the weeds. The toes themselves were as long as most men’s hands. The knees the size of a head, and the legs- I was five foot seven and I would have been just about eye level with the top of each shin.
Strange flowers grew all around them. Thin brown reeds capped in bells, clustered together like small bodies cowering in fear. Genuine bells. The real article. Their metal gleamed in the muted light of the moon. Their mouths angled toward the sky as if screaming in fear- but unable to make a sound. All their clappers were missing. To a one. They were piled next to the musician’s feet looking like chicken bones. Gnawed, picked clean chicken bones.
I stood there speechless, which was just as well.
The accordion stopped. The sound died off into a creaky weather-vane groan that put my hair on end. If I hadn’t already had goosebumps-
“Got something to trade, sister?” He stuck two sharp fingers down and pulled one of the bells out of the grass, raising it in my direction. I was paralyzed with shock and fear. I would have run otherwise- but I was too frozen to go, so I watched instead. Watched as he gathered one of the bell-claps from the ground near his feet and slid it inside. Watched as he gave it a swing. Listened as the earthy, soul-touching contralto spilled around me. My breath hissed through my teeth. All at once I understood what was being offered.
Plastic cracked in my fist. I was clutching my phone so hard that the face plate was bulging. The screen lit up again. I watched the glow roll across my fingers and looked up at him.
He held the bell in my direction. I held the phone in his.I pressed the answer button just before he took it.
“Hello?” Was the last thing anyone ever heard Robin say. Until today.She wasn’t doing anything with it anyway. And she would have wanted me to be happy. She was so generous that way.
I waited until I was halfway down the road to try out my new voice. It felt good and full in my throat. I laughed for the first time in my entire laugh. That felt good too. So did having a plan. I knew exactly what I was going to do and I did it. I found a local radio station two states over and worked my way up to doing commercial voice-overs.
I was good at it, too. I could make anybody want anything. Believe anything. I could have started a cult, but I wanted a career with longevity.
I only looked back twice.
Once to send my grandad a check and his truck back. The other time to look up Robin’s obituary.
After a quarter century I really thought I’d gotten away with it, but this morning I had a nasty fall at work. I woke up about six hours ago to a pretty blonde lady checking my IV. When I looked at her and tried to ask what had happened, she shushed me gently and whispered-
“Don’t worry. We’re going to make everything right.” In my best friend’s voice. She says’ she’s my patient advocate. That I was assigned to her because I’d hurt my throat in the fall.
I tried to call for help but my voice is so weak. I can hardly hear myself speak anymore. I think the nurse is slipping me something anyway. I get so dizzy any time I try to get out of bed. I’ve tried using the call button, but all it does is play the nokia ringtone on repeat.
I think I’m losing my mind.
I asked her for help. For someone else. Anything. All she did was hand me this cell phone, but suddenly I can’t remember anyone’s number except my own. And hers.There’s no one to call anyway. No one left to text. I logged onto this website as a kind of hail mary, because I can feel my sense of self begin to slip. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me, but I think losing my voice is only the beginning.