Haveyou ever heard the sounds around you? As in, have you taken even a single second tune into the murder of sounds that surround you at any given point at any given time in any given place?
I’ve noticed certain aspects, liquid, a liquid that bounces from place to place, a thousand drops dripping from a thousand sources, dripping into a thousand containers, makeshift or purposeful to hold said liquid.
The slight bang of thing against thing creates only the most minute of sounds that somehow echo when you listen for them. As well, a squeal.
A squeal of something, nothing, nothing against something, something against something, and all other appropriate combinations. All too common this squealing is.
I am in a coffee shop, there were fifteen people, twenty-one including the staff but they are clean.
I have followed the staff to their homes, no webs, no prey, no evidence, no non-human, clean. I do not have to count those six.
Of the other fifteen three are clean, Bob, he sits in the corner left of me, Margret, she sits next to the door, middle of my sight, and Conrad, he is currently ordering somewhat between the other two as the counter is in that way in my vision.
I do not know their real names.
I tracked them from their homes and monitored them as they lived next to the staff, I even see Conrad exchanging some kind of flirtatious eyeing with the barista to whom he is next-door neighbor, they are clean, they are human.
That leaves thirteen untrusted.
It is give or take eleven-thirty in the morning.
There is only one, I know that, I know it for sure, I must find it before there are two, three, four, or what have you.
In my thoughts, I noticed my rapping on my flat-wall table. One Two Three Four, pause for half-second, One Two Three Four, I continue until this cycle has gone four times, then wait a second, then continue.
I make sense of numbers, only numbers, places, times, concepts, schedules, that is why I must kill it, only I know its little tricks, following along some time that it learned from aping whoever it may end up to be.
There is a Glock to my left in a shoulder holster, I can get it out in forty-two-tenths of a second. It is unloaded and the hammer had been removed, the magazine is in my right pocket, the hammer in my left.
I can insert the hammer in five and two-tenths seconds, I can insert the magazine in less than one-hundredth.
I hear the soft jingle of loose metal somehow stuck to the door of the coffee shop, Conrad has left.
I wish to tell someone but in this room, there are three types of people, there is one side that I can tell and one I cannot, the type I can tell are just that, I can tell them, the others will either not believe or are the one.
Bob is agoraphobic, he will likely shriek if I am to appr-…
My thoughts stopped for a second as the ambient noise fled for just a fraction of a moment and I listened… silence.
-oached him now, Margret is older, not likely to believe someone as young as me for anything this radical. I cannot tell the staff, they are tired, a twelve to twelve shift, they will pay me no mind and apathy is useless.
Thirteen people, I do not know them well, I cannot tell anything, I need to continue on my path.
In that moment of thought I reached into my breast pocket, more of a fidget than genuine search, and yet I pull out a beer-brown marble and begin tossing it in my hand.
One Two Three, pause, One Two Three, pause, One Two Three, longer pause, One Two Three, I almost drop the marble, and I stop for a little bit.
When they are uncomfortable they release a squeal, small and high-pitched, easily missed in a room with ambient noise. They hate crowds, they love ambient noise, they hate groups, they love conversation, they hate hating but they love living so they remain in the same routine as their base even if it causes a sort of discomfort.
I listen, if it’s silent I can hear it, if it’s not happening I must continue, if I hear it I will spend give or take six seconds to get my gun ready and fire.
A coffee shop is a quite loud place I’ve noticed. There are a lot of the three base sounds, dripping, banging, and squealing, coming from every which way in all directions, some even from the same machines.
I’ve come to hate coffee makers, there is a subtle drip while it runs but doesn’t serve as the condensing steam escapes the nozzle, a sort of pop pop pop sound, next to it there is a small granite platform where the staff crush the beans before making the coffee, that sound is more of tunk tunk tunk, finally, there is that squeal, a hundred different gears that grind, jaws that bite and claws that catch and eek my soul as they ceaselessly refuse to cease their unceasing audio annoyance.
The coffee makers are going to be the dea-…
Silence, just silence.
-th of me.
It is around eleven-forty-five and I have retaken out my marble. I enjoy rubbing the sides of it, it’s smooth and satisfying as it calms my nerves. I put it back
If at all being honest I’m terrified. I do not know what this thing does when caught, I have seen the aftermath of what it eats and I know the only capable creature to reproduce such carnage is a wolf with an unlocking jaw and the awful gnarled body of an injured grizzly. Entire limbs were swallowed and bitten off at the joint, bones chewed and spit back out. All this just being little bits of the entire carnage that lay in the strange webs of this, this, this, this, this thing.
I do not know what it looked like, I only know what it does, it squeals, I’ve heard it before, in the woods, or the field, or the lot, I do not quite remember but it was somewhere of discomfort and the sod sung with a humble little hum that could deafen a basset hound.
I begin to notice my body’s sounds, the way liquid runs down my throat while I swallow extra saliva that builds up in the back of my mouth. The flexing of the muscles in my windpipe with every breath I take that I attempt to muffle to hear better. My heart beat that, while quiet, is still quite fast.
I begin to tap my finger once again. I kept no count, just tapped to release some energy I somewhat had stored from an hour of sitting down.
I stopped for a moment, silence, and that, a squeal, I look to my right, it is a coffee maker. My thoughts returned.
I did notice silence beginning to become more common, or maybe I just notice it more, better opportunity once again.
My memory did improve slightly at this moment, only enough to remember what the corpse I saw was, right, cattle, no humans yet.
Another man walked into the coffee shop, he is clean, he is Austin, I do not know his name, he is the mayor’s son, he is to be trusted, he left as soon as he came in.
I take out my marble and begin to toss it once more as it is more effective than my rapping. For a moment I am calm, there is noise, but my soul rests.
I dropped my marble. It then rolled to the foot of a nameless man.
The man looked at me. He will probably hand it to m-.
Silence, a squeal, I look to my right, the coffee makers are not one, I look at the man, he is uncomfortable in the silence, the squeal became louder.
I begin to take out my gun.