A story reveals what it conceals, lurking ahead and behind you. Look both up and down. It begins with silence. The sound of silence. There was a sound at the beginning. Not just any sound, but The Sound. In fact, it always starts with the sound, but only few are aware of it.

It may hide in your old drawer, or in the corner of a garden. It begins unexpectedly, quietly. And then it grows. As it grows, and grows, it becomes unbearable. The sound is chasing you; it’s after you. It pursues you relentlessly, infiltrating your life until it becomes You. It can take any form, familiar or terrifying. After all, is there really a difference? Laughing, smashing, screaming…it all leads to an end. The end is hidden within this tale.

At the edge of one city, there was a neighbourhood. It did not differ from the others. On the horizon, three blocks could be seen. All of them painted yellow. Yet, the middle one was hiding a secret. It was there where the sound lived. But no-one paid attention to what happened outside their own four walls. Each person was their own anomaly. From alcoholics, witch-like mothers, bored gardeners, students, and artists who dreamed of something more. Little girls had to watch dirt on people, and little boys loved to scratch on the elevators. Time has been passing by. Little girls grew up, and little boys have stayed the way they were. The neighbourhood, on the record, has changed so much, that the block with its people have started standing out even more than before. The only time it looked similar to the others was at night. The lights were off, apart from one. One family was awake.

The Bohn family did not discern among the others. They were neat and pleasant. Awfully clean and polite. The utmost educated. Nothing seemed odd about them. But their faces remained a mystery. It seemed as if a thin layer of fog covered their eyes, noses, and mouths, sinking into their wrinkles. Yet, it was their dependent son of forty who stood out amongs them. He stared at everyone else. Constantly. At the end of every block’s meeting, he asked the same question: ‘Has anyone heard that weird sound? Does it come from the pipes?’. No one ever replied; he was invisible. A foggy, emaciated man who stared you down. No one ever glanced back.

The sound at Bohn’s apartment started a long time ago. One night, unexpectedly, it began with a silent ‘tap’ ‘tap’ ‘tap’. It would repeat itself three times, after the mother, the father, and the son. The sound has been growing, as the sound always does. Yet, the question has never been answered. There’s something special about the sound, as it can transform itself into anything you want. Mr. Bohn liked to hear it in his voice. ‘Ma, take ya pills for god’s sake’. He felt so proud saying that. He always thought his father was not good for the role. ‘He’s neither a good husband nor father’. Over the years, Mr. Bohn practiced his perfect routine. Rarely did he sleep, which is why he had plenty of time for Proust, Petrarch, Poe, Pushkin. He only read authors whose names started with the letter P. His full name was Peter Joan Bohn. Thirteen letters, the exact same number of letters in the alphabet between the letters B and P. Sometimes he made an excuse for titles that start with P, such as Psycho, but only when the author’s name starts with B. In between reading at night, he liked walking, but only thirteen steps at a time. No more, no less. But his favourite moments came precisely at 2 a.m., when his mother would commence her nocturnal laundry ritual. He followed her every move. Every time, she would tenderly place every piece of clothing in. Then, while pouring the liquid, her tiny hands moved with grace. He couldn’t stop staring at her. He worshiped her, admired her. She looked beautiful.

‘I love you, Ma’.
She looked at him with a grimace on her face.
‘When will you finally move out, Peter?’.
He smiled, as he always did.
‘Oh, Ma, poor thing, you’re getting worse and worse every day’.
‘What ya talking about, you idiot?’.
‘Perhaps, it’s time to get you help, I don’t know what else to do’.
‘Peter… Peter, get away from me!’.
The sound resounded all over the place. Smashed doors separated the mother from her son. Peter heard it grow. It was climbing on his back. It was in his fists. The sound was always in the back of his head. He could hear it clearer than the others. He treated it as his superpower, as a voice who tells him what to do.
‘Open the door!’.
Peter smiled again, and then he started laughing. He laughed so loudly, that he barely could breathe. It started increasing.

‘Tap ‘tap’ ‘tap’.

Something grabbed Peter. He was pushed to the ground. He collapsed on the floor and cried for his mother, ‘Ma!’. She released herself from the bathroom. The father pushed her. The sound grew with every second. Somewhere in the block, a little girl whispered to her mother; ‘Can you hear that?’.

Another year has passed. Peter took good care of his parents. The only concern was his father, who grew aggressive. But Peter knew, he was told what must’ve been done.

‘Tap’ ‘tap’

Something changed since then. Peter and his mother’s faces seemed more visible. More than that, the whole neighbourhood became more involved in each other’s well-being. The neighbours could hear IT now. Few even were concerned about the sound from the pipes. The little girl’s been observing Peter for quite a while, asking her mother about the woman who tended to hang on him weirdly. ‘Oh, honey, that’s his mother. I suppose, she’s very sick’. On the other hand, Peter’s never been happier. He could finally take good care of his Ma. ‘Soon, Ma, the sound won’t bother us at all!’. He proudly assured his mother. ‘What will you do without me, Peter?’. That was the last time she was seen outside, but the sound was still hearable. Peter didn’t like it when she asked him that. How could she? That was heroic of him to take such good care of her. He sacrificed his whole life for her! During that time, Peter transformed his routine a little. He’s now started watching more films, but only the ones that start with the letter J: La Jetée, Jubilee, etc. He felt so spontaneous. The last time he felt that way was when J… ‘Jay? Where’s my baby? Where’s my baby boy?’ the mother mumbled. ‘Jay’s not here, and he’s not coming back’. He loved his Ma very much. He wanted nothing, but good for her. But he couldn’t stand the sound anymore. In fact, no-one could. ‘Who are you?’ she sobbed. ‘Ma, it’s me, it’s me!’. ‘It’s starting’ the little girl whispered. ’What are you doing?’ she cried. Peter smiled through his tears.

‘Tap’

After that day, Peter’s face changed even more. Peter has changed. The little girl started seeing him around. Local affairs became a regular part of his schedule. They’ve started observing each other, noticing each other, as she realized that she can finally see his face. He looked happy, happier. It’s been awfully quiet since that day. That was the day when the sound ended.