The noise was deafening, its waves creating visible motion in the grass below my window, stretching out over the hills and into the chasm that sat a few hundred feet away. It faded and the grass re-erected itself, a light breeze washing it over to the other side. Gradually, the noise started again, this time coming from the opposite side of the house. I turned and I ran towards it, jumping through the kitchen and to the window. Once again, the grass was folded towards me. Slowly, the noise increased, until it engulfed me. Then, it faded again, leaving me with the silence of the lands around me. The noise had started a few weeks ago and had remained constant. It varied between the times of day, sometimes early in the morning, as if waking me for work, and other times late at night, keeping me awake. This was one of those times.

 

I hadn’t ventured out to find the source, I didn’t have the courage. Its location seemed to change daily, but for the last few days, it had remained consistent with its placement. The chasm beside my home. I turned away from the window and looked at my chaotic kitchen. It was dark and gloomy. The light had shattered long ago but I couldn’t be bothered to change it, the darkness almost comforting. Takeaway boxes lay strewn on the floor, mould growing from the half-eaten food that stuck out from the boxes. I had become a mess since the noise. I turned back to the window, hoping to maybe catch a glance of something that might justify my restlessness, my worry, my fear. It was as if the sound had opened a deep pit of fear and terror that I had never experienced before. There were no words I could use to describe the sound, it was unlike anything I had ever heard before, but the closest I could get, was Hell.

 

I heard the noise begin again, this time quieter, teasingly, trying to catch my attention. I turned my head with dread, the hills bordering the chasm slowly leaking into my eyeline. Once I faced the hills, I walked forward to the window and stopped, my eyes scanning the horizon. This time, it felt quieter, the sound no longer piercing, almost soothing. Without the pain, it became a melody. I found myself humming along to it, my foot tapping against the wooden floor and a smile on my face. My eyes were fixed on the hills, but then they started to move. The hills began to bend and contort, raising themselves higher than my house and then crashing back down in front of the window. I gazed in awe at the sight, my foot still tapping, my throat still humming, and my smile still growing. The hills continued to crash beneath the window, but I didn’t notice, my eyes still captivated by the movement of the hills. Then, all of a sudden, the noise stopped and the hills shot back to their usual places. The sudden silence shocked me and I stumbled back, clutching my chest as my heart started to beat faster. In the back of my mind, I could hear a growl. It was slight, slight enough for me to blame the wooden floor I was crouched on, but then it grew, and fear started to set.

 

My eyes were cast to the floor, dread filling every fibre of my being. I could feel eyes on me, but I couldn’t tell where they were. I kept my head down, safe in the knowledge that the floor beneath me was safe. At that moment, a creek emanated from the floor, and my breathing stopped. Sweat was now coursing down my body, soaking my shirt and making my palms clammy. With wide eyes, I tried to listen for where the sound was coming from. The creeks were slow and precise, although not trying to hide. Each felt methodical, like a lion stalking its prey. The thought of me being prey did not comfort me. I tried to stand, but my legs were jelly, refusing to move from their spot, as if rooted by the grass beneath the foundation. Another creak. I released a shaky breath, suddenly seeing it condense in front of me, despite the warm air. Another creak. They weren’t footsteps, I knew that, so whatever had entered my house, was not human. I moved my eyes to the corner of my vision, trying to see a shadow of whatever was stalking me, only to remember the broken kitchen light. Another creek echoed through my mind, haunting me, teasing me. All of a sudden, there was a rush of creeks and I screamed. I collapsed into a ball and wrapped my arms around my knees, bringing myself into a tight ball, tears now falling down my face. I pressed my knees against my closed eyelids and started to sob, waiting for the cruel hand of death to swipe at me, but no swipe came. I waited, lying there on the floor, tears streaming down my face and gently rocking myself, as if I were in a cot. The creeks had stopped, the rush seemingly leading to nowhere.

 

I couldn’t tell how long I lay there, it could have been a week, or even a day, but it certainly wasn’t soon. After I released myself from the ball, I was greeted by a dark room. It was night, I thought, so I moved into my kitchen and opened my fridge, scanning the shelves for something to eat. As I sat down that night, trying to drown the memories in alcohol and Chinese takeaway, I forced my mind to focus on the television in front of me. I forced the memories out, forced the sound out, filling the void I was trying to create with whatever I was watching. If I could forget, then I could be spared the memory of the rushing creeks and moving hills, and the noise that only the Devil himself could have created. Then, slowly, it gently rose again. I turned, wide-eyed, and faced the window and saw the same scene. The rolling hills perched on the edge of the chasm, grass pointed at me, and the screaming melody started again.