By littlesweetfish No comments

The afternoons in a rural village were almost soundless except for the noise of nature. There were still a couple of hours until my father returned and turned on the TV. My sister might have been downstairs or out for errands. I was reading upstairs while watching Hana nap. The only noise was Hana’s baby breath and my turning pages. Then, suddenly, a shriek pierced the stillness of the house. I jumped off the sofa and went to the door to identify the noise source. It was a voice that belonged to nothing I had known, a high-frequency sound weapon penetrating my brain. The noise “IT” howled was indecipherable as if it was a language of another planet. I was petrified at the door, fearing that if I opened it, I’d find out what “IT” was. And I was terrified to identify “IT.” It only lasted for a couple of minutes but too long to be in the presence of an unknown. Once the noise died as abruptly as it started, I retreated to the sofa and picked up the book. I could not understand a word on the page as I thought about “IT.” I tried to conclude that “IT” was a supernatural phenomenon. It was hard to believe, and I didn’t want to acknowledge it, but I came to identify that “IT” was my mother, screaming at my grandmother.

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