Deafening

I’ve been deaf since I was ten, due to nerve damage. All I hear is a mild whine, like what you’d call tinnitus. I’m now 30. I’ve learned to lip read pretty well, and have a beautiful wife.

One morning I wake up, walk down the stairs to my wife making coffee. I don’t notice that the perpetual tinnitus has completely ceased when I see her, not till she smiles at me. I smile back, albeit somewhat uneasily. I see her lips say, “Good Morning, sweetie.” She says it in sign language too.

For the first time in 20 years, I hear her. But what I hear isn’t what her lips say. I hear her, (I assume it’s her, but obviously I have no point of reference) say one word.

"Run."

What’d be quiet to you is now staggeringly loud to me.

She smiles again. Her lips say: “How’d you sleep?” “Her” voice says, “Run for your life.”

Years later, and she still visits me in the ward. I can only hear Her. No one else. She speaks to me in a way you would talk to a child; Simple, warm, cautious. Flanked by the orderlies her lips tell me how the kids are, how she loves me, how she hopes I keep getting better.

Her voice tells me to run. To run for my life. It was quiet when it started. over the years it’s gotten louder and louder.

Today, she smiles sweetly, and screams “Run. Run for your life.” Her voice is now deafening.

Credit - reddit user Lupara

Flicker

I can’t remember how it started. All I know is that I have to turn them on. All of them.

The lights.

Something is in the darkness. I get a glimpse sometimes. When it gets close. When the lights flicker.

I can hear it breathing too. Whatever it is, it’s not a nightmarish collection of body parts barely clinging to life. 

It sounds fit, strong. It sounds like a hunter, biding its time.

There must be something wrong with the electrics in the house. Lights don’t stay on after I’ve left the room. And the lights that do stay on are either dim, or flicker. Especially the fluros. Oh how I wish we didn’t have the fluros.

So here I am, running from room to room, desperately hitting switches that I hit only minutes before. Desperate to stay in the light, but I have to keep moving.

If I’m there when the lights flicker, it gets close.

There are others here. I’m sure of it. They’re doing the same thing I am – switching on lights as fast as they can. But I never seem to run into them. I hear them though, and I call to them.

I think we’re starting to coordinate. More lights are on now. Not all, but more.

I’ve been doing this so long. How long can someone stay in a panicked state? How long can someone run through the same rooms, over and over again.

How long can someone stare at a lightbulb and pray to a god they don’t believe in that the light holds, just a little longer?

I’ve been doing this so long that the mundane, held back by adrenaline and sweat, starts to reassert itself. I almost laugh – I really need to pee.

It’s close. The light is on in this room, but the next room stutters with the flash of an unstable flourescent tube. I think that’s the kitchen – I can’t remember. I can feel it there, waiting near the door. Waiting for my light to start flickering too.

But I know it’s losing. More and more lights are on. I’m sure I saw one of the others leave just as I entered this room. We’re winning. We’re going to be ok.

I just need to keep this light on. Just need it to stay stable. Just need….

The light in the next room suddenly stops flickering. It’s on. Strong. Stable.

They’re all on. The lights are on. It can’t be in here any more.

We’ve won. I’m safe.

I still can’t see anyone else, but it doesn’t matter any more. It’s gone. And I still need to pee.

I head into the bathroom. Strong, stable light. Our power bill is going to be higher than normal, but that’s ok.

I close the door. Scrabble at my pants. I must have been running for hours – need to go so bad! Without even thinking, habit in full force, my stupid traitor hand moves over to the switch to flip it on.

Except it’s already on. All I manage to do is to turn it off.

A hot gust of breath on my neck.

At least I no longer need to pee.

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Credit by demix4fun

SCP-902

Item #: SCP-902

Object Class: Keter

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-902 has been relegated to Arctic Base Theta, the only SCP to be contained at this site. The site is to be staffed by a team of fifty security personnel. At this time, no research is to be done on SCP-902. Knowledge of SCP-902 beyond its number is to be limited to level three staff and lower. It is imperative that only a limited number of Senior Staff know of the existence of SCP-902. Only one O5 is allowed to know about SCP-902 at any time. In the event of a security breach from inside Arctic Base Theta, the onsite hydrogen bomb is to be detonated remotely. SCP-902 must be guarded at all times against premature destruction.

Description: SCP-902 is a box roughly the size of an adult human head. It measures 30 cm x 15 cm x 19 cm. It appears to be an ammunition box of a type used roughly thirty years ago, despite this item having been in Foundation custody for roughly sixty years. SCP-902 is made of lead. The composition of the item inside SCP-902 is unknown. SCP-902 emits what has been described as a ‘ticking’ sound, and anyone who hears this sound becomes convinced that the item is counting down. When opened, the box appears empty. However, the ticking remains, the object continues counting down. Anyone who becomes aware of SCP-902, whether through personal interaction, or by reading this report, becomes convinced that whatever is in the box is horribly dangerous, and needs to be destroyed as soon as it finishes counting down, and not before. Staff exposed to SCP-902 will typically continue to attempt to open and then close the box, trying to find the object inside.

There is no object. There is an object. It has to be destroyed, when the countdown stops. We are doing great work. We have to be stopped.

source: X

The Intruder

I looked through the peephole of my front door.

 There had been a noise on the other side and it was 3:00 in the morning. 

My wife and two baby daughters were all sleeping soundly upstairs. 

As I peeped through I saw a man staring back at me.

He then turned and walked upstairs as I desperately searched for my house key.

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Credit: sixpenceee

The Noise

I wake up one morning to the most awful noise I have ever heard. A shrill, scratchy, warbling, pulsating siren whose volume is just on the edge of being painful. I run outside in my bathrobe to try to find the source of the noise, but it is directionless. It seems to be coming from all directions, everywhere.

Standing there on my front lawn, I notice all my neighbors are out as well, many with hands pressed against their ears, some running around frantically like they have mosquitoes trapped in their earwax. Every dog in the city is howling, adding a thousand dissonant harmonies to the awful noise in the air. I ask a neighbor what it is, and he doesn’t know. Spotting a news helicopter overhead, I turn on the local news. The report says that the noise is not just in my town. It’s being heard everywhere, all over the world, and it’s source is still undetermined.

Everyone wears earplugs while we wait for the noise to end, but it doesn’t end. Weeks pass and no one can figure out where it’s coming from. Scientists are baffled. Unsure what else to do, the Pentagon raises the National Alert level up a few colors. Business and commerce falls into chaos, as no one can communicate clearly over the deafening noise.

Houses and businesses are retrofitted with soundproof walls, and this helps, but the noise still gets through. Few can afford the level of soundproofing necessary to totally silence it. Special “Soundproof Cafes” begin popping up everywhere, featuring soothing nature sounds and white noise to counter the Noise that gets through the ultra-insulated walls.

People begin to develop innovative new ways of communicating. Millions learn sign language. Others constantly wear earphones connected to tiny microphones, which they can swap with whoever they need to talk to. All music concerts but the loudest rock shows become obsolete. For the average working man, there is nowhere on earth he can go where he won’t hear the Noise at least as loud as a muted trumpet.

Years pass, and society rearranges itself. Slowly, people adopt. They get used to the Noise. Kids develop street slang for it, like “The Banshee” and “Old Squeaky.” Musicians begin writing songs to incorporate the Noise, which most agree is more or less a C sharp. Eventually, there is an entire generation that was born with the Noise, and has never known a world without it. The Noise becomes a part of life.

Fifty years later, the Noise just stops.

Everyone on earth instantly goes insane.

Society crumbles. Crazed and senseless, mankind stops reproducing. One by one, everyone dies. The human race becomes extinct.

It is now very, very quiet.

[x]