It’s a question I ask myself often, in the dead of night, listening to things slither and crawl in the darkest corners. I know there was a box, a steamer trunk. It was old and full of things, so many things… Terrible and wonderful things. It was real, I know that it was – I still have photos and videos of it, proof of so many things. I would say that at first – to my doctor. ‘But I have proof, look at the proof’ I would say, and she would shake her head and sigh. I have proof, but proof is not what the world wants. Evidence of a thing is meaningless if you are the only one who believes it.
I walked home from work and passed beneath an overpass. I have a new job now, after everything that happened. I get to work alone, mostly, and that’s soothing to me, comforting. I was walking home, as I said, through the streets of providence, and was walking under and overpass, when I heard the sound – that terrible, high pitched piping sound, discordant and maddening. I stood there, under the overpass, listening to the sound as it cut through the sounds of traffic, the cacophony of the city. A woman passed by me as I stood there – she looked uncomfortable. I asked her if she could hear it, and she stood for a moment, listening, her eyes squinting to focus on something that wasn’t really there.
“It’s just the wind, blowing through the structure’ she said to me, not sounding convinced at all. She stared for a moment longer then turned and hurried on her way. I heard her mutter ‘just the wind’ again as she moved away, and from behind it looked like she made the sign of the cross.
As if that would help her. As if it would help any of us.