The air in the room, already thick with the humid summer night, suddenly felt… thicker. Like trying to breathe through treacle. A strange pressure built behind my eyes, a sensation I'd never felt before, like my skull was expanding from the inside out. My skin prickled, every nerve ending suddenly hyper-aware. The jazz music from the downstairs apartment, usually a faint thrum, became oddly muted, as if someone had thrown a blanket over the entire building. Even Mittens' caterwaul, mid-scream, seemed to… flicker. It was still there, but distorted, like a broken radio signal.
I sat bolt upright, my heart hammering against my ribs. What the hell was that? My eyes darted around the dim room, searching for an explanation. A power surge? A weird draft? My brain, ever the cynic, scrambled for a logical answer.
11:59 PM.
The pressure intensified, a dizzying swirl behind my eyes. My vision blurred for a second, then sharpened with an unnerving clarity. The shadows in the room seemed to deepen, to move, twisting into impossible shapes. The familiar posters on my wall – a faded band poster, a quirky abstract print – seemed to ripple, their lines wavering as if seen through heat haze.
A low hum began, not from outside, but from within me. It started as a faint vibration in my chest, then spread, filling my entire body, a resonant frequency that made my teeth ache. It wasn't painful, not exactly, but it was profoundly unsettling. It felt… ancient. Powerful. Like something vast and slumbering was stirring, deep in my bones.
12:00 AM.
The digital clock flipped. The hum in my chest exploded into a roaring crescendo. My eyes, I swear, felt like they were burning, not with pain, but with an intense, internal light. I clapped my hands over them, a desperate attempt to block out the overwhelming sensation, but it was inside me, not out.
Then, the Voice.
It wasn't a sound I made with my throat. It was a command, a pure, unadulterated will that erupted from my very core, vibrating through every atom of my being. It was a word, a single, desperate, terrified word that tore through the air, not spoken, but manifested.
"STOP!"
The effect was instantaneous and utterly terrifying.
Mittens' caterwaul, which had been flickering, didn't just stop. It vanished. The sound was literally erased from existence, leaving behind an unnatural, absolute silence that pressed in on my ears. The jazz music from downstairs didn't just cut out; it felt like the very concept of sound from that direction had been nullified. The air, which had been thick, became thin, almost nonexistent, making me gasp for breath.