Cacophony

It was just another wet September night in rural Wisconsin. Pearl was just another mushroom farmer who eked out a living in the forest behind her home. Billie was just another lineman (and solar-power enthusiast). Together, they enjoyed the spoils of their labors in a comfortable farm house, safe from the unremarkable autumn drizzle.

Pearl and Billie lounged in their respective armchairs, mugs of hot cider and chocolate abandoned on the table that stood between them. Billie peeked over her tablet at her partner, then began to nudge her repeatedly with a slippered foot. 

“Wanna drive up to Door County this weekend?” 

Pearl chose not to grace the query with words, but with a barely perceptible shake of the head.

Billie exhaled in mock dejection and turned back to her tablet, scrolling aimlessly through a list of inns and hotels. “I know you don’t want to miss the parade, but we haven’t done a single thing I planned this year and it’s nearly winter. If we stay one night then come back, we can still see your float in the parade.”

All further efforts to cajole and persuade were ignored in similar fashion. This brought Billie to a last desperate attempt. She tugged sharply on a soft brown coil and succeeded finally in rousing the sleepy woman. Matte black eyes peeked out from dull lashes, small, impassive. Staring into those eyes sent an odd kind of shiver down Billie’s spine sometimes.

Pearl shifted in her seat and braced her elbow on the armrest while dropping her cheek into the cupped palm of her hand. Strong, slender legs were crossed, toes pointed appropriately in their slippers. Though her mouth smiled, her brow was set in a determined, pensive line.
“What’s wrong with the rummage sales in town, Bill?” Came the condescending query.

“I’ve picked all the good spots clean and I want to explore new territory!” An exasperated, defensive retort. Billie laid her tablet down on the table and traded it for her mug. The too-hot liquid scalded the flesh of her mouth, but she bore it in stubborn silence. Complaining about her burnt tongue seemed like a show of weakness. Something about the other woman’s cold self-assurance still managed to intimidate her after all these years. “Plus,” she added after a minute’s tense silence, “I had to cancel my road trip because of the storms and I think this would be a nice break for me.”

As that sentence rolled to a faltering close, a shrieking whistle filled the air in the house. Pearl bounced out of her chair habitually and crossed the living in a few bouncing strides, swinging around the corner into the kitchen. She reached for the stove, but paused. The stove was cold. The kettle was on the countertop. The whistling persisted, climbing towards a higher octave.

    In the living room, Billie’s gaze was riveted to the dull red light filtering through their curtains. It spread across the floor and up the opposite wall. Soon the whole house was filled with it. The young lineman set her mug down and ran into the kitchen, the hairs on the back of her neck tingling. 

“Babe, do you see this?
Babe!
Pearl, I think we should leave...” The light was brighter in the kitchen and once she was around the corner, she was horrified to see Pearl struggling with the latch on the window.

A scream flung itself from Billie’s lungs but the howling wind pouring into the kitchen shoved it back down and choked her. Muddy crimson filled the corners of her eyes. Bottles on the counter shook violently before exploding from the cacophony, their contents flowing onto the floor into sticky, scarlet puddles. Pearl’s hair uncurled behind her in a single mahogany mass and her teeth were bared into the maelstrom of bubbling red smog. It looked like she was talking to somebody. 

Multiple somebodys who surrounded their little farmhouse. The strangers were emitting the strange light and their open, empty mouths broadcasted the deafening noise. Billie tried to scream again but the strangers’ noise overwhelmed any pathetic attempt she could muster. Inch by inch, she pulled herself towards the window with a white-knuckle grip on the counter, unaware of or desensitized to the glass that was worming its way into her soft palms. Once she reached her partner, she grabbed her by the shoulder and tugged her away from the window.