Ringing...

Jumping in to say that I loved this, too, and I envy your skills. I'm not a fan of the ending (never cared for the screwy writing effect), but it's great for a first try, and I say you should write more.

LostSkeleton wrote:

I liked it, well written and plotted except for the ending. The whole "and now I'm dead" thing is a little cliché, especially with their writing going to hell. Great through for a first try.

Yeah, i'm not really happy with the ending either, but i just didn't know how else to end it. I wish i knew how to wham line.

I liked it, well written and plotted except for the ending. The whole "and now I'm dead" thing is a little cliché, especially with their writing going to hell. Great through for a first try.

Moose wrote:

[Oh my goodness, simply chilling.]
[XuchilVith, that was amazing, especially if that was your first time writing a story.]
[If you don't mind me asking I'd love to swap the words around a little bit and make this into an audio pasta!]
(The only thing I'd be changing would be the narrorator's gender, since I am in fact female.)

Yes ok yes. >//////<

Glad you dudes like it. <3

This is brilliant. I love how you can see the writer deteriorating as the story goes on, and you build up the tension excellently.

I can hear it. I know its voice now. It doesn’t speak like you and I do, doesn’t use any recognizable language, but it speaks all the same. You’ve heard it too. That high-pitched “ringing” in your ears, that thin electric shriek in the middle of your brain. At first I heard it only occasionally, a faint sound out of place in the constant din of everyday life. I dismissed it like anyone would, thinking it a trick of the mind or the ears. But over time it grew louder, more distinct, and more frequent. Now it is constant. It is the first thing I hear when I wake, and the last before I finally and mercifully manage to sleep. The sound fills my mind and drowns out my thoughts. And I am afraid. You’ve heard it too, but maybe you’re luckier than I am. Maybe it hasn’t noticed you. Not yet.

I can hear it. I’ve been hearing it for a while now. How long, I wonder. How long has it been since I lost my little girl? How long since my wife packed her things, went back to her bitch of a mother’s house, and left me here alone with my “delusions?” How long has it been watching me? I can’t remember. It’s that thing’s fault. It makes you forget. What semblance of a life i have left is reduced to a singular grey blur. Days, months, weeks… They mean nothing. It happens slowly, so slowly you don’t notice it. You stop going out, stop talking to people. Cut yourself off from the world out of fear. Because it’s out there, it’s waiting for you, you can hear it. You barricade yourself in your home. And then one day you wake up and look around you and ask yourself what the fuck happened. And the thing answers.

I can hear it. But my daughter heard it first. She saw it first, too, on a still night that seems a lifetime ago. She cried for me, said someone was looking in her window. Her second-story window. A man, she says. He’s wearing a suit, she says. He has no face, she says. I tell her it's impossible, it's just her imagination, the classics. But she insists- it was real, it was real. I humor her, I go outside and check. She watches me from above with worry in her eyes. I find nothing, I dismiss it, I tell her to go to bed. We repeat this song and dance the next night, and the next, and the next. She starts getting headaches. She says he speaks to her. She can hear it, her ears ring. I dismiss it. One day she doesn’t come home from school. We wait by the phone for news, any news, with hope in our hearts and fear in our minds. The phone doesn't ring, but my ears do. I hear it. And then I see it, too. It doesn’t look human.

I can hear it. A playground swing creaks rhythmically in the breeze. The park is normally filled with the sounds of children laughing, running, playing. Today it is quiet, except for the swing, and the crunch of the wood chips under my shoes as I walk toward edge of the trees, toward the gathering of uniformed men. The cop tells me to stay back, I don’t want to be here. I won’t stop. Because I can hear it. A soft current of sound under the cop’s warnings, the buzz of flies, my wife’s screams. An electronic screech. It is laughing. The remains of what I am told was my daughter lies on the ground before me. It doesn’t look human. The corpse is a twisted grisly shape sprawling on the dark earth. The tatters of her pink shirt turned red. Her sweet smiling face now a warped mask of agony. I am screaming. It is laughing.


I can hear it. It’s getting louder. That ringing, that whine, taht shriek. Theres nothing to distract me from the sound now. The power went out hours ago. The phone has been dead for days. Not that calling some one would do any good. It wantss me now. It gets whatit wants it gets what it wants no matter what.It’s outside my house just standing there waiting,watchingme throuh the window. It has no eyesbut I can feeel it awtching me. It has no mouth but i can here it i canhear it ican hear it whisperring . my laoptops battery is almost dead that means my times almst up.. its coming for me I ca n hear it oits gettinglouder n ow ithu rts my ears Iam afraaid its her ee itsz HEAR I cans SEE itout aof the cornere ofMYEYEee O GODI TS COMM MINGFRMEEE CAN U HEAAAAAA




(Pretty much my first attempt at writing a story, i'm sorry if it's weird or something.)