House of Leaves: Ensuring the Medium Endures

House of Leaves is a novel by Mark Z. Danielewski, which includes poetry of various formats, including sonnets, narrative poems, and concrete/shape prose. House of Leaves purports to be an attempt by a third party to assemble an unfinished dissertation by a man known only as “Zampanò” on a film, called “The Navidson Record.” The film is told to the reader immediately as being fictional, as the assembler (who goes by the name Johnny Truant) can find no evidence of its existence. However, as Danielewski quickly makes clear-- there is reason to doubt this. This begins Danielewski’s journey to not only provide a world that’s dark and mystic, but to question the very acting of writing/reading a book. The first clear example of this, can be found in the story itself.

The reader is presented with a discussion about a film they cannot see. This is the first clear statement by Danielewski on the power of writing. He seeks to create images of such vivid quality and authentic tone, that they transcend the page and take root in the mind as clear as if one had seen “The Navidson Record” first-hand. This is not only a bold move by Danielewski to question medium, it serves as a testament to the power of literature itself. Danielewski seeks not to just create something that questions the purpose of writing, but to create something that could only exist as written word. House of Leaves is a novel that must be read by someone-- it cannot be read to someone. Even the simple act of making sure even instance of the word “house” is in blue, and the typewriter-style font used by Johnny Truant in his footnote journals, create a feeling of mystique and intrigue, that could never be expressed in words alone. His words must be not just read, but seen. The greatest asset that Danielewski has at his disposal towards this goal is his disorienting use of formatting.

The first time this occurs, it is as a footnote, floating in the middle of the page, in a blue-bordered box. At first, it would seem to be a visual inspired by the discussion on that same page of the endless corridors and passageways of the “The Navidson Record’s” dark maze. However, as one turns the page, it becomes clear-- it is a window. One can tell this is a window, because the writing seen on the previous page is still visible, albeit backwards-- creating the illusion of reading words written on a clear pane of glass. The footnotes have also transformed in this section, becoming stairs that lead down on the far side of the left page, and up on the far side of the right page. These new fixtures also serves to condense the room the text has on the page, creating the narrow passages discussed earlier. Danielewski has taken the reader into a very different “house,” one where the leaves are the very pages being read (Danielewski 119-121.)

There are countless examples of this style of formatting throughout the text each time serving the same two purposes-- to evoke the dark passages and shifting walls of the maze, and create a text that defies conversion. Danielewski is openly rebelling against the age of audio-books and film adaptations, and strives to create a format that can exist only in the written form. Not only does he succeed, but Danielewski helps remind the reader that the most satisfying experience one has with media, is when it is visceral and requires participation of the audience. This doesn’t just have to be through a complex narrative, but can be as simple as having to turn a page upside down to read it, or having to translate a poem from French into English. House of Leaves is a creature that must be wrestled with, one that at times seems to resist being read-- but, in actuality, is challenging the reader to press forward, to conquer it.

Overall, House of Leaves serves as a testament to the enduring quality of literature. It can often seem burdensome to read what can be just as easily be listened to, or even watched. However, there is a quality to literature that lets it endure the technological progress of media as a whole. Danielewski helps remind us of this, by creating a world that explores film, photography, and sound-- without ever needing them.

Art.

“the conscious use of skill and creative imagination

especially in the production of aesthetic objects,”

["Art." Merriam-Webster.com. Merriam-Webster, n.d. Web. 30 Aug. 2017]

It is decidedly not beautiful. That’s your first impression of it. You notice most people are standing farther away from it than you. You go and stand with them. Is it better from afar? Nope. Still ugly. Well, not ugly. Just... You can’t find the word. What’s good about it? It’s... vibrant. Yeah, that’s probably the best thing you could say about it. The person next to you must have read your expression.

“It’s... unpleasant isn’t it?”

That’s the word you were looking for.

“Yeah.”

They nod, looking back at it.

“There’s something about it though, right?”

They’re right, there is something about it.

“Uh-huh.”

They walk away, along with the rest of the tour group. You stay, transfixed there. That unnamed something keeping you there. You think back to what the guide said.

This is a piece we’ve recently acquired. It was recovered intact from a bombed apartment building. The artist’s identity, as well as the piece’s name-- are unknown.

The last remnant of a forgotten artist. It seems a fitting story for what you’re looking at. It’s not that bad, not really. Now that you’ve had time to study it. Still not good, but decidedly not bad either. It’s... interesting. How would you describe it though? Hectic. There’s a word for it. That’s not what makes it so striking though. You can feel it like a tickle at the back of your head. There’s something you’re seeing, but not processing.

You try unfocusing your vision, looking past it. It doesn’t help. You try going up close to it, looking over the wavy texture of the paint on the canvas. That doesn’t help either. You have the distinct feeling it’s not just random, not purely chaos for the sake of it. There were other pieces you saw that felt that way, but not this one. You can sense an order to it. You stand where you were originally. You stare. You sigh. You keep staring. You're almost ready to give up-- but that’s when you see it. Fire.

It’s so clear now. The colors are what threw you off, intertwining in an overwhelming mix of black and red. Now it’s obvious. There’s fire-- and smoke. Thick and choking. Now that you see it, it’s nearly pouring out over the walls of the gallery. It’s bright and flickering, and... hot. Too hot. Scalding. Now you see it-- that something you were looking for. You wish you didn’t. Faces. Making up the entire background. Huddled faces, screaming in pain.

Their skin run a gamut of nauseating shades, from pale and bloody to burnt and black. You nearly retch in disgust. You keep seeing more and more faces. Before it was just swimming colors, but now-- each moment there you see another one between the licking flames. They boil and melt, scream and cry, plead and curse-- you feel the heat against your face, as though any moment it might singe your hair. You try to look away, but you can’t-- because you see something else.

It’s sitting past the flames and the faces. You catch glimpses of its eyes gleaming between the licks of flames and pillars of smoke. Teeth. That’s what those errant spots of white are. The fangs of some perched thing sitting beyond the landscape. Watching the scene. Uncaring-- no, that's not right. Dispassionate. You can’t find it’s face unobscured in the havoc, but what first struck you as evil seems to be closer to... solemn. Not the architect to the mayhem, just a powerless observer.

Now you’re looking at the whole scene. The piece has become so vivid, you swear you can hear it. A miserable muffled wail from beyond the paint and cloth. There’s a movement to the shapes. A kind of strange, rhythmic pulsation living within the curves and lines. A heart beat. You feel like you’re watching something alive-- watching it twitch and squirm. You feel yourself drawn towards it.

You want to reach out and touch the flames. Just for a single, blissful moment. You want to live in the vivid color and lucid emotion. You want to writhe against the bright reds and the deep blacks. You want to scream and choke and cry and--

“Hey.”

You start suddenly as a hand touches your shoulder. You look back.

“I think I’m ready to head out, how about you?”

You look at the piece again. A mish-mash of random shapes and ugly colors.

“...Yeah. I’m good. Let’s go.”

...

You sit in the car, staring out the window. You watch the gray clouds as they slowly drift across the dusk sky.

“Did you find anything interesting this time?”

You shake your head, without looking back

“I’m not sure I get even most of that stuff. Do you?”

You don’t answer. You're looking deeper into the clouds. Watching them as they begin to twist and turn. You hear a low, mournful wailing in the distance. The clouds grow darker. You feel a sudden heat against your face. You see a flicker of red glowing from beyond the blackened clouds.

You smell smoke.

Dreams

When you first wake up from a vivid dream, there is a moment in which you don’t realize you’re no longer there. The world around you feels ethereal and disconnected. All the events from that realm feel as authentic as any experience you’ve ever had. In the next few seconds you blend back into reality, and the greater details of the dream are forgotten by the time you’re out of the bed. However, in those first waking moments... your dreams are still real.

...

You are walking through an endless desert. You feel scalding wind and streams of sand tear at your skin. You look down-- your body is torn and tattered like a paper doll. You feel your feet leave the ground as you’re whisked away by the burning tempest. You wake up, grasping at your body, and running your hands down it-- checking for those holes. The skin feels hot, but there are no holes.

...

There is a sense of profound solace when you reconnect to the real world.

...

Numbing cold. An intense pressure. You are floating deep underwater, the surface a slight glimmer far above. You try to swim to the surface, but never seem to get closer. Your lungs are going to burst. You try to scream, but only bubbles leave your throat. As you wake up you feel your shirt-- it’s wet. You nearly yell out, until you realize it’s not water. Just sweat. You almost laugh. Almost.

...

A wash of relief as the chaos of the dream melts away into the back of your mind.

...

There’s been an accident on the highway. A mangle of steel, fire, and fumes. You reach into your pocket and pull out your phone. You try to dial 911, but keeping dialing the wrong numbers. A scream from the wreckage. An explosion. A piece of metal flies towards you. A sharp pain in your head as you fall to the ground. You sit up. You’re sitting in bed. The pain is dull, but still present. You look for your phone on the bedside table. It’s not there. It’s on the floor.

...

Often, you wish that you could stay in those moments for just a few minutes longer.

...

A cool breeze carries the scent of the ocean’s spray. The water calmly laps against the shore. The sun casts golden light, that warms your skin. A flock of seagulls sound off in the distance. You let out a content sigh as you lay back. You watch the palms sway silently in rhythm to the dance of the wind. The cries of the gulls grow louder, and louder. You look up to see them flying in erratic circles above. Their shrieks continue to grow, until they coalesce into a shrill siren-- you jolt up. You look at the clock. You’re late.

...

Less often, you never want to experience them again.

...

You’re running. Not sure from what, or where to. You just know that you can’t stop-- no what matter. So you just keep running. You turn around to try and see it. You never see it fully, just incomprehensible shadows. You trip. It happens so fast you can’t even scream-- just brace for the inevitable end. You look up. Dawn is creeping in through the blinds. You check the time. You don’t have to wake up for another two hours. You decide to stay up anyway.

...

However, it’s not just nightmares that you want to escape from.

...

You’re sitting in a cafe. You see someone you recognize walk through the door.  It’s an old friend. You lost touch with them many years ago. You smile. They smile back. You talk. You laugh. You promise to meet again. As they start to leave you realize you forgot their name. You reach for your phone so you can add their number-- but it’s not a phone. It’s a clock. You set it down on the bedside table. You try to remember who that long lost friend was. You can’t.

...

Sometimes a dream can be worse than a nightmare.

...

You are lying in bed. You know you should get up, but just want to remain there a few moments longer. You turn over, and embrace the warm body beside you. You feel the warmth glowing from their quietly breathing form. You close your eyes, feeling their heat radiate into you. You reach for their hand-- but touch only sheets, frigid with morning chill. You sit up, and look over. They’re gone. Not gone. Never there. You lay back. The room is silent. You feel cold.

The Uncomparable

A man paces back and forth eagerly as he checks his phone. He looks to be in his mid-to-late thirties, possibly someone who works in the technology sector, maybe as a freelance programmer. However, one look at his room, walls cluttered with movie posters and a mini-fridge adjacent to his computer, would quickly show otherwise. He irritably twists his finger through his shaggy black hair, and sighs.

Where is he? He said he was on his way. He needs to hear this.

Andrew rechecks the file, making sure it’s still there, as though it might disappear as suddenly as it had appeared if not properly watched. He saved it to a cloud storage, then a physical storage, just in case the internet went out. He saved it in three different formats, so that any audio program could read and play at least one version of it. He resisted listening to it again, to avoid missing any text message in response from the only possible person he knew that might understand why this particular audio file was so interesting. He had tried to find a better description for the file beyond the unhelpful, bland platitudes that he had bombarded against Jacob, but nothing really fit beyond: weird, interesting, amazing, unique, and other essentially useless descriptions as far as trying to explain what it was, or more importantly-- what it sounded like.

Then, suddenly, a knock at the door.

Baring his usual dopey grin, Andrew heads to the door.

Finally!

...

Andrew swung open the door, and eagerly brought his friend inside.

“Here! Just sit down, I already have it set up.”

Jacob looked equal parts confused and worried.

“Okay, okay! I’m going man!”

Jacob walked over and sat down at the paper and snack bag cluttered desk. He knew exactly what kind of behavior this was. This was Andrew’s “conspiracy theorist” mode. Frankly, the term “conspiracy”, gave a lot more credit to Andrew’s average “theory” than most would say it deserved, Jacob included. Jacob was the only real friend that Andrew had, and Jacob knew that without him, Andrew would likely just obsess and spiral. However, he couldn’t say that at the end of the day the path that Andrew usually led him down wasn’t, at the very least, pretty weird and at least vaguely interesting. So when he told Jacob that this was: “Absolutely the craziest thing I’ve ever found,” that the file was “Seriously, absolutely amazing! Just... weird!” he couldn’t exactly turn down another opportunity to head down the rabbit hole that was Andrew’s obsession with his “audio enigmas.”

Yes, “enigmas”, as Andrew called them. These sounds were recordings he made using a device he had built himself. It would’ve been impressive if it wasn’t such a waste of his intelligence and talent. He usually ended up with various garbled electronic feedback and noise that sounded, as far as Jacob was concerned, like something you’d hear on a spaceship in a low budget sci-fi movie. The actually interesting part, at least as far as Jacob was concerned, was that Andrew was usually able to figure out where the sound was coming from. Whether it was feedback from a local radio station’s signal, or the white-noise from a factory. He was even able to duplicate the sound once he had found the source, “solving the mystery” as it were. It was a strange hobby, and arguably pointless, but at the very least it kept Andrew satisfied.

Jacob put on the headphones, hoping the sound would live up to the endless hype that Andrew had built. He hovered the mouse pointer over the play button, and looked back at Andrew, who just nodded vigorously-- and hit play.

...

Jacob didn’t know what to think at first. Was the sound weird? Yes, but most of the sounds Andrew found were, at the very least, that. Was the sound interesting? Well... not really, but can a sound really be interesting without any context? However, was the sound unique? Absolutely. In fact, just as Andrew had struggled, Jacob now found himself equally unable to find any terms to apply to the sound. It was like smelling a kind of spice or herb that you’ve never come across, you can’t really describe it without knowing it. Finally, Andrew broke the silence.

“Well? That’s some weird shit, right?”

Jacob just nodded as he played the file again. He raised one earphone and turned towards Andrew.

“Drew... What the hell is it?”

Andrew shrugged, beaming.

“I got no fucking clue man!”, Andrew laughed in booming exuberance,

“Isn’t it great?”

Jacob laughed, although closer to a meek chuckle than a real laugh.

“Only you would think not knowing is great.”

Andrew turned to a pile of papers stacked on top of a closed laptop.

“Seriously Jake, I have no idea where this came from-- let alone what it is.”

Jacob furrowed his brow,

“What? How can you not know where it came from? Where was it pointed?”

Andrew shook his head without looking up from the papers,

“It wasn’t pointed at anything. I always leave it pointed in the same position when I’m not specifically trying to look for anything. I mean, I have it setup to record if it picks something up, but for the last year it was always nothing. It was only yesterday that I checked it, and saw that it had picked something up. I aimed it there all day today, and it still hasn’t picked up anything else.”

Jacob smirked,

“Well, you have your first real mystery on your hands don’t you Agent Mulder?”

Andrew rolled his eyes,

“Well, Scully, I’ll just have to rope you into this, won’t I?”

Jacob chuckled, putting down the headphones, and sitting backwards in the chair,

“So, where do we start?”

Andrew took on a sudden look of seriousness, as he thumbed through the various papers in his hands, before finally taking out two and handing them to Jacob.

“We start here, which is the only real lead I have.”

The first was a Google Maps printout, leading to a location that seemed to be in the middle of an empty area of undeveloped land. The second was a Google Streetview, that showed that it was in fact some kind of empty warehouse or factory, that seemed old, but not excessively dilapidated.

Jacob’s eyebrows rose,

“What is it?”

Andrew shook his head as he took the pages back,

“No idea, couldn't find any information on it, not even what its mailing address was-- let alone anything about what it was at any point of operation-- if it ever was in operation.”

“So,” Jacob said, “when do we go?”

Andrew grinned, and hoisted a pair of backpacks.

“Tonight.”

...

Jacob put the bags in the trunk of his SUV, as Andrew fumbled with the car’s stereo, which he was in the process of hooking up to his phone. Jacob chuckled quietly, thinking about how little his friend had changed over the time he had known him. He wondered if he would still be doing this sort of thing ten years from now. Part of him hoped that eventually he’d grow out of this nearly juvenile fascination with all this pursuit of these non-mysteries. Although, for now, he was fairly amused by the ordeals that Andrew dragged him through.

Getting into the car, Jacob noticed Andrew’s look of frustration as he fiddled with his phone.

“What’s up man? No reception? We don’t need GPS or anything, I got the directions right here,” Jacob said, as he patted the print-out that Andrew had prepared for them earlier.

Andrew shook his head,

“Nah, it’s the sound man. I can’t get it to play on your stereo. I listened to it on my phone before we left, so it’s not the file.”

Jacob shrugged, starting the car.

“Whatever, we’ve both just heard it. It’s not like we’ll forget.”

Andrew nodded, tucking his phone into his shirt pocket.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Immediately, Andrew went from dejected to ecstatic.

“Okay, let’s head out!”

...

As they climbed out of the car, they stood for a moment in stunned silence. It was clear that the pictures they had seen online were outdated. Very outdated. The slightly dilapidated warehouse they had seen online was, in reality, a wilting mass of rusted sheet metal and peeling paint.  

“Wow,” was all Jacob could manage after a moment.

Andrew was slightly more optimistic, as he turned to Jacob and smiled.

“Good thing I packed us those asbestos-graded masks, right?”

Jacob was more of a realist.

“Drew, man, I don’t know-- This place looks like it could come crashing down on our heads, you know?”

“Oh whatever, it’s fine.” Andrew scoffed. “The worst thing we have to worry about is stepping on a rusty nail or something, don’t be overdramatic.”

Jacob sighed, and resigned himself to the fact that Andrew wasn’t one to be deterred from a place like this.

...

As they entered the building, they found that the interior was in better condition than the outside would have led one to believe.

“So,” Jacob started, “do you really think it could’ve come from in here? I mean, usually the places are, I don’t know, occupied, right? I mean, they at least have people still there. How could it be coming from a place like this? I thought it was just in bad condition when we looked online, but it’s pretty clear nobody’s been here for years.”

Andrew thoughtfully tugged at his patchy beard.

“Well... The only thing I can think of, is if something is still tied into the power system, which in turn is still hooked up to the power grid. Although, I have trouble believing they would ignore it for this long. But, hey, anything’s possible right?”

Jacob returned a nonplused nod in response, “I suppose.”

Andrew patted him on the back,

“Hey, this is the only place it could’ve come from. I mean, you saw the drive up here-- there’s literally nothing arounds for miles. If the sound isn’t from here, then it’s just a bug, or a mistake in the program. It would be the first bug I’ve had with the program since I’ve started using it, but, like I said-- anything is possible. This is just the more interesting possibility.”

Jacob smiled,

“Well, at least you’re being a little more realistic.”

Andrew laughed,

“Exactly! Now, let’s figure out what this place was. My bet is on some kind of storage facility for cryogenics, which was abandoned once the fad died out in the early 2000s.”

Jacob just rolled his eyes in response.

...

Andrew had immediately gone for the remnants of what looked to be a corner office, while Jacob had decided to check the door in the back, looking for anything that might clue them into the direction of a generator or power supply.

Inside, Jacob found empty shelves in varying degrees of collapse, along with a single large circuit breaker in the corner of the room. Jacob sighed. It was clear that this place didn’t have any kind of generator or major machinery. He opened the circuit breaker and flipped the various switches to no avail. It was obvious that the place was as dead as it looked. Jacob decided to head back to Andrew, hoping that he’d found something to make this expedition at least worth the gas he’d spent to get them there.

He found Andrew sitting in a rusted metal folding chair, which he couldn’t believe he actually sat in without winding up sprawled out on the floor like a comedic caricature. Andrew was looking over a toppled, file cabinet, searching through a clearly empty drawer.

“Hey, so, did you find anything?” Jacob asked.

Andrew sighed, shaking his head.

“Nah, this place has been out of commision forever by the looks of it. I’m thinking that the whole ‘this is just an empty warehouse, and the sound is just some glitch,’ idea is becoming ever more likely.”

Jacob nodded, and sat on the floor.

“Yeah, there’s just the one circuit breaker, so this place isn’t exactly a powerhouse, you know?”

Andrew chuckled, this time without the usual enthusiasm.

“Sorry I got you so worked up, I was sure this would be worth checking out. It’s not even old enough to be interesting in a kind of ‘urban exploration’ kind of way. It’s literally just a glorified abandoned empty garage. Really wasted your time...”

Jacob shrugged, smiling.

“Hey, can’t know without checking, right? Let’s give the outside at least a once over before we head out. Maybe there’s at least, I don’t know, some separate utility closet or something. They had one at that place we went to last month, right?”

Andrew nodded as he stood up.

“Sure, might as well.”

...

They had found something. The two of them differed on what exactly it was, but it was definitely something.

“Come on man, it’s just like you said! It’s like a separate utility area, or whatever! It’s a pretty simple explanation Jake, don’t bail on me now.” Andrew pleaded.

The “it” in question, was a small set of doors set into the ground. And, as far as Jacob was concerned, it looked more like a cellar than anything that even resembled a utility closet.

“I still don’t know man. It just doesn’t sit right, you know? I mean I was talking about like a shed attached to the building itself. Not like a fucking medieval wine cellar like fifty feet away from the warehouse. I don’t even think it’s a part of it, it seems like it’s something left over from whatever was here before the warehouse, whenever that was...”

Andrew groaned in frustration.

“Oh for Christ’s sake-- now who’s the one with the active imagination, man? It’s not some serial killer’s secret storage space, or some middle-of-nowhere homeless squat spot! It’s just like, a place for the generator. They probably just had to keep it away from the warehouse for like, zoning reasons or some shit-- it doesn’t matter!”

Jacob shook his head,

“No man, that doesn’t make sense. I mean that’s like way too far. I don’t care what zoning fines you’d get, it wouldn’t be cheaper to have your electrics this far away from the building.”

Andrew grabbed Jacob by the shoulders.

“Dude! That’s just one explanation, there’s probably a million reasons why they’d do this, the point is that it’s here, we found it, and it’s probably where we need to go to find our sound, right?”

Jacob let out an exasperated sigh. It was clear that Andrew wasn’t going to let this go that easily. Even if it meant having to run screaming from a giant rat or some territorial, knife-wielding vagrant-- there was nothing that was going to stop him from dragging him down into this-- whatever it was.

“Okay! Okay... Let’s go down there. But! If we see anything in there that seems like people are living down there-- I am done. You hear me? The last thing I need is to get shanked by some junkie for walking into his drug den-- alright?”

Andrew laughed, and clapped his hands together.

“Yes! Yeah man, for sure. I promise, first sign of sketch-- and we are gone, deal?”

Jacob hesitantly smiled.

“Deal.”

...

Jacob felt ridiculous wearing the respirator mask, but Andrew insisted they wear them. Judging from the giddy look Jacob could see behind Andrew’s mask, it was mostly for Andrew’s own personal enjoyment (and making the descent feel more movie-like) than it was for their own safety. They had decided knocking would be the safest first step. Andrew had insisted that Jacob be the one who knocked, since he was the one paranoid about anyone being inside the “clearly abandoned” structure. Although Jacob was fairly certain this precaution was so Andrew would be farther away in case someone came bursting out of the doors.

Jacob knocked. The sound reverberated for a few moments.

“Nothing.” Jacob said, visibly relieved.

“See? I told you there was nothing to worry about.” Andrew returned smugly.

Jacob rolled his eyes, “Yeah, but did you hear that echo? It sounds like the thing’s pretty spacious. I’m still saying that it’s not any kind of utility space. At this point, I’d bet on some kind of secondary storage area.”

Andrew shrugged, “I don’t really care what it is, all I care about is finding the source of that sound.”

Jacob sighed, “Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s all about solving the ‘mystery.’ Let’s just get this over with.”  

Laughing, Andrew handed Jacob a flashlight. “Hey, you didn’t have to come, you know?”

Jacob couldn’t help but smile. They both knew there wasn’t a scenario in which Jacob would tell Andrew “no” to another aimless meander into the unknown. It just wasn’t in his character.

...

Andrew was the first to descend the stairs, his flashlight cutting light into the utter darkness. The stairway was so dark, and the flashlight so old, that it only managed to give them a little over three feet of visibility.

“Watch your step, it gets dark pretty fast.” Andrew called back, as he took a cautious step.

“Why are these flashlights so old? You’re telling me you bought asbestos graded respirators, but don’t even bother getting some LED flashlights for when we go wandering into these shitholes?” Jacob returned.

Andrew laughed, “Hey, most of the places we end up at least have some windows, how was I supposed to know they had an electricity dungeon, or whatever? Besides, they work right? You just can’t be a bumbling asshole, just pay attention, like I said, and you’ll be fine.”

By the bottom of the stairwell, there was no trace of sunlight, and their sole source of illumination was the dim, sickly yellow glow of the flashlights. The layout of the structure seemed fairly straightforward, being a set of four hallways forming a cross, with each hallway having a number of doorways in pairs along the walls. Both agreed the best way was to move down the first hallway, with each of them checking the rooms on their side. Then when they hit the point where the four hallways met, each of them would go down one of them, before meeting up again and going down the last hallway.

“It’s kinda weird though...” Andrew started.

“What do you mean?” Jacob asked,  fiddling with the straps on his respirator.

“I mean, this place probably takes up more room than the warehouse itself. It just feels... I don’t know-- off, I guess. Nevermind, I don’t know why I even said anything.”

Andrew headed into the first room on the right.

Jacob stood for a moment, unsure if he should say anything.

If Andrew thinks this is weird...

But, he shook himself out of any notion of bringing up the idea of leaving empty handed, since he knew Andrew would hear nothing of it. At first Jacob couldn’t seen what point the rooms held. Both he and Andrew went through three empty rooms; however, Jacob found something on his fourth search.

“Hey! Come check this out!” Jacob called into the darkness of the adjacent room. He saw a yellowish beam move up and over to the doorway, then away.

Jacob called out again, “Dude! I found something!”

“Hold on!” He finally heard from the other room. Jacob hadn’t ever really heard that kind of harsh, serious tone from Andrew. Jacob hesitated for a few moments, before finally heading into the other room. He saw Andrew with an ear against the ground, eyes tightly shut. Jacob stood there for a few moments before saying anything.

“What is it?”

Andrew just put a finger to his lips, continuing to listen intently. After a few tense minutes, he finally stood up.

“I heard something.” he said, looking incredibly excited.

“Heard what?” Jacob asked, looking more worried than excited.

“I don’t know,” Andrew said sighing,

“And I don’t mean ‘I don’t know’ in an ‘exactly what we’re looking for kind of way” he clarified,

“I mean it it sounded pretty muffled, and far away.”

Andrew furrowed his brow, and paced the room anxiously.

“The only thing is, it sounded like it was below us, and I didn’t notice any stairs.

Jacob finally spoke up.

“That’s what I was going to tell you earlier! Here, look at this.”

He thrust a piece of paper towards him.

“It looks like it fell under one of the desks a long while ago, didn’t get grabbed up with everything else.”

Andrew took it, and looked it over. His eyes widened.

“Is this--”

“Yeah! A floor plan!” Jacob finished his thought excitedly.

“And look here,” he said pointing to a part of it,

“It says there’s a stairwell in this back room.”

Andrew looked up, with an eager grin on his face.

“Well, let’s go!”

...

They approached the back room, but were met with an unexpected obstacle.

“Is this the right room?” Andrew asked.

“It should be,” Jacob said, looking back at the floorplan.

“It says it should be right there along the wall.”

“Well, I’d hate to be a contrarian,” Andrew said placing his hand against the wall,

“--but this right here? It’s, uh, just a wall.”

Andrew rapped against the wall with a knuckle to emphasize this obvious point.

Jacob quickly looked up from the floor plan.

“Wait! Do that again.”

Andrew looked briefly confused, then his eyes went wide. He knocked against the wall again, harder this time.

Andrew was stunned. “It’s hollow... Then that means--”

“Exactly,” Jacob interrupted, going over to a skeletally empty file cabinet.

“Here, help me lift this up.”

Andrew and Jacob hefted the file cabinet, and aimed it lengthwise at the wall.

Jacob counted down “1, 2, 3--” They slammed the top of the file cabinet against the wall, punching a roughly fist-sized hole through the thin drywall facade.

After a few more hits, the hole was large enough that they estimated they could climb through with little trouble. They set the file cabinet down, panting.

“I... I can’t believe it. They covered up the stairway!” Jacob said, wiping the thin layer of sweat from his brow.

“Well, it looks like there is more to this place.”

Andrew smirked, “I told you this place would be great!”

“Oh sure, you knew all along,” Jacob quipped as he approached the hole.

He shone his light into the dark space behind the wall.

“Does it look like the stairs are through there?” Andrew asked

“Yep,” Jacob answered, “they're right on the other side.”

“So,” Andrew started as he kneeled down to peer through the hole,

“Why do you think they covered this up? Is there some sketchy shit going on down there or what?”

“Well,” Jacob said, “when I was working at that one place downtown, they did something sort of like this.”

“Really? What were they hiding?” Andrew asked, his eyebrows raised.

“Nothing really, it was just for building code stuff, you know?” Jacob said with a shrug,

“They had converted the second break room into an additional server room, without letting the higher ups know. Normally corporate would have you “requisition” the space, right? That way they can update their tax information or whatever. Well, our floor just wanted to do it, while avoiding all the red tape. So, they just pushed a vending machine in front of the door whenever a higher-up came down to our floor. They never found out as far as I know.”

“So, you think these guys were just trying to screw over the bureaucracy?” Andrew said, chuckling.

“Hey,” Jacob said shrugging, “People are people-- even if they work in some weird bunker.”

“Well, I guess there’s only one way to find out.” Andrew said as he gestured towards the hole.

They climbed through, and began their descent of the stairway.

“Anything noteworthy down here?” Andrew asked.

Jacob looked over the floor plan.

“Hmm,” his brow furrowed as he scanned the document with his light.

“Well, there’s a larger area to the left-- that could be something. Plus, there’s what looks to be some office space. I’d bet we’d find out more there.”

“Alright,” Andrew said, “Division of labor-- you check out the offices, and I’ll check out the bigger room. Maybe it’s a utilities, or server room or something, ”

“Sounds good to me,” Jacob said, tucking the folded floor plan into his back pocket.

“Hopefully we’ll figure out what they left plugged in down there,” Andrew said

“I still have no idea what could’ve made that sound.”

Jacob shook his head, grinning.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s the most important thing after all.”

“Hey, we wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for the noise!” Andrew said wagging his finger jokingly.

“True, true...” Andrew said as they reached the bottom of the stairway.

They found a door with a glass window. Attached to the glass with brittle, cracked tape-- was a note.

Andrew pulled it off, and read it aloud:

“By order of the NIST--”

“Who?” Jacob interrupted.

Andrew huffed, clearly annoyed. “The National Institute of Standards and Technology. Come on man, you didn’t know that?”

Jacob chuckled, “No, why do you?”

Andrew shook his head, “Seriously? They were the agency that investigated the World Trade Center collapse!”

Jacob rolled his eyes, “Ah. Of course. How could I forget...”

Andrew sighed, and returned to the note:

“By order of the NIST, this project has been shut down indefinitely, or until the NIST believes that a significant amount of knowledge has been gained so that the project may be reinstated without a danger to research staff. Entry is forbidden by U.S. law. Trespass is subject to a minimum fine of $10,000, and up to 25 years in a federal penitentiary.

...

The two “nothing-better-to-do”s looked at each, then back at the note. Both apparently processing the message at an equally dulled rate.

Jacob was the first to finally speak.

“W-wait, have we already trespassed, or does going beyond this door count as trespassing? I mean, if they didn’t want people trespassing, they should have put this on the door, not the secret door behind the secret wall, I mean how were we--”

Andrew laughed, “Wait, that’s what you’re thinking about?”

“Of course!” Jacob said, “I don’t know about you, but I don’t have an extra $10,000 or 25 years sitting around!”

“Oh, whatever,” Andrew scoffed, “do you honestly think they’re watching this place? How? This place probably hasn’t had another living soul in it since the sixties!”

Jacob sighed, smiling “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“Now,” Andrew continued, “what I’m thinking about is the ‘danger to research staff’ part.”

Jacob’s smile fell, “Oh. Yeah. That is... concerning.”

Andrew rubbed his chin, as he continued to stare at the note.

“Well... It’s definitely not something that’s like, directly dangerous to our health or anything. Since the NIST was never involved in chemical weapons or anything...”

Jacob smirked, “Well, that’s a relief, Anthrax is definitely not on the list of things I was looking for.”

Andrew continued, ignoring Jacob.

“So... it’s probably tech related. Impossible to say what really, they’ve been involved in a whole range of different projects from cryptography to scintillator research...”

“Scintillator? What the hell is a--” Jacob began

“Inorganic crystals they shine gamma rays and shit through,” Andrew quickly responded, before continuing his train of thought.

“So, the point I’m trying to make here, is that whatever is in here, it’s probably not dangerous. Well, barring any crazy conspiracy-level shenanigans that is. More importantly, whatever is in there, is probably, I’d say most likely, making that noise I picked up.”

“Oh,” Jacob said eyebrows raised. “Well, then... we should go in?”

Andrew let the note fall to the ground, turning to face Jacob.

“Oh yeah, we should absolutely go in.” Andrew responded, a big grin on his face.

“Alright, but you go first” Jacob said, grinning nearly as wide, “that way if they do have some secret sixties security system, you can set it off.”

“Fair enough,” Andrew said shrugging, as he pulled the door open.

...

Past the door there was a sterile-looking white hallway. As they shone their beams down the hallway, Jacob noticed something;

“Huh, there’s hardly any dust down here,” he commented taking off his facemask.

“There’s probably some kind of ventilation system they had to reduce contamination from outside particles.” Andrew said as he scanned the walls for any wires or indication of electrical systems.

“Oh, like when they make circuit boards or something?” Jacob asked, relieved to finally weigh in on something.

“Yup,” Andrew nodded, taking off his mask “maybe that’s what the noise was.”

“Man, a government cleanroom, now that would be a find.” Jacob started to finally feel more excited than anxious about the entire ordeal.

On the ground, 5 colored lines seemed to lead to the different sections of the facility. The red, blue, yellow, and green lines led straight down the hallway, and a thicker black line led down a side hallway.

Andrew was sure that the black line likely led to the electricals, since it split off from everything else. Jacob was suspicious of the thickness of the line, saying that it might lead to something more important-- maybe even the supposed cleanroom. Regardless, Jacob was more interested in finding an office or file storage, so he didn’t argue the point further.

“Okay,” Jacob said, “we’ll meet up here in thirty minutes, or come find the other one if we find anything before that, sound good?”

Andrew nodded, immediately following the black line down the hallway,

“Yeah, yeah, sounds good.”

“Remember!” he shouted down the hallway after him, “Thirty minutes!”

Andrew vaguely gestured back without looking.

Jacob shook his head, sighing. As he started down the main hallway, he couldn’t help but think that sometimes the only reason Andrew even brought him along on these exhibitions, was because he had a car.

...

Jacob began the process of finding out what the different lines represented. The yellow line led to what he figured was a break room, considering it had tables and chairs stacked in the corner, a sink with cabinets above and below, and what seemed to be enough outlets to accommodate a fridge, coffee maker, or other basic kitchen appliances. He wondered if they had electric coffee makers in the sixties. He figured they must have, but wanted to make sure. He took out his phone, but quickly realized he had no reception. He almost felt foolish for thinking he would have reception in what was essentially a secret underground government research bunker.

Following the blue line took him to the offices, or at least what was left of them. All of the cubicle components were stacked against the back wall, along with all the other pieces of furniture. He peeked into the drawers of a few desks, and wasn’t too surprised to find them all emptied beyond the occasional paperclip or errant staple.

The green line led to a door, with a sign above it that read “UTILITIES”. He tried to open the door, but found it was locked. Jacob wasn’t too worried, since Andrew had watched enough lockpicking tutorials that a locked door was rarely an issue in any of their outings, and the built-in lock looked like a simple one. Jacob smiled smugly, knowing that he was right that the utilities room wasn’t the thick black line. His smile wavered when he considered that Andrew may have only said that to make the path less enticing. Regardless, he would at least have something to show for his explorative efforts.

The final line, the red line, also led to a door. Thankfully however, this door wasn’t locked. Inside, his heart skipped a beat as he saw exactly what he was looking for: a file cabinet. There was only one, but it was better than nothing. More-so, the labels on the drawers were exactly what he had hoped for. The labels from top to bottom were: Orientation, Project Guidelines and Goals, Research Materials, and Emergency Protocols.

He approached it, and gave a drawer a cursory tug. It was locked, but came out about an inch before stopping. He smirked-- He didn’t need Andrew’s expertise for this-- he had picked up how to deal with this exact problem at the same job he had discussed with Andrew earlier. With some effort, he managed to tilt the file cabinet against the wall at an angle. Reaching under the drawer, he felt around until he found a small opening, and pressed inside it. He was worried that it might not work, thinking that the government would have invested in more secure storage for the secret files, in their secret bunker, behind a secret wall, but then-- the drawer popped open.

He wondered if all sectors of government underwent the same level of oversight. He then thought of the double meaning to the term, and felt it especially fitting in this situation.

...

A quick look through the “Orientation Materials” drawer, revealed nothing more than a few folders each containing multiple copies of various handouts for the different kinds of people employed, ranging from janitorial staff to researchers. The details of these were vague, with phrases like “the project in question,” and “the current undertaking of the NIST.” Jacob reasoned that these were likely the papers they passed out to every project that the NIST headed, and likely held no information he would find useful.

“Project Guidelines and Goals,” proved to be more helpful, but still remained frustratingly vague, and filled with ambiguous bureaucratic language that made it hard for Jacob to connect the dots of what they were really doing.

The “goal” of the project, aptly named “Second Sight,” was detailed as followed: This project seeks to expand our understanding of human perception and, if possible, develop a method for individuals to develop a more refined or even expanded range of senses.

Jacob felt a twinge of excitement at the statement.

“Perception? “Jacob muttered,

“Expanded range of senses? What, like ESP?”

However, he reasoned that the more probable answer would be a lot more dull, like some kind of early infrared goggles. Not necessarily boring, but nothing on the conspiracy theory level that Andrew had hyped-up earlier.

He continued on to the various guidelines that the project detailed. These delved into the methodology of the research the project had undergone, along with the various legal definitions and forms to have new project members look over and sign when they joined up. Jacob considered reading through them, but figured it was, like the orientation materials, papers that every NIST project used.

Moving on to the “Research Materials” drawer, he hoped he would finally get some answers about what they actually did down there. However, the drawer didn’t contain the “research” that the project had archived, but quite literally research “materials”, with bundles of printouts from entries in encyclopedias, scholastic journals, and various studies. There were a few government projects he found in one folder, but found that a majority of the document had been censored beyond the findings that were relevant to the project. It wasn’t what Jacob had wanted to find, but it did start to give him a better idea of what the project entailed.

The materials covered various research into human perception and sense, ranging from studies on the heightening of senses when one is lost, to notes on the mechanics of eyes adjusting to darkness over time. All of the materials focused on sight specifically it seemed. Finally, Jacob reached for the folder in the back of the drawer. It was the thickest folder in the drawer and it was labeled: Synesthesia.

Jacob quickly grabbed the folder, skimming through the papers to make sure that Synesthesia was what he thought it was-- and it was. He quickly shut the folder, put it in his bag, and started excitedly back towards the fork in the hallway. If they were doing what Jacob now thought they were doing, then it was a more interesting find than he or Andrew had previously imagined.

...

Jacob sat on the floor at the point where he and Andrew had split up earlier. He skimmed through the various documents on Synesthesia. They defined it as a “neurological event where an individual experiences an additional involuntary sense in conjunction to another.” Examples cases in the folder included people who experienced seeing numbers have certain colors, along with people who experienced colors when they heard certain sounds. Jacob thought about that Andrew had played him-- the sound they were “looking” for. He wondered what kind of color that sound would have. He tried to think of what color he associated with it. The only one that really came to mind was black. It wasn’t a particularly “dark” sound, the only reasoning he had for it was because of how unplaceable it was. It didn’t feel like a black piece of cloth, but like a black hole-- devoid of description or feeling. He shook himself out of these musings and continued to read through the folder as he waited for Andrew.

A section he found particularly interesting involved research on the idea that Synesthetic senses are something that all humans have to a certain degree. They had conducted studies, and found that people associated certain shapes with certain words. The example they included was that they had given people a rounded object and a pointed object, and were told to assign each of them one of two names, either “blonon” or “kleck.” Approximately 98% of people called the rounded one “blonon,” and the pointed one “kleck.” They reasoned from this that people must have some innate connection between their various sense that they don’t consciously experience.

Jacob sighed, checking his phone. Thirty-five minutes. It had been thirty-five minutes since he and Andrew had separated. He figured he’d end up tracking Andrew down, so hw was only mildly annoyed. He started down the hallway, following the thick black line.

...

As he walked down the dark hallway, Jacob wondered what Andrew would think the government’s plan had been for the facility. The farthest Jacob could postulate was “synesthesia goggles,” and even that sounded pretty far fetched. He guessed there was about a fifty-fifty chance that Andrew would agree with him, or suggest something completely beyond the realm of possibility. Then again, Jacob realized that this entire expedition was built completely on things he considered non-possibilities when they had arrived. As he tried to recount the number of times he’d been incredulous that day, his flashlight finally caught sight of something besides non-descript white flooring.

It appeared to be some kind of security checkpoint. There was a gate that looked like a metal detector, along with a small office that seemed like it housed security personnel. Next to the gate, was a small container of foam ear plugs. They had mostly aged into dust, but a few had remained fairly intact-- at least enough to be readily identifiable. Next to the container was a larger one filled with a few pair of over-ear hearing protection. These had fared the decades better, but Jacob still didn’t touch them. He was reminded of a story his father had told him. He had gone outside to cut apart a tree that had fallen on the road, and had found his ear muffs had a spider nest in of the the ear pieces. Jacob shuttered just imagining it.

Just before he continued through the gate, Jacob noticed a large sign on the wall next to it, labeled “Security Guidelines.” In bold red lettering it stated:

• No personnel allowed past without wearing at least two (2) means of hearing protection.
• No personnel may enter without accompaniment of a security personnel carrying an aural dampening emergency (ADE) device.
• Personnel exposed during testing must submit themselves for quarantine-- those found to have hidden their exposure will face immediate removal from this and exemption from future NIST projects.
• Exposed personnel are allowed back into the project on an individual basis, and will be asked to remain on-site until their case has been fully reviewed.
• Audio recording devices (or video recording devices with audio recording capabilities) are NOT permitted under ANY circumstances. All test logs are to be VIDEO ONLY. Any member of personnel caught with audio recording equipment are subject to punishment under The Reynault Act of 1951, Section 12, Paragraph 5.

Jacob was dumbstruck. This was concrete proof that this wasn’t some run-of-the-mill government research operation. They were working on something with very strict security-- something classified. The ear protection thing was strange, but Jacob figured it was probably to prevent the researchers from hearing classified information. It seemed a rather brute force tactic, but he figured it was one way to handle it. The section on “exposure” worried him. Exposure to what? He wondered if they were trying some chemical method of inducing synesthesia as opposed to his earlier idea of using some devices to do it. He continued through the gate, wondering what Andrew had discovered while he was away.

...

Past the gate, there were a series of doors with adjacent windows. When Jacob pulled at it-- it didn’t budge. He noticed a small console of buttons affixed next to the door. A quick look at the door opposite him showed that it too had a similar setup. A large green button was labeled “door release,” and had an additional label under it;

“This door can only be released from this console. Door release cannot be activated during testing. In case of an emergency, your security officer has been briefed on events that warrant emergency chamber access.”

Other more nondescript buttons were labeled “lights,” “temp. up,” “temp. down,” and “radio (one way.)” The final button was a large red button, labeled “begin loaded test.” This button also had an additional label under it;

“Chamber audio playback begins thirty (30) seconds after door is resealed. Ensure that the subject falls within the required guidelines for the current testing cassette. WARNING: Subjects not keyed to the testing audio can experience unexpected neurological changes. THIS INCLUDES EXPOSED RESEARCH STAFF. See audio cassette label for recommended duration of test.”

Jacob brought out his phone, and took a few pictures of the console. This was thing he felt best encapsulated all they had found. He took a cursory jab at the lights button, and was shocked as the fluorescent light in the chamber flickered into life.

Jacob froze. He pressed the button again, just to assure himself that this was really happening, and the lights went off. He pressed it again, and the lights came on. He was so caught up in the moment, that he hadn’t actually processed what was in the room. Inside was a table and rusted metal folding chair. On the table, was a device with wires leading from it to the door. Attached to the device were a pair of headphones. The glass was slightly tinted, (likely one way glass, Jacob figured) so it was hard to make out the details on the device. The walls were covered in mesmerizing patterns of sound-dampening foam-- the kind Jacob had seen in his friend’s recording booth for a podcast he made. Then he saw it wasn’t just the walls, but even the floor and ceiling seemed to be made out of a soundproof material. The room gave Jacob an uneasy feeling, like he was looking into a padded cell inside a psych ward.

After taking a few moments to collect himself, Jacob remembered that the console mentioned “cassettes” multiple times, and after looking for a few moments he found a small slot on the underside of the console. Jacob shone his flashlight into the slot-- it was empty. He chuckled quietly, acknowledging that their luck could only go so far. Jacob continued down the hallway, looking for any signs of Andrew. Jacob knew that if all of this was equal parts surreal and mind-blowing to him, he could only imagine how Andrew was reacting.

...

He continued down the hallway for a few minutes, lulled into boredom by the monotony of the white hallway. Suddenly, he was sent toppling head over heels. He stood up, brushing off decades-old dust. Picking up his flashlight, he looked for what he had tripped him out of his daze-- it was Andrew’s backpack.

Jacob called out;

“Andrew!”

He waited. No response.

“Yo! Drew!”

He listened for any errant noise, but heard only the deafening silence. The bag was propped up against one of the doors. He looked around, trying to notice if there was something he wasn’t seeing. Then, it finally hit him.

Jacob looked at the console on the door.

This door can only be released from this console.

Jacob quickly went over to the console, and hit the door release.

...

Nothing happened.

He was confused and hit the button again.

Nothing happened.

Then, he remembered--

Door release cannot be activated during testing.

Jacob flicked his light to slot under the console, and saw it--

A cassette tape.

He tried to find any way to eject the tape, but there didn’t seem to be any way to stop or remove it. He hit the “lights” button, but nothing happened. He cursed under his breath. He tried to peer into the window, but the tint made it impossible to see into the darkened room, and reflected his flashlight like a mirror. He knocked against the glass, but didn’t see or hear anything from inside the room that might signify Andrew responding.

So, Jacob decided to wait. He sat down on the floor, and watched the reels of the cassette slowly rotate.

...

*click*

Jacob started awake as the tape stopped.

He blinked hard a few times, looking briefly confused. It was the same feeling he had experienced when he woke up a few weeks ago asleep at his desk. The feeling where you’re so used to waking up in your own bed, that it becomes where you always expect to wake up. He slowly stood up, stretching his back and legs. Even after he remembered where he was, it took another few moments to remember why he had waited in the first place.

He ran over to the console and hit the door release. The door opened with a pressurized hiss, slowly opening. Jacob called into the room:

“Hey! Andrew! You okay?”

The only sound was the methodical, heavy creaking of the door. The opening still wasn’t big enough for him to get into the room. He spoke again, with equal parts frustration and worry.

“What were you thinking Drew? You got to be more careful! If I wasn’t down here with you, you’d just be stuck in there!”

He waited for one of Andrew’s typical sheepish responses whenever he did something without thinking-- but he heard nothing. He was officially more concerned than angry.

“Drew? You okay in there?”

Jacob waited in tense anticipation as the door neared being wide enough to get through. He shone his light into the room, but could only see a small portion of it.

“Drew! Talk to me man!”

The door was finally wide enough for Jacob to try and squeeze through, and he got his head and one of his arms through, but the passage still wasn’t wide enough for his torso. He saw Andrew sitting at the table, thoughtfully tugging at his beard, and Jacob finally saw why he hadn’t been responding-- he was wearing the headphones. Jacob grunted angrily as he finally squeezed into the room.

He knocked the headphones off of Andrew’s head, and immediately started lecturing him.

“Seriously!? What were you thinking?! This has got to be the dumbest thing you’ve ever done! You could’ve died down here! What if your bag wasn’t outside? I might have never found you! I mean christ Drew, you’re a smart guy-- what were you thinking?” Jacob punctuated his key complaints with wild gesticulation.

Only when he had finished his tirade, did he finally hear Andrew talking-- but not really talking, more muttering to himself, as though Jacob’s entire entrance and rant hadn’t even happened. Jacob could only make out pieces of what Andrew was saying;

“... there’s got to be a way to do it... reverse engineer the playback system...”

Jacob nudged Andrew, but he just sat and continued to mutter.

“... what if I? No... Maybe the tape can be-- That’s it!”

Andrew shot up out of the seat, and immediately headed back out the door, and took the cassette out of the console. Turning it over, and over again in his hands.

Jacob didn’t know how to feel as he watched his friend mull over the tape.

“Drew? You... you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, and you?"

Andrew responded without looking up, continuing to mouth words and furrow his brow as he examined the tape, as though he were puzzling out the last row on a crossword. Jacob was concerned, this wasn’t an Andrew he had seen before. Even when something had caught his interest, he never really stayed in his own head. Jacob thought he’d pull him out of this intense interest by telling him about what he had found.

“So... I think I found where the sound might have come from, there’s this room marked utilities and--”

“I already found the sound.” Andrew interrupted.

Jacob could only manage a baffled;

“What?”

Andrew nodded, while still looking over the tape.

“Yeah, it’s on here. Well, it’s not on here. But, something like it is on here. One of the other tapes probably has it on there. It doesn’t really matter though, since we have this one.”

Jacob was equally part deflated and confused.

“Wait, so that’s the sound? You were listening to the sound.”

Andrew stopped looking at the tape, and began pouring over the slot in the console it came from.

“Well, it’s not really a ‘sound.’ You’ll understand when you listen to it.”

Jacob felt like they were having two different conversations.

“Not really a sound? What does that mean?”

Andrew shrugged as he set the tape back into the slot.

“You’ll understand when you hear it.”

He stood by the console and looked expectantly at Jacob.

“Well? You going in?”

Jacob gave Andrew a look of total bewilderment.

“What, you want me to go in there? You haven’t even told me what it is!”

Andrew sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Come on, we couldn’t describe just a taste of it-- and you expect me to tell you about the full thing? That’s impossible!”

Jacob had a distinct sinking feeling, as he looked into the dark room.

“I don’t know man, this feels... off, you know? Can’t we just take the tape and leave?”

“Oh, come on!” Andrew said,

“It’s not a normal tape, I wouldn’t know how to play it-- just trust me, alright?”

Andrew quickly ushered Jacob into the room before he could continue his protest. Jacob wasn’t sure how to feel, but nonetheless, he was intrigued, and finally decided to sit in the chair. He noticed that the window was a one way mirror, and called out of the room.

“Do I need to do anything, or do I just wait?”

Andrew quickly responded without looking into the room.

“Just put on the headphones and wait.”

Before Jacob could respond, he heard the same pressurized hiss from before, and the door began closing. He put on the headphones, and sat silently in the now pitch black room. He closed his eyes, a coping mechanism he had learned as a child to deal with the darkness. Now however, he still didn’t feel quite at ease.

He began to wonder how many seconds it would be before the tape would start, he thought he remembered it was thirty, but now he wasn’t so sure. Had it been thirty seconds already? He couldn’t tell. But, he felt like it had. He started to think about how he had found Andrew, and then a very pertinent question came to mind, but before he could give it any more thought-- the tape began.

He only knew the tape had started because of the feedback in the headphones. The soft humming of the power running through them. Then, he heard a crackling noise, like on an old record. Finally, he heard a voice.

“This is NIST Project SS tape number one four nine two. If you are listening to this tape, please ensure that you have been certified as a neuro-typal category D. If you are not a neuro-typal category D, please remove your headset, and disconnect it from the playback system. Once the test is over, please notify the security officer of your mistaken categorization. The tape will begin in ten seconds.”

“Ten.”

Jacob didn’t know what any of that meant.

“Nine.”

Andrew probably knew what it meant.

“Eight.”

He wondered if the tape actually worked.

“Seven.”

Would he feel sounds, or taste colors?

“Six.”

Probably not.

“Five.”

But... what if he did?

“Four.”

Would it be permanent?

“Three.”

Jacob began chewing on his lip anxiously.

“Two.”

He remembered what he was thinking of before the tape started.

“One.”

Who closed the door for Andrew?

“Zero.”

...

At first, he didn’t hear anything. Then, he heard something. Andrew was right, it wasn’t the sound, but it was a lot like it. He listened carefully. He tried to think of something it reminded him of.

Pine needles?

It sounded like pine needles. Not just sounded, it even smelled like pine needles. It felt as though he was rolling them through his hand. He tasted them, sharp and bitter in his mouth.

Then, the sound changed. This one took longer for him to place. He felt like he was trying to remember the name of a song that was played on the radio years ago. The sound “felt” rubbery in his ears.

An eraser.

It was the sound’s taste that he recognized first. It was like he was back in high school nervously chewing on the end of a pencil during a test. This time the feelings were more complex. He didn’t just taste, smell, or feel it-- he could actually feel it in his hands. He opened his eyes, and nearly screamed.

It was still dark in the room, but his eyes has adjusted, so he could make out the table and his hands, and in his hands-- was a large pink eraser. He squeezed it, feeling it spring back as he released it. He rubbed it against his hand, and felt the heat of the friction it made. Then, the sound changed-- and it was gone. Jacob didn’t even have time to consider what he just experienced before he started trying to identify the new sound.

This sound felt fairly “easy” to him, even though he wasn’t entirely sure what made them easy or hard. Regardless, it barely took a moment for him to realize it.

An apple!

He looked down at his hand, and there it was-- a fresh, cartoonishly red apple. He felt its smooth skin, and the heft of it in his hand. He had an idea. He tried to take a bite. He felt his teeth tear through the skin, small flecks of it getting stuck between them. He felt the sweet fruit in his mouth-- felt the juices running down his chin. He laughed hysterically, what he and Andrew had found was beyond anything he could have imagined. These people hadn’t just found a way to “feel” sounds, they had found a way to turn them into temporary realities. He swallowed, and felt the pulp sink down his throat-- and the sound changed. This sound, like the others, felt somewhat familiar, but it took Jacob a few minutes of full concentration for him to place it.  

A book?

He opened his eyes, and there it was. A copy of ‘Moby Dick.’ He opened the book, flipping through the pages. He smelled the mustiness of the book’s age, and saw small motes of dust settle on the table. He looked at the pages, and saw that they had the words, and all the words seemed right, but he was still confused. Jacob had never read ‘Moby Dick.” The sound changed. This one took longer than the earlier sounds, but not nearly as long as the book.

A post-it note?

He looked back at his hand, and it was there. It was plain and yellow, but it had something written on it;

“Remember this sequence: 551155.”

Jacob didn’t know what to make of it, since the numbers didn’t mean anything to him. He waited a few moments, and the sound changed again. This sound took a long time for him to recognize it, much longer than the others. When he finally did, he couldn’t believe his eyes.

A seagull!

There, sitting on the table-- was a seagull. It looked at him expectantly, then turning its attention to grooming itself. Jacob was in shock, the book was already hard to believe, but this? This was beyond everything. He gave a cursory touch, and it nipped at his finger.

“Ouch!”

Jacob sucked on his finger, chuckling. He couldn’t be angry at it, after all, he knew it wasn’t really there. Looking down he saw a small trickle of blood-- and the sound changed.

This time the sound was... different. He wasn’t sure exactly how. It just felt... bad. This one took the longest of all the sounds for him to see it, since it didn’t “feel” familiar like the others had. When he finally saw it-- wasn’t sure what it was.

Uh... Oil?

He looked at the small black lump on the table. He touched it, and recoiled instantly as it started to squirm. He overcame his hesitation and picked it up. He shivered as it moved in his hand. It felt like he was holding something wrapped in a piece of cold, soaked velvet. He gave a hesitant sniff, and nearly retched. It smelled like a combination of mold and burnt hair. He felt something in his mouth-- like he still had the pieces of the apple skin from before stuck between his teeth. He touched his tongue against it, and started coughing and gagging. It tasted like rotten meat and cough medicine. He spat, and a large globule of black splattered against the table. He looked back at his hand-- the lump was gone. He kept spitting-- but it felt like there was more of it in his mouth each time. He reached into his mouth and pulled out handful after handful of it, as he felt it slowly crawl down his throat. He looked at his arms, and saw they were covered in the black substance, and felt it slowly creeping up his body. He jumped out of the chair and swung his arms in a panicked frenzy-- pulling the headphones out of the device on the table.

...

Jacob looked at his arms, letting out a sigh of relief as he saw them clear of the black substance. It had felt so visceral and real that he had forgotten the reason it was even happening. He felt light-headed and sat back in the chair to catch his breath. He took the headphones off and set them on the table. He could still feel that thing crawling up his arms and down his throat-- he could still hear the sound pounding in from the headphones.

It was like having a song you hate stuck in your head, where you keep playing it over and over again in your mind, humming it even though you despise it.

He felt something on his arm.

He shut his eyes tightly, trying to drive the sound out of his head.

He smelled mold and burnt hair.

He slammed his head against the table, humming loudly.

He tasted rotten meat and cough medicine.

But, that’s the problem with trying to forget something-- the harder you try, the more impossible it becomes.

...

Andrew stood silently as he watched Jacob in the room. He watched him claw at his arms until they bled, and watched him pound against the glass. He watched him desperately try to draw breath, and he watched him crumple to the ground. He watched him stop moving. He felt a hand grip his shoulder. He heard an old, raspy voice making a tut-tut sound. He smelled the distinct musk of the man’s age. He could even taste his cigarette scented breath. Mostly, however, he felt the gun against his back. The gun wasn’t “real,” but he knew the effect would be the same. Then again, he didn’t even know what “real” was anymore.

“Ah, another failure. Well, it is a shame...But! These are the sacrifices that must be made for progress, are they not?” The old man said in a wry tone.

Andrew didn’t respond.

“Now, we must go to my office. I will consult the notes I made subsequent to my aural imprinting. I can only imagine the progress I made before the project was closed. Onward my friend, after all-- a sound can’t turn a doorknob!”

...

The white truck rumbled to a stop in front of the old warehouse. Two men got out of it, wearing grey uniforms bearing a patch reading “Anders Security.” One of them was heavy-set, and was wearing a black ball-cap. The other was larger and more muscular. He was bald and had a long beard. They walked over to the Silver SUV parked in front of it. The larger, less muscular man was the first to speak.

“So, you know anything else?”

He said, peering into the vacant car.

“Nothin’.”

Said the other, walking to the front of the car.

“A power draw? That’s the reason they sent us out to the ass end of nowhere?”

The muscular man shrugged, running one of his fingers over the hood of the car.

“Well, figurin’ they just want to make sure there ain’t any drifters settin’ up shop.”

The heavyset man chuckled, saying;

“How many drifters you know got a car like this-- or any car for that matter?”

The muscular man ignored him, responding;

“Car’s been here for awhile. Got a fair layer of pollen on it.”

The heavyset man, went over to another of the car’s windows.

“So, whatcha’ thinking Gary?”

Gary sighed, wiping the pollen on his pants.

“Don’t rightly know, hard to say. Let’s have a look around.”

The heavyset man let out an annoyed grunt.

“Can’t we just say we didn’t find anything? It’s not like they’ll check.”

Gary chuckled,

“You know me Paul, I’m a real stickler for gettin’ the job done.”

Paul leaned against the car, pulling out his phone.

“Well, if you need me just give me a holler.”

Gary rolled his eyes as he continued past the car and around the side of the warehouse. He walked a few feet before seeing an open metal hatch.

He walked over to it, thinking it would be some kind of utility hatch, but was surprised to see a ladder heading down it. He called back to Paul,

“Hey, I found our drifter den! Grab the flashlights!”

He heard Paul let out an exaggerated sigh, followed by a yelled back;

“Alright, alright, give me a second!”

Paul peered down the hole. He couldn’t see anything, but he swore he could hear something. He closed his eyes and listened. It was quiet and distant, but it was definitely there. It was coming from deep down the hatch. He tried to figure out what it was, but he just couldn’t get a handle on it.

He started suddenly as something hit his chest.

“Hey! Got the flashlights, what’re you doing?”

Gary shook himself, and took the flashlight from Paul.

“Oh... I was just-- I heard something is all.”

Paul looked up from his phone,

“Really? What was it? Music or something? We got a crack den party down there? Cause that’s way outside of our duties, we should just call the cops and be done with--”

Gary waved his hand dismissively,

“No, no, no, nothing like that it was just...”

Paul raised a brow.

“Just what?”

Gary looked back down the hatch. He tried to think of the words to describe it, but they didn’t come. Whatever it was-- it was uncomparable.