This post is as much of a heads-up for potential future tenants of this house as it is to unload a cacophony of noises, which through time has almost engraved in my bones and driving me crazy. 666 Crescent (modified) is too old to stay quiet.
Imagine yourself living underground, where the city’s water lines run, as you try to drift off to asleep, water kept splashing against the half empty pipelines. It is like the sound of tides encased in pipes and installed in this old house. Night deepens, but the noise sustains.
Imagine yourself living next to a leaking pipe, where the sound of flowing water dropping down into a pool of water, and kept making a boy’s peeing sound, every time when you think it’s over, he pushes bit more.
Imagine yourself living upstairs of a hardworking blacksmith, whose hours extend late into the early morning hours. Every time a second of drowsy descends, he hammers it away. The noise of metallic clicking sound is so severe, one couldn’t help but to worry the water pipes bursting into splash of water jets any second.
Imagine yourself living at an old train station, where an countless approaching carts or pulling away steam locomotives whistle to signal their arrivals/departures. The whistles are weak in spirit, but loud in volume. The aged heater in this house make such a desperate and worn hissing sound, it is simply suicidal.
Imagine yourself walking up some ancient wooden towers, where every step of ascend sends out such a weary shriek, you almost hesitate to take the next. It is not so much of a fear of falling through broken stairs, but alerting dormant spirits, which often dwell in such old places, or so do the yarns spin.
Worst of all, living in this old and noisy house, you are not living at any single spot mentioned, but at all spots with all the noises jumbled together into the most venomous and eerie voice of darkness and unknown lurking spirits.
Listen, noise @ nightfall.