Without Silence

By Josiah Dyck

The noise in Thomas’s head was getting louder.

Medical examinations came up empty. Doctors were stumped. It wasn’t tinnitus, they said, or brain tumors, or sinus problems, any other condition they’d diagnosed before. Nothing they attempted, from ear drops to oral meds, solved it. In the end, he just had to deal with it.

But as soon as he woke up that morning, he knew something had changed. The persistent hissing in his ears was growing more overpowering.

And it sounded much more like voices.

He strode out of his condo and looked down the hallway. Empty. The neighbors kept to themselves, and today was no exception. So what had he heard?

The noises were going to drive him crazy.

Sighing, Thomas stepped back inside. Maybe music would help.

In the living room, he opened his violin case and lifted the instrument. As always, the picture of his beaming, redheaded sister on the coffee table drew his attention. Kira had been the better musician. He could practically hear the soft, joyous melodies she performed, and her laughter as she played them.

His fingers clenched the neck of the violin.

Why did she have to play at the bar that night?

Why did she have to park by the alley?

Why did she have to be…

Asphyxiation. Strangled by the strings ripped from her broken bow, according to the hasty investigation. Now she was gone, and shortly after she’d passed, the sound in his head began. Maybe grief had incited the condition. Maybe it hadn’t. But now, playing her music was all he had left.

Clear your mind, Thomas, and get a grip. The future is what matters now. Honor her with her music.

He exhaled through his nose, then raised the bow to the strings.

The noises in his head screeched, and he startled, making the first few notes more befitting of a dying cat.

They really sounded like voices that time.

One rose above the others, faint and delicate. He couldn’t understand it at first, but when he did, his skin scrawled. “I’m here.”

Something scratched at the door to his condo.

He sprang to his feet, grasping his violin and bow tightly. Not the best weapons, but they’d have to do. The room’s temperature dropped a few degrees, and the chill dug into him.

“I’m here, Thomas.”

He edged his way forward and looked through the peephole. No one stood on the other side, yet the scratching continued. He drew a deep breath, reached out a trembling hand, and grabbed the knob.

Thin tendrils burst through the door’s edges. Thomas shrieked and pulled back. They wrapped around the door and yanked. The whole thing ripped off its hinges and crashed into the hallway.

In the entryway stood a young woman with red hair.

The bowstrings retracted from the door. They coiled back and draped over her shoulders. Her skin was polished wood, her dress torn and barely clinging to her body. Her neck was bloodied and bruised, and her eyes, like pools of inky darkness, peered at him.

“Kira?” he whispered. “You’re dead.”

“I should be.” Her soft voice conflicted with her terrifying visage. “But I’m not. I need your help.”

Thomas gulped. “My help?”

“Find the man who murdered me. And slaughter him. Ten times worse.”

He shook his head, both to regain clarity and to shake the buzzing in his ears. “Killing him… won’t bring you back.”

“No, but it will avenge me.” She tilted her head. “I thought we were close, Thomas. I thought I could trust you.”

He gritted his teeth at the stinging words. “You can trust me. But avenging you won’t honor your memory. It’s not what you would’ve wanted.”

Kira snarled, and the hisses in his mind rose. “Pathetic.”

The bowstrings leapt forward.

But Thomas was already moving. He ran to his bedroom and locked the door behind him, but when he turned, her face was inches from his. Her strings slowly rose from behind her and snaked toward him.

“You let me in,” she said in her quiet voice. “You could’ve been a good brother and helped me. You chose not to, and now you’ll join me in the afterlife. We will exact vengeance together.”

The strings hovered closer; the unholy buzzing threatened to explode his brain. Was he to join her or die?

He looked her in the eyes and choked out, “Kira, this isn’t you! I know the real you—your beautiful music, your uplifting laugh, your gentle voice. I want to remember you as you were, not like this!”

Her shadowed eyes lit with a dark fire. “How dare you. You ignore the horror of my death and instead taunt me with dim, irrelevant memories.” The strings slithered around his throat like a noose.

Then he recalled what had provoked the voices earlier. His fists clenched around his bow and violin. “You were always the better of us. I’m nowhere near as gifted. But I can still honor your memory by playing your songs!”

He raised the bow. Some strings around his neck leaped off to wrap around his arms, while the others tightened. He strained against them and brought the bow down to play.

The instant his first notes sounded, the humming in his head became a howl that matched his sister’s. Her strings snapped off, and she pulled away, staggering into his desk and falling over. A loud crack resounded through the condo when her face hit the floor.

“Kira!”

He dropped his violin and rushed to kneel by her side. He gently turned her over, revealing the wood had shattered and exposed her pale, gray face.

Smiling sadly, she whispered, “Thank you, Thomas. I love you.” Her eyes fluttered shut as her body dissolved into ash.

Tears blurred Thomas’s vision. “I love you too, Kira.”

On his knees, beside his desk, he wept.

As he cried, he was dimly aware that the buzzing in his head had stopped.

All that remained was lonely silence.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Josiah Dyck is a lover and writer of all things speculative fiction, particularly YA fantasy. His current project is a trilogy of trilogies, which collectively form Chapters of Kythe. When not writing, he’s immersing himself in video game worlds, listening to soundtracks, hanging out with friends and family, collecting LEGO, watching YouTube, and going for walks. He strives to share the love and hope of Jesus through all he does. 

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