5 Thursday, 3:34 am (1/2)

Every Thursday at 3:34 am I always hear a parade outside of my home. A parade of death, not for me, but for my sweet relationship with my bed and my dreams.

It's hard to explain. There is a huge number of people and they always chant their eerie song, and without fail, they will always appear every Thursday at 3:34 am. There is no rest day for them, nor a break, always in time with the schedule. They will be there. The chants they perform weekly will be sung. And the parade-goers will be in an uncanny, perfect unison and not even once will any of them miss a mark.

The saddest thing about this is how I am not doing anything but shiver on my bed and cover my ears in fear of the sound they make.

I don't know why but it feels like their voices and their melody is a binding rope that entraps me within the confines of my own fear. This parade that would go on for about half a minute outside of my home and like a helpless child, I won't be able to do anything, not even a protest or a complaint. Funny enough, this is the first time I acknowledged this to myself. This utter weakness to defy their Thursday torture.

My room is on the first floor and my bed is next to a window. My house is beside the sidewalk so I can hear and see anyone who would walk on them as I lie down the bed. I purposely made it like this for I enjoy observing people. It gives me ideas, a new perspective, a bizarre sort of hobby. Furthermore, doing this always cures my writer's block. Whenever I need new ideas, the window would give it to me.

Can you see now why this is such a problem for me? It's impossible for me not to hear the sinister chanting of their morning parade. For almost seven months, I've been hearing them to the point of memorizing the flow of their chant. It begins with a high pitched tone, followed by a booming sound from the men in the back, a mellow humming from the women in front, and it will all end differently each week. This week it ends with them humming the rhythm of The Prayer.

I know what you're thinking, why don't I move my bed away from the window instead of complaining? That's a good question and a reasonable advice. I do thank you, but I won't do that. Maybe it's just my ridiculous stubbornness but ever since I was a child, I've been sleeping near a window. The nostalgia I get every time I sleep next to a window, although I get the visit from the ominous parade, is enough for me to stay. Call me silly, but my decision is mine to make.

Instead of doing something reasonable, I would cover myself with a blanket as I sleep. I say that word loosely for I never get enough sleep these days. I'd want to blame them but that would be stupid of me to leave my irrational logic of the picture.

My blanket became my shield. They won't see me from the outside and I won't see them from the inside. My conundrum now is how their loud chanting wakes my precious sleep without fail. This is undoubtedly a huge hassle. I would shout at them, get mad, get angry, rampage on the streets, and cause a scene until they stop appearing if the circumstances are normal.

But there is nothing normal in any of this. There has to be something supernatural involved in my hesitation to act! But I don't know how to justify these claims.

Every time I hear them coming, my body stops moving. I am paralyzed by their song. Or perhaps it's because my fear nails me down my bed, with my eyes wide open. I feel my body trembling, my feet getting weak; as if my soul itself is being sucked by this enigma. Perhaps the thought of losing the walls dividing us is enough to pin me down.

Come to think of it, it's been a while since they begun. Seven months is not something to underestimate. The commitment of these people to this parade is overwhelming! But for what purpose? At first, I thought it was a ritual but I was too tired to check back then. When it happened for a second time the next week I couldn't handle it anymore. Not because it's annoying but because it leaves me trembling in fear. I buried my face in my pillow every time I sleep on Wednesday evenings since then.

I grew so tired of them I cursed Thursday mornings. All because of their loud, obnoxious chanting.

Obnoxious, I'd say. But is it really?

Their chants are not at all creepy, it's not even annoying. If it is a ritual then it sounds nothing like a prayer or a sutra. In fact, it kinda resembles the rhythm of a pop song. The melody of the song is upbeat but I find it disturbing tune melancholic. The vibration of their voice, the perfect sync of the singers involves, and the eerie aura it gives off every time I hear it. Its a unison of people whispering that creates a shout!

When the sound of their chant enters my ear I can feel the hair on my nape rise. I can hear noises outside coming from their song but my room remains silent and still, not even an echo can be heard. It feels as if the sound comes only from the outside and nothing from the inside, nothing at all. Not even creaking or thudding, not even the sound of the wind or ringing of silence. My room is just filled with deafening silence!

The window is closed, there is no ventilation inside but I can feel cold breeze touching my skin like a raspy hand of an old enemy. It feels as if the people responsible for this parade trapped the morning breeze inside of my room and it's making me freeze to death every time they come. Every time they chant I feel like I'm in a soundproof freezer. The air will turn heavy, so heavy I can't bear it. Every time I try to inhale it turns into a wheeze. I feel like I'm begging nature to give me air like a deranged drug addict.

It's so weird, I always hear them but I still can't decipher what they're trying to say. It's not English, but I believe it's a Western language, I'm not sure. The language is just so weird. It's like a mix of German, Spanish, and maybe... Dutch? The articulation seems to change every word as if their mixing all these different languages together.

Not to mention it sounds a little bit muffled, it's almost impossible to understand. Their voices synchronized together to create a symphony of fear in my trembling body. Do you know the sound you hear when you're discussing with the person from the room next to you? Or the sound you hear when you're talking with your friend at a Halloween party and he's wearing a Guy Faux costume?

That's why I always imagine them to be wearing masks of some sort. Thinking that way heightened the fear to a certain degree. It feels as if their voices crawls inside of me, drilling through my nerves, and punching my heart until it breaks my ribcage.

One day I decided that I am tired of it. The chanting, the morning hassles; I am tired of feeling my demons right beside me. As I pull all the remaining courage that may or may not exist in my system, I decided the only way to put an end to it is to face them head-on. I woke up at 3:30 in the morning and waited for them to appear. Facing my fear, I sat on my bed gazing at the window with a watch on my wrist as I wait for thirty to turn into thirty-four.

That was the stupidest decision of my life.

I saw it. There are at least forty people there.