Owl City: A Novel Experience

Prelude

The monster on the other side of the door was still yelling.

Michael's cheek throbbed. He couldn't hear what it was saying; his ears wouldn't stop ringing and his head wouldn't stop buzzing and it felt like all his insides had turned into snakes, crawling out of his skin and up his throat. Every cell in his body screamed. He groaned and dug his fingers into his face, neck, hair, anywhere that would make it stop.

"No, no, Michael, don't hurt your head," said another voice. It was blurry and far away, but he knew who it belonged to.

"Sam," he gasped, "I can't—"

"The blanket, Michael!" The words swam to him like paint in water. "Squeeze the blanket instead. Go ahead and hit it, if you need to. Just not your head, okay?"

The monster pounded into the door again. More yelling. Michael could see his sister across from him in a square of dim moonlight, sitting against the dresser she'd barricaded their room with, arms braced behind her to hold back the danger. The drawers rattled, and she rattled with them; but she looked at him and smiled. "Don't worry. I won't let him get you."

He pressed his palms into his eyes and cried. "We have to cover the clocks; we just have to. The numbers are burning me."

"I know," Sam said. Her voice trembled. "I know it's hard. But there's no numbers in this room right now. No clocks. And no bad people. You're going to be okay, I promise."

She reached up, fumbling for something on top of the dresser. The object dropped into her lap. She gathered it up in one hand and threw it to him like a lifeline –  her headphones and mp3 player.

"Just listen to the music, Michael. You'll be okay."

He reached for the cord of the headphones with shaking fingers and closed his fist around it.

WHAM! Sam drew in a sharp breath as another blow thundered against the door. Michael wailed in pain from the sounds crashing in his head. His hand jerked back, yanking the music player towards him. The tiny screen glowed next to him, a beacon in the dark.

"That's it," Sam breathed, encouraging him. "Just listen to the music. Don't think about anything else right now. Just listen. It'll help you."

Michael gritted his teeth, feeling around for the headphones. He shoved them over his ears and hit the play button, his whole body clenched, not moving, not breathing until he heard the first three familiar seconds of the song.

His blanket was in a rumpled heap near his head. He reached and pulled the comforting weight over his shoulders as snug as he could, to press down all the noise in his skin. Then he shut his eyes and let the music flow into him. The piano twinkled softly, silvery tones dancing in soothing patterns, and everything else – the bad man, the scary noises, even Sam's wobbly smile – all of it melted away. Nothing mattered now but the music and the voice singing to him.

Close your tired eyes, relax, and then
Count from one to ten, and open them.

He always liked how nice this version of the song felt. Quiet and calm and cool, just like nighttime. This voice had some wonderfully gentle songs. A lot of fun ones, too. But gentle was so much better right now.

His breathing slowed, the tension loosening in his body. His eyes opened again.

There was a pale ribbon of moonlight close to him on the floor, from a gap in the curtains. It looked like a miniature of the long sidewalk outside his old school, where Sam used to walk with him. Before Dad got in trouble and they had to go away. He traced the light with his eyes and imagined himself very small - small enough to step on the moon-sidewalk and go on and on, up and up, all the way out the window into the sky.