Static

Death Omen

When we entered the house, my mother dropped her keys into the bowl beside the door and pressed the blinking red button on the answering machine.
The voice that came through still sends a chill down my spine when I think about it. I hear it so clearly still.
"Mrs. Adams, this is Officer Steinbeck with the Kiowa County Police Department. I'm sorry to tell you...there's been an accident."
He went on to say that my father, who'd been working that day, fell from a cherry picker straight on to some power lines his crew had just started working on. He had been electrocuted and had perished. Watching those words sink into her, and seeing my mother crumple beneath them, was the most awful thing I'd ever witnessed.
These were only the first of countless experiences like this I had growing up. No matter how many times I tried to tell anyone about it, they never believed me. My mother refused to listen to it, especially after what had happened to Dad. The one person who ever truly listened, whether he believed me or not, was my older brother.
While Thomas wasn't supportive of what I had to say, he believed that I believed it was happening. That was enough for me for a while. He was the one who helped me get rid of my boombox and the television in my bedroom. I didn't want to be anywhere near them. I somehow believed that because I heard the sound, people I loved would die. That somehow my ears were the catalyst that snapped the wire and brought down death's guillotine.
No matter how many times I tried to escape that sound, however, it always found me.
When I was fifteen, I was at school having lunch in the courtyard in front of the gym. My friends and I were trading cards, talking about class, and reminiscing about elementary school. All of us in that courtyard hushed when suddenly the principle came over the loud-speaker to tell us about the upcoming Homecoming Dance. Yet, in the middle of her announcement, the speakers suddenly bellowed with static. I dropped my food and felt my hands press into the side of my head. I'd never told my friends about my experiences, so all of them stared at me as though I'd gone mad.
I ran away from them and tried to find some place to escape the noise. I settled on cramming myself into my locker. I didn't care if getting out from the inside would be impossible. I had to get away from it somehow. My arms and legs began to cramp from the lack of space after a while. My elbows crushed themselves into my chest as I kept my hands on my ears. Eventually, any outside noise suddenly became the static I tried to escape from.
I'm still not sure how long I stayed in there. It could have been hours, even days for all I knew. I spent a large amount of that time trying to quiet the fearful thoughts that began swimming their way through my brain. I couldn't help but try to guess who it could be this time. In the years since the first event, after losing my uncle and father, I'd also lost my younger sister, two of my aunts, my grandparents, three pets, and a cousin. I was convinced that there was a paranormal force out to get me. I thought that somehow, whatever it was had begun slowly picking off my family one by one until I inevitably became the last
Eventually my best friend, Jeremy, found me in my locker. He asked me time and time again to tell him what was going on after that. For weeks he'd bring it up and I would just change the subject. When I finally told him, to my surprise, he believed me. He said that while there's no evidence to suggest that static or white noise could be considered a death omen, he had read things to suggest that such things are linked to some kind of paranormal realm. I didn't want to delve further into that notion, if anything it only made things worse.