Voices in the Dark: Part One

Part One

On January 7th, 2020, Addy and her family left the duplex. Addy and Lily were now

fourteen and eleven respectively, and the Henderson family had outgrown the 700 square foot

dwelling. They moved into a much more spacious home just a few blocks away, where Addy

would finally have a room all to herself. Her room was the only one in the house that faced the

front yard. Her favorite feature of the room was the great big window that oversaw the daily

events on Chestnut Avenue.

As a sophomore in high school, Addy was busier than she had ever been. She had a small

group of friends, was a member of the school’s competitive dance team, and had a pile of

homework that never seemed to get any smaller. Her mind was usually preoccupied with

upcoming deadlines, rehearsal schedules, new pimples blooming at the absolute worst possible

times, and the desperate desire to be noticed by a certain boy in her third period history class.

She was far too distracted to notice the many uncanny happenings in her strange corner of the

world, or to listen for disembodied voices in the night.

When Addy did hear voices they were the perfectly explainable, non-paranormal voices

of her parents, coming through the wall that separated their bedrooms.

Late at night, after Lilly had fallen asleep and the neighborhood had gone quiet, Addy’s mother

and father would talk about the kinds of things grown-ups talked about when they believed their

children couldn’t hear them. They talked about school… about money and taxes and auto repairs.

Sometimes they laughed, sometimes they argued, but it was almost always really boring stuff.

The most uncomfortable evenings came when the night started with the percussive

“click” of her parent’s bedroom door being locked. That door was never locked during the

daytime. Next, she’d hear the sound of their bathroom fan, ceiling fan, and window fan all

buzzing to life one after another, creating a cacophony of white noise. Mercifully, most of what

they did after that was muffled by the roar of those fans, but Addy was fourteen now, almost a

grown woman, and knew what they were doing. She supposed it was probably a good thing.

After all, most of her friends had parents who hated each other. Having parents who loved each

other was definitely better, even if they were occasionally doing “it” just a few feet from where

she slept. She just sometimes wished that her wall was a little bit thicker.

Then, one evening in March, Addy overheard something that made her sit up in bed and

scoot closer to the wall. Her mom said something about a virus. Her tone made Addy feel a sense

of foreboding. Was her mother sick?

“It’s already here,” her mother said. “Confirmed cases in Davis and Roseville. They’ve

already shut down San Francisco. It’s only a matter of time until…”

“Alright, alright,” her father interrupted. “I’ll get up early tomorrow and get supplies. We

still have a little money. I’ll grab bottled water and a bunch of canned food.”

What followed sounded less like a normal conversation and more like the plot of a

dystopian movie. From what Addy could piece together, a disease, something her parents kept

calling a “corona”, had come from China and was spreading rapidly across California… and it

was already closing in on Orangevale!

Within just a few short days the shelves of the grocery stores were empty and the

hospitals were full. Schools were shut down. A mandatory “stay-at-hom” order was issued. The

2020 dance season was canceled. Addy’s friends all seemed to be worlds away. Her homework,

her pimples, and even the boy in third period history all seemed to lose any sense of importance.

Her parents did their best to shield her and Lily from the harsh reality unfolding on the

television, but she had Instagram on her phone, and every day it flooded her screen with images

from around the world… crowded hospitals, exhausted doctors, bodies wrapped in black plastic

and stacked in alleyways.

Weeks passed without leaving the house. Addy barely left her room. Slowly, her sense of

time began to dissolve… days bleeding into one another as if the calendar itself had stopped

working. And, like so many young people that had to face the lock-downs of 2020, Addy was

lonely, anxious, and increasingly depressed.

She spent most of her days at her desk. She drew. She wrote. She read. But more often

than not, she simply stared out her bedroom window, daydreaming about when life might return

to something resembling normal. It was during these long, quiet hours that she began to notice

some of the oddities of Chestnut Avenue.

Across the street, for example, lived an old man. Not old in the usual way. This man

looked impossibly ancient. Addy thought he must be more than one hundred years old. Yet,

every morning, without fail, he emerged from his house wearing what appeared to be an old

military uniform. He raised an American flag in front of his home, then mowed his lawn, which

of course hadn’t had a chance to grow much since yesterday’s mowing, and raked his driveway,

which had been completely free of leaves since October. He completed his ritual by saluting “old

glory” before heading back inside, and was not seen again until just before sunset, when he

reappeared to solemnly retire the colors.

There was also the lady that Addy privately referred to as the Jazzercise Woman. At

exactly two o’clock every afternoon, a very fit, middle-aged woman in a bright spandex bodysuit

came skipping down the street. She wore enormous headphones and danced as she walked…

spinning, thrusting, and pumping her arms to music only she could hear.

Then, there was the wheelchair-bound man Addy had nicknamed “Backwards Man”.

Whenever he traveled up and down Chestnut Avenue, he propelled himself backward with one

foot, navigating by means of a small mirror held out in front of him so he could see where he

was going.

On one occasion, a naked man on a bicycle had gone peddling by with a guitar strapped

to his back. Addy wasn’t sure if she was more curious to know where he was coming from or

where he was going.

On another occasion, a tall man in a long trench coat walked by carrying a coiled whip in

his hand. His lips moved as he passed, chanting something under his breath. When Addy

described this later, her mother suggested that perhaps the man was singing to himself.

“No,” she had replied. “It was definitely chanting. Not singing” Addy was sure that this

distinction was important somehow.

Addy referred to this cast of quirky, weird or downright bizarre characters as the

“Orangevaliens”… combining Orangevale with “aliens” created a name that seemed to fit almost

too perfectly.

Of all the Orangevaliens who made frequent appearances on the stage that was Addy’s

bedroom window, none was as notorious, feared or despised as the man Addy referred to as “The

Howler”.