THE HUM
By Ralph Anderson
A short story based on a world wide phenomenon
Copyright 2015 Ralph Anderson,
All rights reserved.
Original Cover Art by Nicholas Anderson
Published in eBook format by eBookIt.com
ISBN-13: 978-1-4566-2474-3
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
Few people think for themselves anymore.
1
Austin, Texas 6:45 PM July 31, 1966
“I do not quite understand what it is that compels me to type this letter. Perhaps it is to leave some vague reason for the actions I have recently performed. I do not really understand myself these days. I am supposed to be an average reasonable and intelligent young man. However, lately (I cannot recall when it started) I have been a victim of many unusual and irrational thoughts… I talked with a Doctor once for about two hours and tried to convey to him my fears that I felt come overwhelming violent impulses. After one visit, I never saw the Doctor again, and since then have been fighting my mental turmoil alone, and seemingly to no avail.”
12:17 AM
The knife piercing his mother’s heart as she lies sleeping kills her instantly.
“To Whom It May Concern: I have just taken my mother's life. I am very upset over having done it. However, I feel that if there is a heaven she is definitely there now. I am truly sorry. Let there be no doubt in your mind that I loved this woman with all my heart”
The hand written note is left by her body.
3:05 AM
It took three stabs to the heart of his sleeping wife before she died.
“I imagine it appears that I brutally killed both of my loved ones. I was only trying to do a quick thorough job”.
5:00 am
The outside of the envelope containing the letter is labeled 'Thoughts for the Day’. He adds: “8-1-66. I never could quite make it. These thoughts are too much for me”.
11:30 AM
Dressed in khaki overalls Charles Whitman wheels a dolly carrying a footlocker past the unsuspecting security guard, towards the main building of the University of Texas, Austin. Getting in an elevator he pushes the button for the 27th floor. The elevator doesn’t move. A pleasant woman working for the university sticks her head in to the elevator. “Oh, it’s not powered up. Let me turn it on for you.” She flips a switch. Grateful, Charles says, “Thank you. You don’t know how happy that makes me.”
On the 27th floor reception area for the observation deck Charles Whitman unloads from the footlocker a Sears Model 60 semi-automatic 12 gauge shotgun , a Remington 700 6mm bolt action hunting rifle, a .35 caliber pump rifle, a .30 caliber carbine, a 9mm Luger pistol, a Galesi-Brescia .25-caliber pistol and a Smith & Wesson M19 .357 Magnum revolver, and over 700 rounds of ammunition.
11:45 AM
Having already killed the tower receptionist Edna Townsley, and visitors Marguerite Lamport, and Mark Gabour in the stairs and reception area, Charles Whitman begins a sniper rampage from the outer observation deck. Within the next two hours Whitman shoots and wounds 33 people and kills 14. Killed were students, a professor and a police officer. At approximately 1:30 pm the blood bath ends when two police officers reach the observation deck. Officer Ramiro Martinez fires six shots from his service revolver. All six shots miss. Officer Houston McCoy then fires at Whitman with his shotgun and kills him.
Outgunned, and armed with only pistols and shotguns, police were grateful for the help of civilians who arrived on campus with their own rifles, keeping Whitman pinned down, saving many lives.
Nudge.
2
Bristol, England, 1979.
Ethel Simpson is unable to sleep. Restless in her bed she holds her hands, which shake nervously, tight over her ears. What is it? Why won’t it stop? It has gone on now for over six months. Exhausted, Ethel suffers from sleep deprivation. She is in agony. Sleep is impossible.
“Why won’t it stop?” she moans.
Just when she thinks it is over, it comes back. She can’t take it anymore. Suicide has crossed her mind many times. But she has too much to live for. Her children, her grandchildren and work she loves as an engineer with the British Aerospace Corporation. A plaque in the wall honors her 20 years of dedicated service. Ethel gets out of bed and quickly paces the room back and forth like a caged tiger at the zoo pounding her fists against her temples. This goes on for hours. Tears stream down her cheeks. Ethel looks at the photos of her family sitting on the dresser by the second story window of her home and contemplates the effects of her actions. She grabs an unfinished glass of vodka from the bedside table and downs the remains in one gulp. The glass drops from her shaking hand and shatters on the floor. A large shard rests against her left foot. Ethel looks down, sees the shard and makes a life ending decision. She picks up the shard and holds it against her wrist. Gritting her teeth and grimacing in anticipation to the coming pain she takes a deep breath. But she can’t do it. Deep sobs shake her body to the core. Perhaps some fresh air will help. It is 2:20 am. Ethel decides to go for a walk.
It is a warm summer night and the city lights sparkle against the jet black sky. A few cars pass at this early hour on her walk towards the Bristol Bridge over the river Avon. This is a walk she has made many times enjoying the sights, sounds and smells of the harbor. Her anxiety is soothed. The mysterious sound in her ears has subsided. Standing in the middle of the bridge holding the railing Ethel looks down at the river noticing the swirls of the currents. Ethel is now at peace. Without a second thought she climbs up on the railing and unhesitatingly lets herself fall into the water below. It is not a high bridge but Ethel is without a will to survive. There is no one around to hear the splash. A deep inhale fills her lungs with water and she is gone. All is quiet again.
3
He is a familiar sight around town. Everyone who lives here has seen him many times walking the streets carrying a large black trash bag filled with who knows what. Where is he going? Where does he live? Where is his family? What is wrong with him? He walks with a peculiar gait of someone with some unknown mental disorder. He takes exaggerated steps flailing his arms, wild eyed and talking out loud to no one. But he is harmless. People pity him. Drivers stop their cars allowing him to jaywalk across the street. Rumors are that he was hit by a car and suffered brain damage; that he is rich after a legal settlement. No one knows for sure. But that is the story.
He stops mid street causing a small back up of cars. But no drivers honk their horns. They are patient with him. He stares at the cars and the drivers and says loudly to them, to himself, to the air, “Do you hear it? Do you hear it? Do you hear it?” He then moves on, as do the drivers.
4
In need of a fix, the addict grabs his needle. In a corner, in the hall, on the stairs, in the kitchen,