Over the faint whispers of the hills I could hear the growling of a diesel truck on the road far below.  What is it that makes distant sounds so mysterious? 

The faucet dripping in the bathroom next to me slowly seemed to grow louder, along with gurgling and bubbling noises of the toilet and bathtub. There was a roaring like a jet plane echoing in in the bathroom vent pipe. 

Something out there sounded like the faint crying of a cat but it was too persistent. Maybe it’s the screaming of sirens in the night. Maybe there’s a smudge pot burning with flames raging out of control in a spiraling funnel of smoke and gas.

But it wasn’t a fire. Some other upset or tragedy must have happened. What horrible thing could be roaming the neighborhood to get all the sirens screaming and dogs barking?

Then suddenly the hills went silent. But there it was again, so faint I could barely hear it: that thrashing sound of a dying chicken without a head. The branch touches the house again. The haunted wind and those strange and lonely sounds in the hills slowly began to break me down. Despite my creeping uneasiness I got up out of bed and curiously peeked out the window.  

Except for two lights in the distance up on the hill, it was otherwise all dark. It seemed as if there wasn’t a person in the world, so lonely.