By guest contributor Tim
The dog heard it first, as dogs always do.
The old man paused a moment, with the bird half carved, and watched the yellow pup shift uncomfortably.
The old woman said the dog needed walking, but the old man knew that wasn't so, for they had walked together already that day, down by the river.
As he recollected that thought the old man remembered something else. He remembered how the yellow pup had been edgy somehow. Not mischievous as he often was, not hurried. Just uncomfortable, and in the way that Masters have, the old man had felt it too.
But the warmth of the house, and the smell of fresh coffee, and the soft welcome home creak of the wood under his feet as he had stepped onto the porch had reassured him, and he forgot.
The clock warmed the air with its brassy chime. Ten o'clock, and thoughts of white sheets and soft blankets were imminent.
The old man looked down at the worn spot where the dog should be, but the pup was gone. He was under the kitchen table; his refuge when a great storm was due.
The old man went to the back door and looked out. The sky was sugared with stars, and in the west the last embers of daylight were fading.
For some reason, tonight he became aware of The Sound.
In normal circumstances, such as they were, he would have tried not to notice it, but it was almost as if there was a slightly bitter quality to it tonight. As this idea began to fight to the surface, he began to sweat.
It was too soon. Surely it was too soon.
Hurriedly now, he went back into the house. The old woman glanced up, saw something was wrong, and with the intuition they all had, these days, thought as he did.
Together, silently, they moved to the calendar and flipped it back.
"Ten months", said the old man. "Ten months", he said again, as if the repetition could stave off the unavoidable.
They looked at one another, and tears began to form.
Down in the village, others had picked up the change in The Sound too, and already panic was beginning. This would be the fifth Sound Change, and there was no preparation that could alter it.
A few started to discuss ideas, again, scream them, really, as they had four times before; the busy-busy-make-work brought comfort to very few.
Almost five years previously, a shape - no more than that - a shape had appeared in the sky.
After the initial panics and enquiries were over, of course, the military found it entirely impervious to their weapons; indeed, impervious was too strong a word. The shape ignored them and nothing reached the target.
Attempts were made to communicate, but it was as if the shape wasn't there. It was unapproachable, just floating, just being. Nothing could get to it, and nothing came out of it.
Weeks went by, and then months. After a time, the world began to think of other things, and the shape became part of the background, an inexplicable new reality.
And then, with no warning, as night fell under the shape, came The Sound.
It was not a human sound, but humans reacted to it.
It grew louder and sharper, a lemon juice minor key that began to hurt, began to penetrate. People began to cry out with the pain of it, and it grew more intense.
The Sound enveloped the world, a blanket of agony.
People fell to the floor, tried all they could to block it out, to no purpose.
People died.
But not all people. About half of the world's population were affected.
At evening they had been living their lives, complicated or simple. By the morning, half of the world's population was dead.
The Sound didn't stop, but only half of the world was left to carry on. Everyone everywhere could hear it, but it didn't affect them as it had the others.
Body counts were made, and enormous resources spent on disposal of the corpses.
Religion, in all its physical and spiritual forms was invoked and placated and explored and begged.
The shape didn't move. The people of the world, traumatised, tried to carry on. Cities became towns, and towns became villages.
Fewer people, fewer resources - the world stepped back. Once again, the world carried on, what was left. After a year, healing had started.
The Sound never stopped.
One night, a year later, there was a shift in The Sound, a slight change in volume, and turn from sour to sweet, to cloying. On edge, the world once again became aware.
As night fell under the shape, The Sound changed, immediately.
It was the same pattern as before - half of the world was affected, writhed, died. Horrified, the other half watched.
There was no pattern they could discern, and families were split for eternity.
The remains of the world renewed efforts to communicate, now with much reduced efforts. Again, it was fruitless.
Helpless, once again the world settled down to inevitability.
Twice more, exactly a year apart, The Sound changed.
It was worse now. It was predictable.
Half of the world knew their dying day was coming. Hope faded that there would be a solution. Across the world, in parts, civilisation broke down entirely. In other parts, perhaps due to geography, or luck, or attitude, people banded together for support, formed little settlements and villages, lived as best they could.
Each time The Sound changed, there was killing pain for a few hours, for half of them, and then they were gone.
Today then, was the fifth change in The Sound.
The old couple knew it was coming, and they knew there was nothing to be done. They held hands in their front room, half breathing, aware that either or both of them might only have moments.
The Sound began to shift, It began to morph from its old form.
And then - it stopped.
The Sound was gone, after five years of lethal dissonance.
The Sound ended, and the shape, whatever it was, whatever its purpose might have been, simply went away.
Silence fell all over the world.
And the remaining population, those few that had survived, couldn't stand The Silence.
The Silence came, and the last humans, every one of them, died.
