The first time Matthew heard it, he thought it was just the wind. The eerie, disjointed melody, faint but unmistakable, snaked its way through the open window, the only sound in the otherwise quiet room.
He had been sitting there, staring at his computer screen, for hours. The song started low, like a distant call, something he couldn't quite place. But it wasn't the wind. It wasn't the music either. It wasn't anything he'd ever heard before.
The sound was oddly familiar, like something buried deep in the back of his mind, something he should recognize, but didn't.
He dismissed it. Maybe it was a glitch. Maybe it was the pipes in the old house.
But then it came back.
That night, it returned, louder this time. It crept in through the cracks of the walls, curling like smoke into the corners of the room. Matthew was trying to sleep, his eyelids heavy, his mind still spinning from the stress of the day. But the song came again, and this time, he couldn't ignore it.
It was a delicate tune, like an old lullaby, its notes sharp and cold. The melody wrapped around him, cold fingers pressing into his skin. And he knew, without even understanding how, that it wasn't meant for him.
But it was. The song was for him. And he couldn't escape it.
When the sound filled his room the next night, he sat up straight in bed, trembling. The music was clearer now, as if it had been right next to him all along, hidden behind the soft rustle of the wind or the creaking of the floorboards.
There was no escaping it. He couldn't block it out, couldn't shut it off. It burrowed deeper into his mind with each passing moment. And with it, came something darker—something that felt like an inevitability, a certainty.
He didn't tell anyone. He thought he was just losing his mind. Maybe stress. Maybe sleep deprivation. But deep down, he knew it wasn't. The song wasn't just some noise. It wasn't something that could be explained. It was something ancient, something meant for him. Something that only he could hear.
The next morning, when he woke, the world felt different. The sun was too bright, the air too heavy. The day was dragging, slipping past him as though he were moving through thick syrup. His body felt out of place, like he didn't belong in it.
And then, the song came again. Louder now. Its melody twisted in strange ways, unsettling, as if mocking him. A warning. A premonition.
Matthew tried everything to drown it out. Music. White noise. Sleeping pills. But nothing worked. The song was always louder, always there, its notes slowly twisting into something more. Its cold, brittle tones were turning darker, colder.
It wasn't even the song that frightened him anymore. It was the knowledge that once you heard it, once you felt it crawl under your skin, you couldn't undo it.
It was coming for him. And there was nothing he could do about it.
Days passed. The song continued to haunt him, and the air around him seemed to grow heavier. He avoided people, stopped going outside. What could they do for him? What could anyone do for someone cursed with a melody that only they could hear?
One night, as the song reached its highest crescendo, Matthew snapped. He stood up, his chest tight, his throat raw with fear. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think. He had to stop it.
He pulled the curtains open, staring out into the darkness, searching for the source, the origin of the noise. His eyes darted across the street, the familiar buildings, the same old faces. Nothing.
But still, the music filled his head, louder than ever.
Matthew turned and slammed his fists into the walls, the pounding sound of his knuckles drowned out by the song. It wasn't just a song anymore. It was a presence, something that weighed him down, crushed his chest. He dropped to his knees, gasping for air.
He couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't escape it. He didn't know how to. The song had become his entire world, his everything. It consumed him, suffocated him.
And then, in the back of his mind, a final note echoed. A high, clear, chilling sound.
And just like that, the room was silent.
But it wasn't over.
The song had stopped, yes. But Matthew knew that it wasn't gone. It was waiting. Watching. It had never really been just a song. It was a countdown.
A clock ticking down to the moment when the world would stop spinning, when the earth would swallow him whole.
Days passed, but the silence was worse than the song. It gnawed at him. It ate away at the edges of his thoughts, the remnants of his sanity. The silence became louder than the melody ever had been.
And then, one day, Matthew felt it. He couldn't explain it. He couldn't say why, but something shifted. Something inside him broke.
He had been walking down the street, his hands shaking, his breath ragged. He had been trying to outrun it, but there was no outrunning this. The song had been the prelude. The song had been the warning.
His feet stopped moving. His breath stopped. His heart stopped.
In the space between the seconds, he knew. He could hear it again, deep in his soul, filling the void in his chest.
The song had always been inside him.
And now it was his. It was here.
The song had never been a warning. It had always been the end.
His vision blurred. He saw everything—the street, the people around him, their faces, their eyes. He could feel them. But he could no longer hear their voices.
All he heard was the song.
And it was his death.
------
The streets outside were empty, save for the distant hum of city life, but Matthew didn't notice. He couldn't. His feet dragged, each step heavier than the last, as the haunting refrain continued to echo, louder, more insistent.
Matthew tried to speak. He tried to shout, to scream, to do anything—anything that might break the endless march toward the inevitable. But his mouth wouldn't move. His throat was tight, as though the song had wrapped itself around his very voice, squeezing, choking it away.
There were people around him now, people who brushed past him, oblivious to the turmoil that had consumed him. Their eyes slid over him like he was invisible, like he was just another figure walking in the world, lost in a sea of motion.
But he wasn't lost. No, he was tethered to the song. It was dragging him forward, pulling him towards something he couldn't escape.
The air felt colder now, the buildings taller. The sky overhead felt suffocating. Matthew tried to speak again, but all he could hear was the melody, louder than ever, swirling inside his skull. It wasn't just a song anymore. It was his life. It was his world.
And it was closing in.
Each step he took felt like he was sinking deeper into something dark and endless. His limbs felt heavy, each movement more painful than the last. The song, growing louder, became the only sound in his ears. The only thing that mattered. The only thing that existed.
There was no way to stop it. There was no escaping it.
It was coming. And he couldn't stop it.
The end was near, and he could feel it in his bones. The melody, twisted and unrelenting, wrapped around him like a shroud, pulling him towards the final moment.
Matthew could only listen as the song played on. His feet moved slower now, dragging against the pavement, his vision narrowing to a single point in front of him. He could still hear the voices of the people around him, but they sounded muffled now, like they were on the other side of a thick glass.
And then, just as his mind started to slip, just as the weight of it all became too much to bear, the song hit its final note. The last note. Clear, sharp, and final.
And then everything stopped.
Nothing moved.
Not a single person noticed as Matthew collapsed on the street, his body still, his face pale.
The song was over.
And so was he.