Halloween Horrors
Poundland (Poundland)

We may never know who made it. There are no credits. The title, such as is, hints at nothing outside of its function. The packaging is content confined to a simple, undocumented, pumpkin-coloured jewel case. And when I slid (with some foreboding) the entity itself into my iBook, I learned three things. That Gracenote confused the record with a host of recondite experimental works, that it referred to it rather as Dollar Store Horror Sounds, and that its duration was exactly 60:00. Conspiracy theorists, paranoiacs, agoraphobics, take some last healing breaths. This is likely to get eerie.

It is the early hours of Monday morning, dim yellow light on the wet streets outside my window. In the interest of honouring the manufacturer’s instructions, my room is lit by a single lamp. The door to the hallway - in the extreme left of my peripheral vision - is very slightly ajar; the width of half a body.

I am now pressing play.

(00:11) Thudding, unrelenting beats in my headphones. They seem to be speeding and slowing, but that could be my imagination. I think I catch laughter somewhere in the mix, but then, as the blurred washes of funereal organ build, comes a sudden syncopated chorus of what sounds like cats - or worse - fighting - a squall of cries, anyway, the percussive noise of something moving in the near distance.

(03:15) The beat is definitely growing more frantic - there was a sudden spike there and what sounds like church bells, but impossibly sustained, a groan that sounds like it’s sinking underwater; pulped into bits and pieces, but still breathing.

(04:28) Almost words, a phrase gasped but lost. Squeals. The sounds of doors slamming, and for a moment, birdsong - but soon drowned by howls and now a noise I struggle to articulate - almost a voice, almost some sketch for some emotion, or a mockery of the same, leering close in one ear then the next, as if I am circled. The crack of light tracing the door into the hall is a constant at the corner of my eye.

(07:19) Unhappy cats. Some hissing, others lamenting. I very much hope no one was hurt in the making of this recording, but it seems possible. Long strings of drooling laughter arrive as I type, almost mocking the sentiment.

(08:43) Dog snarls, treated to sound like living chainsaws, a blast of treated bell, and another jump in tempo, I’m certain. Hissing, things crashing in dark woods. Sneaking looks to doorway, unconsciously.

(10:01) One tone building. Again, the almost laughter speeds by me, a massing of chattering things, insects perhaps - the beats unrelenting over a few wholly unconnected notes. Possible backward speech.

(11:24) And now, as the rhythm track slows, there is an eruption of small noises, like tiny, localized thunders - the audio equivalent of will o’ the wisps. Smashing glass - first one - then another - then another - each closer, louder, more violent, desperate. Laughter, and a foghorn, chains, a gasp. Choking.

(13:12) I confess I didn’t expect to be actually creeped out, but my heart is kind of fluttering in a not unpleasant manner. Fortunately for me, our unknown creator chooses this stretch to use the two worst FX yet - a wholly generic, pretty much comedic scream, and a squawk identical to that employed by James Brown at the outset of ‘Sex Machine’. But they are quickly withdrawn, as if our adversary is aware they have erred. Perhaps it was even a gambit - we know what happens to jokers in horror movies. No one laughs for long.

(15:04) The drums never wholly disappear, but they have slowed now, allowing layers of low notes to writhe around - another broken window - a squeak of trainer sole on kitchen lino - and an organ blast pulsing so low it feels opaque, hard, matt. Wish I hadn’t left stupid door into pale glow of hallway open.

(17:26) A regrettably lame witch-cackle is redeemed a touch by the sound of something crawling uncertainly over a piano keyboard. Predators call and answer one another, grow in number and volume - thunder - the drums speed again.

(20:07) Just beats and unidentifiable squeaks for a long time - then, another tortured cat cries at length, someone laughing, the very beginning of a scream looped, wound tight, and abandoned. A voice hisses, trying to enunciate something. Sometimes it becomes difficult to tell which ambient noise is on the soundtrack and which might be outside my headphones. The creaking of a - door?

(21:49) …

(23:29) SCREAMING.

Posted on Monday, October 23rd, 2006by kicking_k