Estimated reading time — 16 minutes

It all started last Monday. I received a call from his basketball coach. My son, Riley, had been acting more strangely than usual. He said my son had seemed to intentionally pop two basketballs alone in the locker room. I made my son play for the church league after school. Even though I know he would much rather play on his computer or phone, it wasn’t like him to get in trouble.

When I got to the school gym, the coach told me the basketballs were old and worn, but Riley refused to explain how they popped. I went to talk to my son, and it didn’t seem to register right away that I was talking to him. He was glued to his phone screen, rocking back and forth, humming to himself. The third time I yelled his name, he finally looked up at me and smiled.

I asked him how he popped the basketballs. He shrugged, and I heard him hum that creepy tune for the first time. I told him to get up; maybe he was hiding something sharp. At this point, although I was a little weirded out, I grew up with two older brothers and knew how much boys like to poke and prod things and blow them up. I told Riley’s coach that we would pay for the two balls, and it would come out of Riley’s own piggy bank. When I scolded him to apologize, Riley let out the longest “Sorry” I’ve ever heard him say, with a sly smile.

When we got home, I told him to march up to his room and pull out the $50 I figured the two balls would be to replace. He nodded, and as he climbed up the stairs, I heard him humming that same creepy tune.

When he got back down the stairs, I asked him what he was humming. He looked at me with genuine confusion. He told me he hadn’t been humming anything. I still regret not pushing for an answer then, but I rolled my eyes and let him stomp back upstairs.

Riley spent the rest of that night in his room. I honestly forget what I was watching down in the living room, but when I finally called it a night at 11:00, I remember knocking on Riley’s door, telling him it’s time for bed. Although I can’t be certain, looking back at everything that has happened, I swear I could hear that same, creepy, childlike tune.

The tune reminded me of some of those tunes from SpongeBob when I was a kid. Like, remember that episode with the Sea Bear? When SpongeBob is describing what not to do to Squidward, the background tune is what Riley has been humming.

I just looked it up, it’s called “House of Horror” from SpongeBob. But Riley’s tune was not quite that. Riley’s was more high-pitched, more drawn out, unsettling, and it seemed to just get worse as the week went on. I don’t remember ever seeing Riley watch any of the old SpongeBob seasons, but it’s always possible he watched them at his dad’s house on the weekends.

Tuesday was a late day for me at work. Linda, one of Riley’s friends, Will’s mom, picked him up every Tuesday so Riley and Will could hang out for two hours while I rushed back to our neighborhood after work. When I got to Linda’s house, Linda pulled me aside to the living room. She told me Riley had spent the entire time in the bathroom. After an hour, Will had come to grab her because he was getting mad that Riley wouldn’t come out.

I brought my tone to a whisper, wondering if maybe Riley might have had an accident and didn’t want Will to see it. Linda seemed to nod in agreement, but told me that Will had said that Riley was watching “it” on his phone and wouldn’t share. I felt the color drain from my face. Again, Riley was 12 years old, but the idea of him doing that in someone else’s house was appalling. I began to apologize, but Linda called Will over, who was watching something on his phone on the living room couch.

Linda asked Will about “it.”

“It’s nothing, just, uhh,” Will paused.

“Is it,” I cleared my throat out of sheer embarrassment. Linda stared me down like I was about to cross some unspoken boundary. She grabbed at my arm, a silent but clear command to stop.

“Willey honey, is it a..,” Linda’s voice dropped to a whisper, “naughty video?”

Will crinkled his nose. “Ewww, no! Gross, Mom!”

I let out a sigh of relief.

“What is it then, honey?” Linda pushed further.

Will seemed to hesitate. He looked back at me and Linda and took a glance up to the second-story balcony. His mouth fell open as the three of us followed Riley’s descent from the second story. Will got up and seemed to hide behind his mom, farthest away from Riley.

Riley smiled, waved at Will, and walked out the front door. Linda looked at me, puzzled. Although I was equally confused, I gave a half-honest smile, apologized, and hustled out of their house.

When I got outside, Riley was already sitting in the passenger seat, looking straight ahead.

I must have accidentally left the car unlocked.

I tried my best to get an answer out of Riley. Each question about “it” or the bathroom or even trying to return to the basketball incident from yesterday resulted in a sarcastic chuckle or indifferent snort. When we pulled into the house, my exhaustion at an all-time high, I felt Riley’s eyes face me, and for a brief moment, I felt my son’s humanity return.

“Sorry, Mom.” He mumbled before he slowly rocked his head back and forth, humming the tune from yesterday. Riley grabbed his backpack and left me alone in the car. I pondered calling Riley’s dad, but I would rather not hear a lecture from Kyle, Riley’s dad, who already disapproved of my parenting style. I instead found my older brother Ian’s name on my contact list and told him about the two-day events.

Ian let me finish my rant before he told me it sounded like Riley was going through a weird moment in his puberty, and it’s probably best to just leave him alone. As I started to push back a little bit, I felt my brother’s voice get more assertive than usual, telling me it’s best to just leave it alone. Ian hung up on me, something completely out of the ordinary for him. I sat in a huff for a minute before resolving to go about my day. I grabbed my work bag and walked into the house.

Riley sat on the couch staring down at his phone. When I walked in, he seemed to quickly do something on it.

“What are you watching?” I inquired, grabbing for his phone before he could answer.
He looked up at me. “Nothing. My phone is dead.”

His speaking style was too polished, too short. This wasn’t my Riley.

I snatched his phone from his hands and tried to press the power button. Sure enough, the phone lit up with the no battery signal. I handed Riley his phone back in defeat. He got up and started for the stairs.

Sure enough, he started humming again. Drawn-out, ominous. “Stop!” I cried out. “Riley, please, please stop humming whatever that is. I don’t like it.”

Riley stopped. He slowly turned towards me and seemed to just blink in place. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something and quickly closed it. He did this three more times before he took his first confident step backwards. His mouth was now ajar as his eyes still seemed to study me as if I were prey. He took another step back, and then another. He watched me, stepping backwards upstairs until he got to the top. He slammed his door shut.

I climbed the steps, retreated to my own room, and on the way, waited in front of Riley’s door for any out-of-the-ordinary sounds, but heard complete silence instead. I collapsed at the foot of the bed, head in my hands, begging, no praying, for an answer to this weirdness. I tried to think of my own family history. I know my Grandpa had dementia before he died, but there weren’t any clear examples of mental illness in my family. I decided then and there that I would call Kyle, Riley’s dad, if his creepy antics kept up the next day. It would be good to warn him too, as he would take Riley for the weekend anyway, that Friday.

Wednesday morning school dropoff was a silent affair.

“Have a good day, sweetie.” I smiled at him, eager for any affirmation as we pulled up to the entrance. Riley grabbed his backpack from the backseat, took a deep breath, and left me without a word. I watched him march up to the school, his head perfectly straight; his posture would make a drill sergeant blush.

That Wednesday afternoon, I saw the school’s caller ID pop up on my phone. I tried to center myself, expecting the worst.

“Hello?”

“Hello, I am Mrs. Ronda. Is this Riley’s mother?”

“Yes, yes, it is,” I felt my voice falter. Riley had done something, I could feel it. “Is, is he ok?”

Mrs. Ronda paused. “He’s ok, he’s here in the office.” I cursed under my breath. Riley’s antics had already caused me embarrassment with his basketball coach and friend’s mom. My mind was racing through the possibilities of suspensions or even worse. Mrs. Ronda continued. “Has your son been acting up recently?”

Could it be worse than I imagined? A fight? Destruction of school property? I swallowed my pride. “Yes, uhh, Mrs. Ronda, he’s been acting, umm, differently since Monday.”

“I see. Well, there was an incident during recess today. Your son and a group of 10, maybe 12 boys took over the girls’ bathroom, if you will.”

“What!?” I had already started corralling my purse and mouthed to my boss, “I had to go”. As I reached my car, Mrs. Ronda continued.

“They seemed to hiss at incoming girls. Your son, Riley, was making a game of washing the boys’ feet.”

“What?” As I swerved out of the parking lot, her words, however confusing they were, raced in my mind.

“Some of the boys,” Mrs. Ronda waited, “some of the boys screamed as he did it.”

The shudder ran down my spine. My mind went blank.

A swerve. “Uhhh.” Barely avoided the SUV.

“Are you okay?” Mrs. Ronda inquired.

“I’m fine,” I choked out. “I’ll be there soon.” With that, I hung up.

When I got to the school, Mrs. Ronda was wiping away tears. I saw Riley sitting swaying back and forth through the office window, some of his friends sitting motionless around him. I spotted Will two boys down as Mrs. Ronda buzzed me in. I went to apologize, but Mrs. Ronda interrupted me before I could start.

“Have you told Riley about my son James before?” I looked at Mrs. Ronda with confusion.

“Your son?”

“Yes,” she said in between sniffles, her voice dropping to a breathless whisper, “the one who-,” she held back a flood of tears. “The one who died.” I instinctively pulled back in shock. “Riley asked me,” Mrs. Ronda blew her nose, pushing away a tear, “Riley asked me if we still had the blue Subaru that James was driving.”

I felt my breath stop and start. The lights seemed to get brighter and dimmer all at once. I felt my chest start to hurt, and it became increasingly impossible to gather a breath.

“James was driving the blue Subaru when he went off the road ten years ago.” Mrs. Ronda examined me closely, seemingly trying to sniff out some knowledge of the incident I hadn’t revealed. “Riley told me that James would want us to drive it still, the little bits of, of James would remind us of him.” The room began to spin. I looked over at the bench that held Riley. He looked over at me and grinned, still rocking back and forth.

I didn’t recognize my child for the first time in my life.

I tried my best to apologize to Mrs. Ronda before I went to grab Riley. As we left, I leaned in and whispered to Mrs. Ronda that Riley would be out the rest of the week. When we got to the car, I told Riley to sit in the backseat. I couldn’t be near him at the moment. As we drove, I kept catching Riley staring me down in the rearview window, smiling and sniggering to himself. As we came up to a stoplight near our house, and he could see me staring back at him, Riley opened up his mouth, unnaturally long, and his humming emanated from the black hole of his mouth.

When we got back to the house, Riley threw his bag down on the floor and locked himself in the downstairs bathroom before I could stop him. I heard him turn on the water, but I didn’t hear him turn it off. I could hear him humming his tune, even over the water; no matter where I was in the house, it seemed to be just a few feet away.

I retreated to the front lawn, climbing back into the car and pressing my ex-husband’s contact on my phone. When he finally picked up on the fourth ring, I was hopeless in stopping the stream of tears. Kyle seemed annoyed as I began to recount the basketball story, giving snide remarks or downplaying the terror of it all. As I went deeper, Kyle fell silent.

“I just don’t know what’s happening to him,” I said between sobs. “I’m scared. I’m scared for him. I’m…” I could barely compute this feeling at the time, but it’s only become more real the longer this terror has dragged on: “I’m scared of him.” I waited for his response. 10 seconds melted into 30 seconds when Kyle finally said something.

“This all had a valid explanation. It’s go-”

“What are you talking about?!” My words poured out before I could stop them. “Did you tell him about Mrs. Ronda and James? I didn’t even know about that.”

Kyle paused again. “I might have, I must have.” Kyle tried to reassure me. “Might have come up when I talked to him about drunk driving.”

I felt my breath begin to quicken again.

“It’s fucked up to bring it up, but boys like to bring up the taboo,” Kyle continued. “You really think ‘it’ is not some adult videos?”

I considered his theory. “Will, Riley’s friend, told me and his mom it wasn’t.” I reiterated.

“Of course, the little fucker would say it wasn’t porn,” Kyle sarcastically snorted. “Look, he probably just found some article on that James kid and wanted to freak people out.”

“But the humming, Kyle. The feet thing! It’s not natural; something’s really wrong with him. Maybe he, uhh,” my words stumbled over one another. Voice dropped an octave as I hesitated at my next thought. “Maybe we look into therapy options or an exorcism,” I whispered.

Kyle took a long breath. “He’s not going to goddamn therapy. And you’re joking about that religious crap. Look, I’m stuck here in Yuma for another day, but first thing Friday morning, I’ll come grab him. Might just need a change of scenery, and if he’s not right when I drop him off Sunday, we can look into other options.”

I nodded to myself. “Ok. I’m going to watch him tomorrow, Kyle. Maybe he’ll be ok just around me.”

We ended our call. My hand found the door handle, but my trembling fingers refused to push it further. After a few minutes of silence, I finally exited my car and tiptoed up to the front door. As I reached for my keys, the front door slowly swung open, and I could hear the slight hum from inside the house.

“Riley?” I called out, taking a tender step forward into the house. I looked up the stairs, expecting to see his figure loitering over me, but found the space empty. I heard his devilish humming again. It surrounded me, still, I couldn’t place the source.

“Riley!” I yelled out, circling the first level. “Riley, come out now, I’m not playing.” My voice fluttered in the air. My head felt fuzzy. My sinuses pushed against my eyes, while I could hear the blood rushing in my arms.

“hmmmMMMMMMMM.” The humming got louder as I neared the living room.

“Riley, you’re starting to scare me!” I cried out of desperation. My voice, a shadow of its past self, died within the confines of the living room, not daring to venture further. I collapsed in despair onto the couch. I felt a tear begin to well up in my right eye. I tried to push it away with my left pointer finger. Chalky, white smeared just below my eye. A fingertip taste. Salt.

I ever so slightly made out the sounds of snickering to the left of the couch. I hesitated for a half-second before I slid my body to the side of the kitchen and peeked down.

Riley was on his knees, seeming to laugh to himself, guarding his mouth with his hand. He looked up at me, his eyes seeming to stare right through me. He returned his gaze to the floor and restarted his snickering. The snickering was unnatural. Forced, devoid of joy.

My hand reached out and grabbed his back. Riley immediately went quiet. He looked over at my hand, and I felt his eyes follow my arm up to my torso before staring back at me with so much disdain you would have thought I had just spit on him.

“Riley?” I mumbled out.

His face went neutral. He blinked twice before slowly rotating his head back until his skull found the back of his neck. I looked up at the ceiling, desperate to see something, anything to explain what was going on with my son. My whole body jolted when that same demonic humming radiated out from Riley.

My hands found the sides of my head, right hand migrating south to clasp the rosary I had started to keep in my pocket. It was gone. Misplaced, or worse.

I mustered the last of my strength. “Riley, go to your room!” I shouted out, desperately trying to reclaim control of the house. Riley rose to his feet and looked down at me. I felt my lip tremble as I rose to my feet. Riley and I were the same height, but in that moment, I felt like a mouse. Riley’s face slowly contorted into a smile. I could hear his lips cracking and his face twitching into place.

He walked towards the staircase and silently started climbing to the top. I followed closely behind. Halfway up the steps, Riley stopped before breaking into a dead sprint for the last 6 steps, throwing open his door. I was startled but tried my best to follow close behind. When I got to his open door, Riley was perched in a perfect 90-degree angle staring straight ahead. His gaze was locked on his closed closet door as he began to hum his creepy tune again.

My body felt limp, like my energy had been sucked out.

I took a timid step back from his door, his humming still ringing in my ears. Something was calling out to me, but I still don’t understand. I had to be near his bedroom, near my son. Near the humming. I plopped down on the floor next ot his doorframe.

It was only six, the hallway still basked in light from outside. By nine, the sun had faded, and it was dark; my only companion was the nonstop humming.

The sun soon emerged. I looked down at my phone. The time had already bled into 9 am on Thursday when I tucked my head back into Riley’s room.

He sat completely rigid. Eyes still trained directly in front of him, humming that same wicked tune. The early morning soon ate into the afternoon. I sat motionless, transfixed on Riley’s humming, waiting for a hint of normality. A twinge of difference. Just a taste of the humanity my son was now missing. Nothing. Just the humming. An elixir of evil and turmoil.

The daylight soon slid into darkness, and my hum-induced trance was broken by a sudden thud at the front door. My legs trembled and felt weak as I got off the floor, the hallway around me covered in a slight haze I had to blink away. I took cautious steps down the stairs, opening up the front door to see Kyle standing before me, wearing a yellow vest.

“I’ve been calling all day, are you ok?” Kyle asked, his voice a mix of anger and genuine concern. I looked down at my phone, realizing now that I had somehow missed 16 phone calls from Kyle. Kyle seemed to study me more thoroughly. I felt his eyes glaze over the eyebag that must have been present, and him trying desperately to find life in the husk of a former wife who stood before him. “I should have called for a wellness check. What’s wrong?”

I nodded my head back and forth. The sunlight burned my eyes. “Riley,” my mind went blank.

“What about him? Is he still acting funny?” Kyle asked, placing his hand on the door frame before flashing a smile behind me. “Ahh, Riley.” I turned to look back to see Riley with his head down. Riley pushed against me, holding his usual weekend bag. “Riley, everything ok?” Kyle asked.

Riley stopped in front of his dad. His eyes started at his feet before slowly trickling up to his torso, then his head. Riley stood there motionless, just staring at his father. Kyle looked at me with shock at first, then quickly shifted into something dripping with terror. Riley then started a low hum before he kept walking towards the truck and climbed into Kyle’s Ford F-150.

“What’s wrong with him?” Kyle asked with gritted teeth. His face was ghostly white. I looked at him with sincerity. I felt my hand try to find his shoulder, but missed badly, nearly falling forward until Kyle caught me. “Are you ok?” Kyle’s concern was no longer shrouded in his usual nihilist disdain towards me. For the first time since our divorce, I felt like Kyle truly cared about me.

I felt the words, “No, I’m not fine! Something is wrong with me!” trying to bubble up my throat, but my eyes found Riley in the truck passenger seat, and my head slowly shook yes. Kyle placed me back on my feet. “If things get more fucking weird, I’ll let you know.” I could see his arms trembling. He looked over his shoulder at Riley in his truck. “Honey, I will call you if things get worse. Riley…Riley’s not ok. We’ll call the therapist, the police, whatever. Are you sure you’re ok?”

As if I were a marionette puppet, I felt my head slowly nod yes.

His truck pulled out of the driveway. Riley’s eyes followed me as the two disappeared from view. All at once, I felt my legs start to buckle. The world started spinning as I inched my way back into the house. I took a few feeble steps towards the stairs when everything went black.

I had passed out on Friday morning. My senses returned to me on Saturday afternoon. The last two days of no sleep had come crashing down all at once, putting me in an impossible 24-hour coma. As I peeled myself off the wooden floor, left cheek wet with my own saliva, it took only half a second to remember I hadn’t eaten or drunk in three days. I sprinted to the kitchen, bouncing off a living room wall on the way, and almost went headfirst into the refrigerator.

After throwing leftover chicken into the microwave and drinking approximately a gallon’s worth of sink water, I tried to plan out my next move. My son was unwell. That was clear, and any further denial would do him or me no good.

I reached for my phone. Will was the only boy I recognized in the office with Riley that day. Had he looked ok? Honestly, I was so transfixed on Riley and what Mrs. Ronda told me, I hadn’t noticed. I dialed for Linda, Will’s mom. It rang twice before abruptly hanging up. I dialed for her again, the same unfortunate result. I started to pace, my fingernails finding the inside of my teeth. A third time. No answer.

I hit the message icon instead.

“Linda. Are you and Will ok?”

Green text.

I looked down in confusion. I dialed her again, immediate voicemail.

“Linda, please pick up. I’m worried about you and Will.”

My mind was soon racing with theories. Will, had he done something to Linda? Does that mean that Riley would do something to-

I dialed Kyle immediately.

“Come on, come on, pick up Kyle, pick up Kyle,” I muttered to myself.

Nothing.

Again.

Nothing.

I clicked the message button, hoping for a better result than Linda. The three dot’s notifying me that Kyle was typing appeared on the left side of my screen. I let my finger hover over the keyboard, anxiously awaiting Kyle’s response.

The dots lingered, lost in mid-sentence before disappearing. Never mind, I started my message.

“Kyle, are you and Riley ok? I’ve been out for a day. I’m sca-”

My phone buzzed to life; Linda was calling. I gathered my breath before hitting answer.

“Hello?”

“AHHHHH! AHHHHHHH! AHHHHHH!” I yanked the phone away from my ear. The blood-curdling scream erupted from the phone speaker.

“LINDA!” I screamed into the phone, already dissolving into a broken mound of tears, terror, and confusion. “LINDA! Are you ok?”

“AHHHH-.” She was cut off mid-scream.

“Linda?” I was wrestling with my composure.

“Hmmmmmm, hmmmmmm.” I let the phone fall from my ear. The same humming Riley has been repeating all week echoed out of the phone. Thus wasn’t real. It can’t be. The humming grew louder and louder.

End call.

The call was gone, but the humming still surrounded me. I found Kyle’s name again in my phone and ran to the front door. Kyle lived about 20 minutes away. I’d call the police on the way, and we would solve this now.

I grabbed for my keys, and I stumbled out the door when I saw it.

A phone was buzzing on the front mat with my name on the screen. My trembling hand reached down to grab the phone. The gleaming picture of an 8-year-old Riley and Kyle at a baseball game confirmed the worst. The phone was Kyle’s.

“HmmmMMMMM, hhhMMMMM,” the humming grew louder. I twisted around and ran up the stairs, reaching my bedroom and locking the door behind me.

That’s where I am now. I’ve tried to call 9-1-1 six times, but each time, all it responds with is that same damn, creepy, humming. Does anyone know what I can do? I don’t have a weapon, and the humming seems to be right up against the door now. I can make out a little mouth in the door gap by the floor, a gap torturing me with that same spine-chilling humming. The tongue that comes out of it, it’s long, too long for a human. I think it’s Riley, and I don’t think he’s here to comfort his mother.

Credit: z.j cortez

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