Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, blurring the streetlights into hazy halos. Michael jumped at the sharp rap on his front door. It was Mr. Henderson, his face contorted. "The bass," Mr. Henderson rasped, his voice tight. "It's shaking my house."

Michael, still in his pajamas, stammered a weak apology. He didn't even *have* a powerful sound system. He’d barely been listening to anything.

He retreated inside, his heart thudding. He imagined the vibrations, the unseen enemy attacking from his apartment. He walked over to his stereo, stared at it, and slowly, deliberately, unplugged it. The sudden stillness was almost more unsettling than the imagined noise.