About six months ago I noticed what I thought to be a faint hum in my work elevator riding down to the street level after staying late to work on an assessment report. For about three nights I had the impression I was listening to a radio or echoes from another floor, or at least a malfunctioning elevator mic. I wasn’t sure of the source, and I didn’t get confirmation of its source from security downstairs. Slightly spooky, but not enough to really care one way or another.
One month ago, I had another assessment project to complete, and this time my late night work sessions lasted until well after evening traffic melted into the night. This time I noticed two distinct voices engaged in what seemed to be a somewhat intense conversation, only I wasn’t the one speaking, and no one else was riding down 29 floors to the street. I began to record this strange, disembodied exchange with my cell phone, not knowing if it would make more sense upon playback at home than with me standing there hearing it.
It occurred to me that I was actually not hearing people still walking the planet, but ghosts. I do know that one sentence emerged from my computer when I uploaded the latest exchange, a distinctly male voice that seemed to carry a quiet sliver of pain as it crossed curtains of existence. It was a question, actually:
“Are you angry at me?”
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