Just after hitting “publish” on my last post, I headed downstairs to continue my Spring cleaning in the kitchen.
I was in the middle of washing up some dishes when I heard it: a strange, jaunty little tune, which appeared to be playing from somewhere inside the room with me. “That’s strange,” I thought, looking around the kitchen. “From where could this jaunty little tune be coming?”
It was a mystery.
The music didn’t sound like it was coming from a car, or a radio. It wasn’t coming from the TV, and I didn’t recognise the song, which seemed to be being played on some kind of wind instrument, so I knew it wasn’t anything Terry or I owned. In fact, the longer it went on, the more it sounded to me like it was probably coming from something like a very small cellphone, such as a miniature person might use. An elf, say. Or a hobbit.
“That’ll be it,” I thought, and went back to my cleaning.
A few minutes later, though, the little tune started up again.
“Where IS this tiny cellphone?” I thought, throwing down my dishcloth in frustration. “And more to the point, where is the very tiny person who must own it?”
The music played on.
So I started a search. First, I searched the kitchen for the tiny person and their tiny cellphone. Nothing. Next, I searched the living room, and the porch. As I did so, I noticed that the tune would play for a few minutes, then it would stop. Then, after another couple of minutes of silence… it would start up again.
Having exhausted the bottom floor of the house, I stepped out into the garden, still carrying the mug I’d been washing when the music started, and the scrubbing brush thing I’d been using to clean it. I circled the garden, thinking that maybe the tiny person was in one of the neighbouring gardens, and the sound was just carrying on the cold, March night. Still the music played. This was starting to get weird, because no matter how hard I tried to locate the source of the tune, it just wasn’t possible. The music neither faded as I got further away from it, nor got louder as I approached. In fact, the music remained at the same level the whole time. It was… all around me. And the longer I searched for its source, the more convinced I became that the music was IN MY HEAD. I was the music. And also: I was clearly going insane.
I stepped back into the kitchen just as the creepy little tune started up again.
“Terry!” I shouted, now starting to panic a little. “Could you come down here for a second?”
Terry thundered downstairs, and arrived in the kitchen just as the tune reached its now familiar end. “Did you hear that?” I demanded, gesturing around the room, the mug still swinging from my hand. As if on cue, the music started up again. I stared at Terry, looking for a sign that he heard it too.
“Have you brought me down here just to listen to that mug?” he asked.
I followed the direction of his gaze, to the mug in my hand. And in that instant, I recognised the Magic, Music-Playing Christmas Mug Terry’s brother gave us a couple of years ago. It plays a jaunty little tune when you move it. And there I’d been, carrying it around the house, swinging it around and causing that FREAKING LITTLE TUNE to follow me everywhere I went.
Still, at least I won’t make that mistake again. By which I mean I almost certainly will.
What a mug, huh?
(Sto kings? WHUT?)