The Wailing

The wailing wakes us around twoish. It’s so disturbing people rush out in slippers and pyjamas.

‘Where’s the racket coming from?’

‘The O’Brien’s house.’

‘Intruder alarm?’

‘Don’t think so. Sounds like a lament.’

An ambulance arrives. It stops at the O’Brien’s.

‘Crap, it says Neonatal.’

‘I’ve seen her with a pram yesterday.’

It’s ghoulish, but we can’t stop watching. Someone makes a round of tea.

The wailing outside stops. Someone inside takes over.

‘Anyone believe in banshees?’

You’d think experiencing the wailing would bring the neighbours together. But next morning, it’s heads down and sprint to the tube as usual.

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