Bit from Malorky Journals, Chapter 3

[freelancejack]

In the middle of expanding this part right now, thought this part was pretty good so I'm presenting it early.

As usual, I want to know if it makes sense.

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Walter did what he normally did when he felt stressed, he calmly and patiently went for a walk out into the woods near the campus. After getting into his lush and relaxing quiet spot, he sat upon the ground in the lotus position and sank into a deep and transcendental screaming fit.

If Watler could pour his soul into the science he loved so much, that was fine and fufilled the very top of his pillar of needs. When that wasn't available, it was screaming all the way down from there. Putting forth a vocal riot not only kept his lungs in shape for the entire two or three month span between tirades, but it also seemed to make Walter a sort of conduit for the spirits of long dead opera singers and town cryers.

The effect on the area was something like having lyre bird with ventriloquism lessons hanging about. For some intractible reason, Walter got so worked up in his screaming that he managed to produce absurd vocal marvels.

He would imitate the yowling of an army of cats and send every bird and squirrel in the area into an agitated furor. He would make the sound of an air raid siren and cause old Mr. Ben to go into flashbacks from his porch half a mile away from Walter.

Then the ventriloquism would kick in.

Children would run around in a mad hunt for the ice cream truck they heard but could not see. People would swat at invisible flies and mosquitos in the frigid february air. Others would look around nervously as the supposedly long gone voices in their heads would strangely come back to them and whisper profanities involving the obscure latin names of farm animals.

Walter's screaming was a unique and unsettling experience for everyone involed, but they could never quite put their finger on why. The screaming usually stopped before it could lose the element of surprize.