Word: Pareidolia

 

pareidolia

[ pair-ahy-doh-lee-uh, pair-uh- ]

 

noun

1. the illusory perception of meaningful patterns or images of familiar things in random or amorphous data, as a face seen on the moon.

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               Jack was looking forward to turning his brain off for a few hours. Work had worn him out, and he was going to be very happy once he was able to flop on the couch and not move until dinner. When he got to his apartment, he found his roommate was going to force him to change his plans slightly. Ryan was already there, sprawled out on the couch with his laptop.

               “Hey man, hey. You gotta check this out.” Ryan said once he became aware of Jack’s presence. “I just found something that’ll blow your mind.”

               “Can it wait? At least until I’ve changed?” Jack was already dreading what was going to happen.

               “Uh, I guess? But this is huge. You’re definitely going to want to see this.

               Jack gave a non-committal grunt and headed to shed his work clothes in favor of something designed not to leave the apartment. It did not take long, but he contemplated not leaving. Dealing with Ryan was not something he wanted to do. But he knew it would happen sooner or later, and it was probably best to just get it over with. He rejoined his roommate, making sure to move as slowly as he could.

               “Okay, here, take a look at this.” Ryan said.

               He showed Jack a picture of the Devil’s Tower mesa. Then another, similar rock formation. And finally, a random tree stump. Jack groaned.

               “Ryan, don’t say it. Please, for the love of all that is holy, don’t say it.”

               “You don’t know what I’m going to say.” Ryan insisted.

               “Yes, I do. And you’re wrong. Mesas are not giant tree stumps.”

               Ryan recoiled in shock. “Yes, they totally are. I mean, how else can you explain the similarities between them? It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

               “I will remind you that you are not a geologist, a paleontologist, a botanist, or anything else that would allow you to know that. And everyone that is one of those things says that no, these rock formations are not, and never were, trees. I could go into the reasons why they aren’t trees, but that would take too long.”

               “Oh please. If so-called ‘experts’ are all you have, then you might as well have nothing.”

               “Your evidence is saying they look kind of similar, and literally nothing else. I’m going with the people who’ve studied this kind of thing for decades.”

               “Yeah, sure. Whatever you say.” Ryan said, rolling his eyes. “I know one thing that you can’t deny though.”

               He called up several more pictures of rock formations, these roughly in the shapes of animals, or even people. He looked quite proud of himself.

               “You can’t deny these. They’re obviously giant petrified animals, giants and all kinds of things the world government doesn’t want us to know about.”

               Jack groaned. “Do you know what pareidolia is?”

               “Uh…no? Why?”

               “You should probably look it up sometime. It’ll really help you understand why you think these are anything other than pictures of rocks.”

               Jack did not give any more time for Ryan to say anything. He knew that would just lead to a large headache. He just wanted to relax, and that was not going to happen if he got into a debate with a  conspiracy theorist.   

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Conspiracy theorists are fun to watch. They get so much stuff wrong in such obvious ways that it's hilarious. I can imagine they're frustrating to deal with directly though.

Word: Susurrus

 

susurrus

[ soo-sur-uhs ]

noun,plural su·sur·rus·es.

1. a soft murmuring or rustling sound; whisper.

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               The room was whispering. The walls, the floor, the ceiling. Even the air itself seemed to be speaking in soft, barely heard voices. None of the team could hear the words spoken, but they all knew they were there. That it was not their senses playing tricks on them, or anything in the room. At least, nothing physical.

               They still moved as quietly as they could through the place, weapons loaded and ready. They had a mission to do, unsettling whispers be damned. None of them spoke as they looked around. It felt wrong somehow. Like doing so would trigger some disaster. None of them could explain why. Maybe it was something in the quiet voices all around them. A subconscious understanding of what was being said, and all of it a warning. Or perhaps it was something deeper than even that. A primordial sense long forgotten that had woken up in this place.

               Even in silence, they moved. Some of them could feel a cold sweat dripping down their back, but none let something so mundane stop them. A few footsteps caused some floorboards to creek. The sounds only seemed to make the whispers louder for a brief moment. Some of the team members thought they could almost hear what was being said during those brief moments. But nothing was voiced out loud.

               The team leader’s brow wrinkled as they walked. How long had they been walking? It felt like quite a while. More than they should have been. The room was only so big, and yet the longer they walked, the longer they had to go. Was there something affecting their sense of distance? Maybe confusing them into walking in loops around the room. He held up his hand, stopping the team’s movement. He took out a knife and made a tiny mark on the wooden floor. A simple arrow, telling the team which direction they were going in. The rest of them held their breath, wondering if this would cause something to happen. Nothing did.

               They kept walking. Now the leader, and the entire team, noticed it. They had been walking for far too long. The leader made more of his marks on the floor as they went, but they never passed any of them. They were, at least, not going in circles. Several wondered if the room itself was changing sizes, or keeping them in place. In a room that whispered to them, anything was possible. And few of those possibilities were good for them.

               Some of the team members even looked back, seeing where they had come from. The door they had entered through was gone. It should not have been very far away, but it was nowhere to be seen. Vanished into the distance as they walked ever forward. Always forward towards a destination they could not see. Several wondered if there even was an exit to the whispering room.

               They did not voice these ideas though. They simply kept going, until they either reached the end, or their voices joined the whispers. 

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Ooo, creepy, right? I hope so anyway. I don't know how good I am at creepy stuff though, so it probably isn't that bad.

Word: Enigma

 

enigma

[ uh-nig-muh ]

 

noun,plural e·nig·mas; Chiefly Archaic e·nig·ma·ta [uh-nig-muh-tuh].

1. a puzzling or inexplicable occurrence or situation: His disappearance is an enigma that has given rise to much speculation.

2. a person of puzzling or contradictory character: To me he has always been an enigma, one minute completely insensitive, the next moved to tears.

**********************************

                              The light shone over Dr. Bryant’s workplace. It came from a single lamp that hung precariously over the stacks of papers. All other lights had been turned off at some point. He had not noticed, nor cared. As long as he could see, he could work.

               His hands scratched at the papers, making lines and numbers that an outsider would almost consider arcane in nature. Dr. Bryant was almost inclined to agree with them, given the nature of what he was studying.

               Suddenly, the room filled with light. Dr. Bryant blinked heavily, but did not let the sudden change in environment stop him. If anything, the lights turning on took some of the strain from his eyes.

               “Oh hey, George. When’d you get here.”

               The voice made Dr. Bryant look up suddenly. One of his colleagues, Dr. Laverne, was heading to her work station. It was likely her that had turned on the lights in their shared workspace. Dr. Bryant considered the question.

               “What time is it?” He asked.

               She took out her phone and looked at the time. “About 8:30, which you should know unless…Oh no, George. Did you stay here all night?”

               Dr. Bryant did not answer. Dr. Laverne made a bee line towards him and lifted his chin to examine him closely. She twisted his face from side to side, acting as if her doctorate was in medicine instead of anthropology.

               “You did, didn’t you?” She asked. “Did you at least sleep?”

               “Sleep? Why would I do that? I’ve got work to do.”

               She sighed heavily. “Work that would still be there if you went home and got some rest. In fact, it would probably go smoother if you did that.”

               “I wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway. Not with this damned thing taunting me like it is.”

               “Still stuck on that translation, huh?”

               He turned to face his desk. “I doesn’t make any sense, Janet. All the words, all they symbols. We’ve seen them all. We know what they mean. And yet, somehow this one tablet…It’s all wrong, damn it! It doesn’t make any sense. The symbols don’t go together like they should.”

               “Yes, yes, I know. You’ve told me that.”

               “I have?”

               “Several times, yes. You practically wouldn’t stop talking about it yesterday, remember?”

               He paused, hand mid-way to his pen. He thought. He had told people about his problems, hadn’t he. Now that he was thinking about it, he noticed just how hard it actually was to think.

               “Are you okay?” Dr. Laverne asked. “Oh dear, this isn’t the first all nightery you’ve pulled, is it?”

               “No.” He admitted.

               “How long has it been since you’ve slept?”

               “When did we get the tablet information?”

               Her eyes opened wide. “A week? You haven’t slept in a week? George, you need to go. Now. Go home, get some sleep. I’ll make sure the bosses know what’s going on. But don’t drive. Call a cab or get someone else to drive you. Hell, I’ll drive you home if nobody else will.”

               “But I need to know, Janet. I need to figure this damn tablet out.”

               “And you will. Once you get a good night’s rest you can come back and figure out this little mystery, okay?”

               “I’m fine, I promise. I can keep going. I’ll take a break after I—”

               “Stand up.” She said firmly.

               “What?”

               “Stand. Up.”

               Dr. Bryant huffed, but stood. Immediately, his vision started swimming and he nearly fell over as his knees almost gave out. He managed to catch himself and stand upright. But he was still not as steady as he should have been.

               “Ah. Maybe…maybe a day off will be helpful.” He admitted.

               “There we go. Get your stuff. I’ll call someone to drive you. And no, you can’t bring any of your work home with you. Not one single paper.”

               Dr. Bryant had turned to his desk and was about to grab a few sheets of his work. But he stopped as she said that last part. He sighed and stepped away from the desk.

               “There we go.” She said. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure nobody touches your work. It’ll all be here when you get back. You’ll solve it then.”

               “Yeah. Yeah, I will. I definitely will.”

               Dr. Laverne took him by the shoulder, helping to support his weight. Weight that suddenly seemed much greater than it actually was. Dr. Bryant allowed himself to be led out of the office and then outside. And all the while, his mind was churning, flowing. He would figure out the tablet. It was only a matter of time before he solved the ancient mystery it contained. He just needed to get some rest first.
**************************************

Sleep is kind of important. Don't skip it if you don't have to.