There is constant whispering down here in the basement of this old house in Queens.
My nerves are bad tonight.
Is there nothing in your head?
Albert Elliot has been hearing these voices, non-stop, for three years.
I just can’t take it anymore. So many voices. They keep asking me what I did with the money. What money?
He looks like he hasn’t slept in days. He’s had priests come out, psychics, mediums of all kinds. None of them can hear the voices. They can’t feel any presence.
Well, if Albert won’t leave you alone. there it is.
And if it rains, a closed car at four.
HURRY UP PLEASE IT’S TIME
The voices have begun to follow him. They move with him to other rooms, outside, in the grocery store.
It’s too much…they don’t shut up. One of them talks like he’s a cop. He does all these different cop voices. They’re driving me crazy.
Albert puts his headphones on and turns up the volume on his music as loud as it will go.
He’s rocking back and forth, humming to the music. I leave him and head for the front door.
I hear a whisper as I’m about to shut the door. Followed by a little laugh.
Ta ta. Good night.
Good night, ladies, goodnight, sweet ladies, good night, good night.