TUNG-G-G, HUNG-G-G-G, bong-g-g, bong-g-g-g, zung-g-g-g.
Mrs. Wesson lifted her head from the pillow and strained her ears, trying to figure out what was making the peculiar noise. She had been listening to it for quite a while. It was a weird noise, half-metallic, half-human.
She reached over to a chair, where an alarm clock ticked loudly, and, in the dim light, took note of the time.
“Four o’clock,” she said aloud.
“Eh?”
Cale Wesson, her husband, lifted himself on one elbow and squinted at her.
“Whazzamatter?”
“That danged noise,” she replied. “Didn’t yuh hear it?”
Cale yawned audibly and turned his pillow over. He was not interested.
Hung-g-g, bong-g-g, zung-g-g-g, zung-g-g, bong-g-g-g.
Hung-g-g, bong-g-g, zung-g-g-g, zung-g-g, bong-g-g-g.“What the hell is that?” demanded Cale,
