The noise was an assault on human equilibrium.
Fourteen heavy brass gongs hammered against their iron clappers at twenty cycles per second.
CLANG-CLANG-CLANG-CLANG.
The low-frequency vibration rattled through the floorboards, vibrating through the rubber soles of Elena’s shoes. Plaster dust drifted down from the ceiling like pale grey snow, settling across the shoulders of her cardigan.
The sound bounced off the damp oak doors of Rooms 801 to 814, multiplying into a thunderous roar.
Elena pressed the fingers of her left hand against her ear, trying to block the sonic pressure.
“Don’t touch them, Julian!” Elena shouted over the din. “Remember the brass plaque!”
Julian stood frozen in the center of the crimson carpet outside Room 804.
