A Sound Only Tamsin Hears

The Harbor Gate Hostel has a common room full of odd sofas. There are shelves of old board games. There is a table for cards and a window onto the street. At nine o'clock, about twelve travelers sit there, talking in six languages.

Tamsin sits alone in the corner with a notebook. She is seventeen, and this is her first trip without her family. She plans to write down everything she sees. So far she writes only four lines.

A high, thin whistle starts in the air.

Tamsin looks up. The sound is like a thin wire far away. It comes again and again. It makes her teeth feel strange. She looks around the room. Nobody else looks up. A man laughs at a card game. Two girls share a map.

She tries to write. The whistle stays. She presses her fingers to her ears. It stays.

"Excuse me," she says to the girl next to her. "Can you hear that whistle?"

The girl listens politely. "I hear nothing," she says. "Only the music."

Tamsin goes back to her notebook. She decides the whistle is in her own head. Maybe it comes from the long bus ride. She breathes slowly and counts to twenty.

The whistle is still there.

Behind the desk, a boy stamps a pile of forms. He looks about eighteen. His name tag says, "Wiktor, Volunteer." He wears a green hat. Tamsin watches him for a while. Then she stands up and walks to the desk.

"Hi," she says. "This sounds strange, but there is a high whistle in the room. I cannot stop hearing it."

Wiktor stops stamping. "A whistle? What kind?"

"Very high," says Tamsin. "Like a tiny wire singing. It comes and goes every few seconds."

Wiktor listens with his head to one side. He is silent for a long moment. "I hear the music, the card game, and the fridge," he says. "No whistle."

"I knew it," Tamsin says quietly. "It is only me."

"Wait," says Wiktor. "That does not mean it is not real."

He looks at her carefully. "Some sounds are very high. Older ears cannot hear them. My little sister can hear a doorbell two streets away. I cannot."

"I am seventeen," says Tamsin. "You are not much older."

"Eighteen," says Wiktor. "But I played drums in a band for three years. My ears are tired of loud sounds now." He smiles. "Let us find it."

"Now?" Tamsin asks. "In front of everyone?"

"Why not?" says Wiktor. "You are the only one with the right ears. I am only the helper."

Tamsin feels her stomach tighten. She does not like attention. But the whistle makes her head hurt. She nods.

They walk to the middle of the room. Wiktor stands still. Tamsin closes her eyes and listens. The whistle comes from the left. Then it comes from the right. Then it is on the left again.

"It is louder here," she says. She points toward the wall by the window.

"Okay," says Wiktor. "Walk slowly. I will follow. Say 'warmer' or 'colder.'"

Tamsin walks. Wiktor follows with his hands behind his back. He looks like a guide in a museum. Near the sofa, she says, "Colder." Near the table, she says, "Colder." Near the shelf by the window, her face lights up.

"Warmer," she says. "Much warmer."

A boy playing chess looks up. "What are you doing?" he asks.

"Looking for a sound," says Wiktor. "Do not worry. She is the expert."

Tamsin stands in front of the shelf. The whistle is right in front of her now, sharp and clear. She puts out her hand. She touches a tall game box with a red lid. Behind it is a gap. In the gap, there is something small and white.

"There," she says. "Behind the big box."

Wiktor moves the box to one side. A small white disc is fixed to the back of the shelf. A small light blinks on its front. Under the light, there are three words: "Low battery. Replace."

"A smoke alarm," Wiktor says slowly. "It is almost dead. It hides behind the games for years. No one ever sees it."

"That is why it whistles," says Tamsin.

"It sends a warning when its battery is low," Wiktor says. "But the warning is very high. Many people cannot hear it, and the room is loud. If the battery dies, the alarm will not work in a fire."

Tamsin looks at the little disc. For a moment, she cannot speak. Before, she thought the sound was only in her head. But it is real. She is the only one who can hear it.

"Do we have a new battery?" she asks.

"In the office," says Wiktor. "I will fetch it. Hold the shelf."

He runs to the back. Tamsin stands very straight with her hand on the shelf. It feels like the whole hostel needs her. People stop talking and watch her. The man from the card game comes closer.

"Is something wrong?" he asks.

"The smoke alarm will die soon," says Tamsin. Her voice shakes a little, but she keeps going. "It needs a new battery. You cannot hear the signal, but I can."

"You can hear it?" the man says. "That is amazing."

"Not amazing," Tamsin says. "Just young."

Several people laugh, and she laughs too. It feels good to laugh with them.

Wiktor returns with a small square battery and a screwdriver. He opens the disc and takes out the old battery. He puts in the new one. The light stops blinking and turns steady green.

The room goes quiet. Tamsin listens. She turns her head to the left, and then to the right. There is no whistle at all.

"It is gone," she says.

"Good," says Wiktor. "Now you can finally enjoy your evening."

Tamsin sits down on the sofa. The girl with the map moves over. She pats the seat beside her. A boy asks what her notebook is for. Tamsin opens it to the first page. She writes one new line at the top.

When she looks up, Wiktor stands in front of her. He holds his green hat in his hand.

"Tamsin," he says, "from now on, you are the official ears here."