“How Sirenhead Came To Be”

“How Sirenhead Came To Be”

by: Samuel Di Gangi

*Note from the author: I tend to shy away from writing a lot on topics or recent-day myths that others have already penned many works on. However, Sirenhead seemed too creepy to not have a backstory. Having no backstory just made him... well... weak. So, here is to the strength of Sirenhead.

1) Formless Intelligence

When people think of alien races or caustic visitations from another distant place deep in the unheard reaches of the cosmic nowhere, they tend to think of beings that have a physicality. Sometimes, these beings are humanoid. In other tellings, of course, they are reptilian or aquatic in nature. Giant insects have been written about and it would be all but impossible to document all of the various forms which mankind has thought could exist throughout the ages.

This belief has proven to be a most terrible mistake.

When a threat did arrive... a real threat, it came without any locality of being and without so much as a hint of form. How this took place isn't known, though whispers exist that what later became known as Sirenhead was brought here via CERN and the experiments therein, though isn't every anomaly blamed on this Shiva-mascotted group of whitecoats?

Those with a knowledge of evil – that is to say real evil – have insisted that Sirenhead was summoned, not delivered, and that he is far, far older than anything other than the universe itself. In the end, and Sirenhead will surely spell the end for everything in time, it doesn't really matter that much what or how it arrived. All that matters is how this is to play out as humanity struggles to understand the true scope of what has taken place.

When Sirenhead arrived, regardless of how, his formlessness was hampering and restrictive to him. Living like a ghost, invisible, and unable to affect any change upon his surroundings was disorienting and pointless. As mortifying as it sounds, it is thought that Sirenhead may have lived among us for quite some time, observing, and gaining knowledge, lurking like a shadow in a world full of forms.

Knowledge, however, was certainly no substitute for experience and at some point, Sirenhead either chose to act or had no choice but to act (due to hunger in this plane or due to some reason of which would make no more sense to mankind than rocket science would make to a deer in the woods).

A form of some kind was going to have to take place.

` At this point in the story, it must be understood that a formless being would have no point of reference to reality as Earth and those upon it know it. A being that could exist in what many call the void... the nothing and distance of time and space... a being without any tangible physical dimension(s) and one who has never seen nor imagined anything like a tangible physical dimension(s) would have no reference to tell the difference between, say, a piano and moose. All physical things would be as alien to it as a fish would be to an airplane.

It can be thought of in the following way: To a being that has never spoken nor heard, what would sound be? It would be produced by what and for what reason? A being of ancient mind with no form having ever been seen before would see nothing to which a point of reference could be hinged, no matter how sloppily.

So, in time (and now thought to be trapped on a physical Earth, unable to leave), the need to copy or to take on a form of some kind would surely have taken place.

… and so, one day, the being now feared as Sirenhead approached a man. The decision must have been made by this entity to mimic the most astute of those on Earth, a human being. Even still, to a being that can process no difference between a blade of grass and symphony orchestra, a conscience intelligence that can not understand the difference between an ant and clouds rushing by in the night-fallen sky - or who can differentiate from a man leaning on a post eating from... well, the post itself, how would such a decision play out?

As it turns out, most horrifically.

2) Tomasi Gandilini

Tomasi, who in reality much preferred to be called just “Tom” (though his mother felt that it was an insult to his Italian heritage) was exhausted.

Not just the regular kind of exhaustion that people claim to have when they are just tired and in the mood to whine, but rather, the ugly kind of exhaustion that comes only from a combination of mindlessly bad luck, poverty, and the misery of a lower lumbar sprain that brought a severe enough level of discomfort to cause Tomasi's legs to shake a bit uneasily as they struggled to hold his weight.

Waiting for the bus was not humiliating enough, he thought. The extra hour wasted in transit because he could not afford a car was nothing compared to sustaining this menial wait while in pain.

With nowhere to sit nearby and knowing that it wasn't going to pay to sit on the ground only to have to get up again, he paced in place. Plus, sitting on the ground with no backrest didn't seem too inviting, either, so Tomasi decided just to shift on his legs and try to eat the last of his (now cold) vending machine sandwich which he had picked up at the last of three transfers.

It was one of the worst sandwiches that Tomasi had ever eaten in his life, a thought that sat in the front of his mind... and tastebuds.

As he tried not to think about the fact that this already dreadfully bland sandwich on wannabe bread was even worse (somehow) cold than it was when he got it, he felt not the still eyeless stare of the formless mind that sought to understand him. It starred over his shoulder and then, so close to Tom's face that he could smell the stale baked bread as it was being consumed. Closer than a lover, there on the side of the road awaiting a bus, Tomasi could not sense the being that, could it have blinked, would have fluttered his own eyelids in the process.

So loomed Sirenhead.

Then, by means that mankind may never live long enough to learn, it happened. Sirenhead became – absorbed- animated Tomasi. Perhaps the pain was beyond any merciless agony apparent to the human experience or, maybe, it was this new being simply learning to produce sounds, but a cry of such tortured misery erupted from the throat of his victim that Tomasi's vocal cords ruptured and they began to bleed, choking him. Tom's cries were silenced by a forced swallowing and then... he WAS Sirenhead.

Unfortunately for this ageless being, something went terribly, terribly wrong.

The human mind can not imagine the scope of unrest and fear which greeted this ancient one.

This is because Tomasi was, in his tired and aching state, resting and leaning against a post. It was a siren warning horn placed on top of a large pole, similar to a million million telephone poles the world over.

Sirenhead, having no point of reference became the pole, the siren, the digital receiver inserted into the structure, and Tomasi Gandalini... complete with his hunger from not having eaten during the day, the disgust over his meal, and the unforgiving pain in his lower back.

Again, as if it can not be said enough, the human mind can never, under any means, grasp what this was like. A being who had never felt anything of any kind during the countless eons of time which it has existed suddenly felt pain, unhappiness, and hunger at one time. The back pain alone would have been terrifying and complete. Knowing no better, Sirenhead would assume that everything that existed felt just like this... and his anger grew.

Can any human mind tell what it was like to hear nothing via physical means from a time before the Sun and then, suddenly, to hear the sounds of every digital noise, feedback in the system, fax-machine, and informational splash carried on an active connection line? It would have been deafening and without end, a constant screech and squeal of a million conversations and billion abrasive noises all playing at one time... without end.

Of course, it only got worse.

To it's ultimate and infinite horror, that which became Sirenhead could not undo what it had caused itself to manifest into. Once in the physical realm, there was no way for it to again become what it was before. Peace was replaced with white noise that never stopped and screamed on “Volume 10” without any way to shut it off. This noise still plays, without mercy, within the head of Sirenhead, like headphones that can never be taken off.

A placid existence was replaced by a hunger which never could be put to ease. Since Tomasi died hungered, Sirenhead would forever live in the state to which he had taken his victim in. Therefore, no matter how much he ate, his hunger would loom as Tomasi's had before Sirenhead became him.

Worst of all, the agony of Tom's back pain became the constant throbbing which proved to be the most prevalent feeling in Sirenhead's new and misery-ridden existence. Like the hunger, the maddening, pulsing pain would never cease.

Sadly, the aching only worsened with each passing day and it seared down his lower body like a combination of hot pokers and twisted branches mimicking muscles.

This, to him, was physicality and this was all that it would ever be for him.

Quickly, with the information processed in white noise, dis-clarity, pain, hunger, and confusion, Sirenhead put the mouth where it seemed to go.

This ended up being, of course, in the mouth of the siren, along with teeth and a tongue which smelled of stale bread of badly aged processed cheese. His body was incorrectly put together in a way which has now become infamous by a being in tortuous agony and fear.

Hunger now guides him, pain abides in him, and terror drives him onward.

As for humanity?

Well, it is only a matter of time.

You see, Sirenhead learns. In his fury burns a hell, in his anger lurks his hunger, but in his mind lives still his vast and boundless intellect. It is said that Sirenhead concerns himself not with learning how the world works but in learning how his white noise can be used to call for help.

One day, via trial and error, Sirenhead will configure some means of using his melding and fusing with technology – the siren post and the digital box connected to it - to reach those like him, by whatever means. When that happens, countless more just like him will come. Then more... then more... and they will learn.

They will copy correctly, you see, they will copy correctly. They will copy the grass and take it over. They will copy the birds and take them over. The same for the trees, the bugs, the dogs, and the cats.

Oh, and man too... since there is nothing particularly stimulating about him to an ancient, ancient mind...