ARCHIVE 09
THE HANGING GHOSTS

ACOUSTIC METADATA​

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• TIMESTAMP: Summer, 1970

• LOCATION: Pocket Alley, Back Lakes, Beijing

• ACOUSTIC TARGET: Pale green larvae ("Hanging Ghosts")

• DATA LOG: Infinitesimal puff-puff impacts, Leaf vein gnawing

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I had to escape that woman. I preferred the company of "Hanging Ghosts"—the inchworms. When my father was away, Grandma Yang would wander in and out of her room completely naked. Her breasts hung like two heavy sacks of rice, swaying ungracefully. Yet, when she turned, her silhouette told a different story.

At the sound of a dry cough, that naked form would appear, wobbling. I would scramble out of the yard, crouching in a dirt pit beneath the old locust tree, burying myself under half-dried leaves to hide.

As twilight approached, the world turned a sterile, blinding white. I slid on my sunglasses and continued my game. Sibilant hiss—

That was the sound of the "Hanging Ghosts" descending. These pale green larvae spat transparent silk, dropping one by one from the dense canopy. To others, they were disgusting; to my ears, each was a distinct frequency.

Puff. Puff. Puff.

They pitter-pattered into the dirt pit, onto my body, onto my shades. I closed my eyes, assigning each a serial number. No. 17 was gnawing on a leaf vein to my left; No. 42 was attempting to crest my toe. I arranged these microscopic writhing sounds, constructing complex arithmetic equations in my mind. The tiny rhythms of the insects lulled me toward sleep, while the constantly updating numbers jolted me awake.

The grotesque sound of an Erhu drifted over—a villain’s aria from a "Revolutionary Model Opera." The friction between the horsehair bow and the steel strings was sinister, hiding the sound of a withered throat swallowing thick phlegm. Revolting. But the "Hanging Ghosts" remained indifferent, continuing their steady descent.