Camp Monsters - The Taos Hum

Episode Date: September 19, 2024

Since arriving in Taos, New Mexico, Frank has been plagued by a persistent, irritating hum. Hoping to escape it, he drives to Santa Fe to revisit old memories—but the hum follows, culminating in a strange and unsettling experience.This episode is sponsored by REI Co-op. Shop REI's amazing gear in store or at REI.com. Take the Camp Monsters Listeners Survey.Artwork by Tyler Grobowsky.

REI Co-op Studios Here on Camp Monsters Podcast, we do stories about creatures that people thought they saw. Monsters glimpsed for a moment at dusk and then gone. Encounters that some may dismiss as the tricks your eyes can play on you. But this story is different. This story is about the tricks that your ears can play on you. If what we're going to talk about really is a trick. And maybe we're biased being a podcast, but sounds are amazing things. And just like there are wavelengths of light that your eyes can't see, and others that are right on the edge of perception, the same thing is true of sounds. For example, some of you can hear the tone that's been steadily building under the last few sentences I've spoken.

The rest of you are wondering what I'm talking about. Or this one. Some of you can hear that sound just fine. You probably think it's kind of annoying, but many of you can't hear it at all. Maybe that explains the story we're about to hear. Well, hear, as long as we play it in the right frequency. Well, maybe that's the explanation. Maybe the hum that some people hear when they visit Taos, New Mexico,

maybe there really is a sound there, and only certain people can hear it. So listen. Really, really listen throughout this episode, and keep listening, even after. And if you begin to hear that sound, that sound they call the Taos hum, well, it may be too late. But it's never too late back around a warm fire. Even if it is a little bitty one like this. It was cold, very cold in those waters off Alaska that they fished me out of last week. Thanks to our engineer Nick Patry and our producer Jenny Barber and senior producer Hannah Boyd they never gave up hope. And I'm sure you never gave up hope either because you know that the Camp Monsters podcast is an REI product.

And you know that REI products are built to endure for decades of peak performance and great memories made, even in the harshest conditions. With the spirit of REI pumping through my veins, no Arctic waters were a match for me. Why, since 1938, REI has been working continuously with our members, employees, and partners to test, iterate, and refine the products we make season after season. And those world-class products include more than excellent podcasts like this one. Did you know REI also sets the standard for outdoor gear of all kinds? Yeah. Go visit your local REI today or check it out on REI.com. You'll be glad you did. And now here we are,

hunkered down around this fire in a campground right between Taos and Santa Fe in New Mexico. We've got to keep this fire very, very small, because even though we've had rain here recently, this is still a desert. Of course, we have to be aware of fire danger. And as we're about to find out, fire isn't the only danger around here. Have you ever heard of the Taos Home? That doesn't sound like much, does it? Some people in this part of New Mexico claim that at certain times they can hear a low, rumbling hum of a sound

of unknown origin that never seems to shut off. It doesn't come from inside their ears, because if they cover them, well, that muffles the hum somewhat. Muffles it, but doesn't stop it. Because the hum grows sometimes louder, sometimes quieter, but it never quits until, well, they say it doesn't quit until the bad luck or bad news or the doom that the hum always presages has come to pass. That's the story, anyway. I have my own theory. I think...

Well, I think this is a very ancient part of the world. The land here has that old, old feeling. It's hard to describe, but now that we're out here, I'm sure you feel it too. Taos and Santa Fe are both very, very old cities. If you get a chance to visit them, you'll see what I mean. The heart of both cities are the kind of places where, sometimes, the past echoes louder than the present. I get the idea that maybe the hum is related to that. The voices of the past trying to get our attention.

And I think that's where the hum gets its bad luck reputation, because if you don't know how to listen to the past, you put your future in jeopardy. Our story about the home starts at daybreak on a Saturday, in a convertible rolling down a highway just south of Taos, with the hot morning air whipping Frank's thinning hair around. Frank was glad to be out on the road. He'd been in Taos for two weeks now, and he hadn't seen a thing except his hotel and the conference rooms. Frank was in town to finalize a big merger, and it had been a tough tussle, but, well, here Frank was, cruising down to Santa Fe in a nice new convertible, while the negotiators for the other side would spend the weekend sweating and shouting and blaming each other,

burning up the phone lines and their retainers with expensive lawyers and accountants back east looking for a way out. But there was no way out. Their own people would tell them so. This so-called merger was going to go all one way. Frank's way. And then Frank's job would be done. Another one in the bag. Frank should feel good.

He'd earned it. And he did feel good. Mostly. There was just one thing that started to bother him over the past two weeks. It was too silly, really. Kind of embarrassing. Tinnitus. Is that what it was called?

Frank thought so. Tinnitus. Like a ringing in your ears, right? Except it wasn't exactly a ringing in Frank's ears. It was like a low buzz or a hum. It had started just a day or two after he'd arrived in Taos. Very, very faint at first. Frank hardly noticed.

Hadn't let it faze him at all. Figured it was just the way the air conditioning sounded in the conference rooms and in the hotel, and in the restaurants, and when he stood outside in the parking lot. Wherever he was, this funny, low sound seemed to follow him. Loud enough that he couldn't quite block it out and ignore it, but just quiet enough he didn't want to ask anyone else if they heard it too, and didn't want to give them anything they could misinterpret as a weakness. But it was getting steadily louder. It was really starting to bother him.

It was getting to where he had to focus past the hum in order to listen properly to conversations. And that was the strangest thing. If he covered his ears, it did get a bit quieter, which... It wouldn't really do that if it were tinnitus, would it? I mean, if it were coming from inside his head? So then Frank figured maybe it was some... Some frequency, some wavelength, some sound made by something that maybe others couldn't hear or hear as well. But where was it coming from?

Frank didn't know. And he was determined not to care. He didn't have to care. Because early that Saturday morning, Frank was getting away from it. And fast. know and he was determined not to care he didn't have to care because early that Saturday morning Frank was getting away from it and fast in a nice low rented convertible that could really move Deborah and Headley the other two negotiators working with him it caught flights back to spend the weekend with their families but well since Frank didn't have all that to worry about he

decided to make a quick drive down to Santa Fe see if it was the same town weekend with their families, but since Frank didn't have all that to worry about, he decided to make a quick drive down to Santa Fe, see if it was the same town that he vaguely remembered from... Oh man, how long ago had it been since the one time he'd visited there before? Twenty years ago? Twenty-five? Not long enough that he couldn't remember much about it, except that he'd been there for a few days with friends and he'd liked it.

Back when he was young and aimless, life had just been starting for him. Sometimes it was nice to revisit old places like that, just so he could enjoy how much clearer he saw things now that he was comfortably middle-aged. How the outsized dreams of youth had shrunk and hardened into facts, or something like that. Anyway, it was nice to be out here with the warm wind of morning, whipping that humming sound away from his ears. It was going to be a hot day. Hot. And I was just fine with Frank. He liked it hot. He lucked onto a great parking spot right near the heart of downtown Santa Fe,

just a block or two off the plaza. That's the main square of the city, surrounded by a bunch of old buildings and new ones built to look old. A tourist hotspot. He was lucky to get a parking place so close, even this early on a Saturday morning. But he no sooner jumped out and slammed the car door than he almost jumped back in and drove away again. It was that hum. That hum. Again, it had followed him. I mean, it was just as loud as it had been in Taos. Louder, even. It seemed to buzz at him from everywhere.

He glanced around the street, saw people walking by on their morning business, apparently oblivious to it. He blinked a couple times, worked his jaw open and shut, tried discreetly plugging his ears. That helped some, but what was he supposed to do? Walk around wearing earplugs all weekend? Well, at least that settled it. The whole state of New Mexico couldn't sound like this with no one else noticing. Obviously, this hum was some condition he was suffering from. Tinnitus or something, like he thought at first. He'd been working too hard, that's all. He was letting his health slip.

As soon as he'd closed this deal, he'd fly back east and, well, assuming that he still heard the hum there. I mean, of course he would still hear the hum there. And then he'd go see his doctor about it. He'd ask to see a specialist. For now, he'd just go on ignoring it. He'd relax and play tourist for the weekend. It would be silly and weak to let this hum, this minor ailment, ruin his weekend.

He wasn't going to let it bother him. But that was easier said than done. The hum seemed to radiate off the bright adobe walls where the rising sun splashed them. Frank passed distractedly through the big sleepy plaza, where the trees spread their green against the coming heat, and past the Palace of the Governors, where the old Spanish dons had sat for centuries, and where now the jewelry sellers were just setting up under the building's long, shady arcade. He found a small cafe on a side street, and he tried to order breakfast.

He tried to read the paper but it was all a shambles. He could make himself smile and nod at whatever the server was saying but it cost a real effort to listen past the hum and try to parse out what response was expected. It was really unbelievable, not the volume, but the depth and pervasiveness of the sound. He felt it in the center of his chest, like he was standing beside a subwoofer at a concert. More than once he caught himself staring into his mug of iced coffee, looking for the ripples that the hum should be stirring on its surface. But the dark liquid was smooth and still. He drank the last of it off and managed to pay his bill before he hurried out into the street again. It was even worse out there. By now, someone had swept the shadows away and turned up the brightness and the heat.

And the hum. Narrow, old-feeling alleys crowded around Frank, pressing in on his eardrums. He knew these streets were quaint and interesting, lined with cute places, you know, little art shops and cafes and gift shops and all that, just opening up for the day. But he couldn't enjoy them through all this sound, this overwhelming hum. And as he walked, bits and pieces of his youthful visit to Santa Fe kept stabbing into his mind, too. He remembered all these streets, vaguely, from years ago. What had he been doing here? On tour with that band, just rambling maybe? He'd been here with friends, good friends back then, most of whom he could barely remember now. Most of them. Except for one. One he'd always

remember. But the rest were just flashes of faces and places and old laughter Jumping in and out of focus in his hot and buzzing mind The sun was beginning to climb the sky The sidewalks were getting busy And the colors of people swirling in between the brightness Bouncing off the adobe walls made him lurch With a sudden sickness in the pit of his stomach Part of him wanted to go back

to the car, put the roof up, turn the air conditioner on, just drive away from here, but Frank couldn't get his bearings. He walked swiftly along the waking streets and he felt fragile, brittle. His mouth was dry, even though he'd just eaten and drank. It was already a little too hot for the light suit jacket he was wearing, but he left it on because he knew he looked better that way than if he took it off and carried it. And then he stumbled into that square that he remembered from so many years ago. That little square with the big cathedral in it. St. something. St. something. St. Francis, yeah.

Yeah, he remembered that because St. Francis could talk to birds, and when he was young, he'd really liked that silly idea of talking to birds. Now he reeled up some stairs into the courtyard in front of the cathedral, and he stopped, staring at the ground. He was covered in blood or no no no he he remembered this now from from years ago there was a path like a maze laid into the pavement a big circular pattern of twists and turns and two colors of paving stones pink like flesh and red like blood it was a what do you call it a labyrinth a labyrinth yeah the monks used to pace them for contemplation in the old days oh contemplation impossible in this heat with this hum pounding in his head he looked up at the cathedral

and and vague old memories squinted back at him pleasant quiet memories and this son and hum he he couldn't quite catch them he couldn't see them clearly so he went up the steps of the church hoping to find a moment's peace to think things out. At least it was cool inside. Mercifully cool. Sunlight poured in from windows high above in the vaulted ceiling, but the shadows down on the floor were deep and comforting. The old stone font was there by the door, bubbling away just as he remembered it. He'd stood and listened to it, burbling, for a few moments before he realized that he could listen to it.

That he could hear it. That the hum was much fainter in here. Not gone, but noticeably much fainter. Boy, that was nice. He wandered around the columns and pews and quiet and cool of the interior until he found the spot he was looking for, the particular place that he remembered. Off to one side of the main aisle of the church, a place where the ceiling was lower

and it was made of hand-hewn wooden rafters that looked a thousand years old. He thought he remembered reading somewhere that this was the original part of the church, the oldest part. A big ornate wooden altar stood at one end, and on the wall was one of those terribly realistic carvings of the crucifixion. He'd sat just here, years ago, in this smell of candle wax and age. He'd sat here with someone he remembered, and sitting here together, whispering quietly, just the two of them. Something had happened.

No. No, that wasn't right. Something had almost happened to him. But not quite. Not quite. For a while he thought it had, but later he'd grown out of it. Certain memories, certain kinds of thoughts and feelings, they slow you down. There's no profit in them. Years ago, Frank had learned to, he decided to set those kinds of feelings aside.

But now, sitting in the very spot again where they'd whispered, smiling at each other, where magic almost happened to him. Now that he sat here again, his hands were shaking, trembling faintly, but he couldn't stop remembering and wondering what was happening to him. He clutched his hands together trembling he felt so tired and so tight bound up like he had something stuck in his chest that he couldn't spit out he actually tried to cough he scared himself half to death at the echoes that his pitiful little choking sound made. He leaned his head forward until his burning eyes dripped water on the floor, staring at nothing at all. And he wondered. And listened.

And as he listened, he heard that hum again. That hum. But even as he heard it, the hum faded and faded and was gone. After a long time, Frank took a deep, deep breath of that ancient air and he stood up he rubbed one palm down his face and he couldn't believe how much better he felt he swung his arms he listened again there was no hum at all anymore nothing but the sound of the bubbling font and the hushed murmur of quiet voices in the echoing space. Funny how the hum had gone so suddenly, but there was no reason to worry about it. It was gone, that was all.

Great. Frank threw his shoulders back and he strode out toward the street, with a spring in his step that he hadn't had in years outside the sun was high in the sky already it must be noon or past noon even he'd been in there longer than he thought maybe dozed off or. And as he headed back the short block toward the plaza, the lights and the colors of old Santa Fe jumped at him from all around, but unlike before, it all felt bright and pleasant. He smiled. I could hardly keep from laughing out loud. Everything was so vivid.

It was like scales had slid from his eyes, and he was seeing things more keenly, colorfully, more completely. He strolled down the street and around the corner into the plaza, and he found that they'd set it all up with... Boy, he must have really been in that church longer than he thought. They'd set up the plaza with row after row of white vinyl tents, like a Saturday market or an arts and crafts fair or something. He walked in among them, started strolling between the stalls, admired some little wind charms that a woman made by soldering old forks and spoons together

until they tinkled like the laughter of distant children. And then the kaleidoscope of memories that had been shifting around in Frank's mind all day stopped tumbling, and they clicked into place. This was it. This was the place on the plaza. This was where they'd met.

He hadn't thought of it in years. Intentionally, he hadn't thought of it. It had been hot, just like this. And he'd stumbled on a market in the plaza, just like this one. The tents so bright under the sun they hurt to look at, and the sky was just this color, bluer than anything, almost as blue as... And when Frank saw it, when it happened, when this image from his mind's eye collided so violently with what he was actually seeing, it was almost alright.

His whirring, clicking, calculating mind almost recovered, almost had him laughing in his own momentary shock at such a cheap coincidence so simply explained. Why, there must be thousands of blue dresses like that in the world, bluer than this high Santa Fe sky. And there must be millions of women who wear their hair like that. In that first moment, he almost turned away. I wonder what would have happened if he had. But he didn't. And then the woman ahead of him in the blue dress slowed. And as he caught up to her, she turned to look into one of the booths and she smiled and said something to someone in there who was just

out of his view. And it was her. Her face in profile, her smile, the unmistakable sound of her voice that he never knew he remembered so completely. It was impossible, but... but it was her. Not as she must be now, twenty years later, but...

but just exactly. Exactly as she had been that day. All those years ago. I don't know if Frank could have recovered from the shock of seeing the past rear up in front of him like that. I don't know if anyone could have. But before he could even begin to process what was happening,

certainly before he'd even thought of saying something to her, he heard himself speak. He heard himself, his own voice, but not from his throat. He hadn't uttered a sound, hadn't been able to. What could he say, anyway? But there it was, his voice saying something, making her laugh even. She stepped into the booth and Frank staggered after her and stopped, standing in the entrance. And there they were. She and...

And him. Himself. Frank. But... But Frank without the last 20 years Frank like some old photograph young smiling almost unrecognizable all that wild hair those ratty clothes you remember that t-shirt and, she looked just like she always did. Not like an old photograph, not at all. There was always a life in her that photos could never capture, and here she was. Here we were. were Frank old Frank just stood there in the entrance to the booth staring at

them smiling dumbly miss it was so good so good to see this but what was this? What was he seeing? What kind of dream or hallucination was he a part of? Was he even here? Or was he just reliving these things again, these memories, like an out-of-body experience? But no, he must be here, really be here, because they'd noticed him now. With little glances at first, and then a word or two muttered to each other, too low for him to hear. Then some extra color came into his young self's face, and he began to stare right back at this sweaty, paunchy, middle-aged guy in a suit who was staring at them and grinning and blocking their way out of the booth.

And she looked at him too, at the old him, with curiosity and concern in her eyes. Frank had to say something. Even in this dream, or whatever it was, Frank couldn't just stand here and stare. His lips felt heavy and sticky as he opened them, and he wondered what he was going to say. Don't do it, he should tell himself. Don't do it. Don't tell himself. Don't do it.

Don't. It'll hurt too much. But that was a lie. That was the same lie he'd been telling himself for 20 years. Instead, he should say, Be better. Do better. Don't screw it up. Don't let it go.

But when his voice finally croaked into his mouth, choked with joy and grief and confusion, what he actually said was, Can I... can I buy you two something? His young self blinked and looked away, embarrassed by the emotion in the old man's voice. No, no thanks. Thanks anyway, his young self mumbled. Old Frank turned his gaze to her, and she returned it, with eyes that skipped cheap pity and gave him genuine concern. Oh, just to see her again.

Just to be seen by her. Old Frank smiled, bigger than he had in years and years and years, and something in the center of his chest snapped, and the tears poured silently down his cheeks. More tears than he ever thought he could contain. He was so happy. He was so happy and so sad all at once, because now he remembered this.

He remembered this very thing. Remembered the weepy old man offering to buy them something. And how he'd laughed at the old weirdo after he'd left the booth and made a joke out of it. And how she'd looked patient and sad and told him not to make fun of people like that. He remembered all of this. So he changed nothing. He couldn't change it. Couldn't change any of what was going to happen, the stupid choices he'd make.

Couldn't hope to talk sense into his younger self. He wouldn't listen. And what could he say that wouldn't sound impossible? So he stole one more glance at her, crystalline through the water in his eyes. He was smiling like an idiot. Tears were pouring down his face. He looked completely ridiculous. Just to see her. Just to see her again. He found her eyes with his, and in a whisper, choked with this past, he said, I'm sorry.

And he meant it. And he staggered away. Frank must be walking now, but you could have fooled him. Heat is humming off the sidewalks, buzzing off the walls of the old adobe buildings that he's dragging his hand against as he goes. The walls are the only thing keeping him standing. A strange face wavers in front of him,

seems to be talking to him with concern, but he can't hear them through this hum so loud it's shaking every fiber of him. He waves them away. Everything seems far away. He's so tired, wandering, weeping through these sun-hammered streets. Maybe he should just find a place to sit down and wait. Wait for some sign that the future has taken him back. The lonely future that he doesn't really want anymore. That he never really wanted. If he'd only been honest with himself. The hum keeps growing, louder and louder.

Like the grinding millstones of his gone past and his wasted future crushing him between. Literally crushing him. literally crushing ringing him out he can't he can't catch his breath he turns a corner and the wall falls away and he catches himself before he falls with it and there in front of, the Cathedral of St. Francis splits the sky. St. Francis. That's where this all started. That's where this strange dream began. That's where it'll end. That's where he'll wake up. Frank starts up the steps to the courtyard, but it's like climbing a mountain against a chest-high landslide of memories and regrets. Sweet and terrible.

Pushing him back, pulling him apart. He can hear the humming rumble of the landslide. That's all he can hear. He can't make it. He can't make it up the rest of the steps into the cathedral, so he turns aside to rest. He sees that bench in the shade on the far side of the labyrinth. He cuts across the lines and tiles, red and pink, flesh and blood. Halfway across, he realizes that something's badly wrong, that this is it.

He can't take another step. And as the panic hits and his knees give out and he begins his helpless fall, finally, finally he hears what the hum has been telling him

this whole time. He hears the offer it's been making. There's somewhere impossible that he'd much rather be than the hum tells him. The hum tells him he could be there. He could be different. He could try again. He's falling.

Frank's falling and he's staring up into that blue, blue New Mexico sky. Almost as blue as her dress was that day. And he lets out a laugh that the nearby tourists would remember as a cry. They saw him collapse. They heard him cry out. They ran over to help. Someone called 911, and when the paramedics arrived, they treated several people on the scene for heat stroke. But Frank wasn't one of them.

Instead, they treated the witnesses who insisted that they'd seen a man collapse right there. Right there in the middle of the labyrinth. Collapse and then... And then disappear completely right before their eyes. But the medics are used to these kind of incidents in the summer tourist season. It's the heat. Gets to people quickly. Causes confusion, suggestibility, even group hallucinations. Several people complained of a humming in

their ears. He was there, one lady kept repeating. He was right there. I'm sure he was, the medic said soothingly, but now he's gone. And Frank was gone, but not far. Just two blocks down and 20 years back, he's walking out of the plaza where the market tents were, young and strong and laughing, and they're holding hands and smiling into each other's eyes, ready to change the world. That could be the end of our story tonight, but it isn't, quite. It's a very short epilogue.

A few years ago I was in a little roadside motel south of Taos and a sound woke me up in the middle of the night. No, no not not a hum, a rip of thunder. I got up and opened the door onto the night, caught that fresh cool smell of rain on the desert and I saw the mountains onto the night, caught that fresh, cool smell of rain on the desert, and I saw the mountains in the distance, jumping around in the flashes of lightning. The Sangre de Cristo mountains. And I'm not one to remember my dreams, usually, but that night I dreamt this whole story, complete and more vivid than I can ever tell it.

Except the main character wasn't named Frank. He had my name. And I spent the rest of the night watching that storm and thinking about that dream. And I've never forgotten any part of it. So I'd like to dedicate this episode to my wife, Lindsay. Because that was our honeymoon trip, and we'd been to Santa Fe that day. And we'd walked through an art fair in the plaza, and she'd been wearing a dress just bluer than the blue sky. And I think I remember that dream for a reason. And I know that ever since then, she's done nothing but help me be better. And do better.

And not screw it up. I love you, Vince. How do you create something that stands the test of time? You build it together. That's the foundation of REI Co-op. And that's the way REI makes its gear, too. REI is dedicated to pioneering change for people and the planet through our best-in-class products, processes, and standards. Whether you're an REI member like me, or you just love to visit the stores to gear up and learn how to make the most of your next visit to the great outdoors,

either way, you're helping to make the outdoors better for everyone. That's the focus of our co-op. That's the mission of REI. Shop REI gear for your next adventure, available exclusively at REI stores or on REI.com. Shh. Do you hear that? Ha ha. Never mind. That hum is just the distant hum of traffic on the highway. Hard to get away from it, even out here. That's the road between Taos and Santa Fe, and... If we ever want to get to bed tonight tonight we'd better be hitting that road.

Make sure the campfire is out and be sure to join us around the next one. Because next week we're going to jump on some ATVs and go rip roaring over and around and through a bunch of sand dunes, having more fun than you ever thought you could have in the state of Oklahoma. Having so much fun that we may never come back. Join us for the episode that we're calling The Portal. Camp Monsters is part of the REI Podcast Network. Busily soldering old forks and spoons together is our engineer, Nick Patry.

But he's not making wind chimes for our sound effects, no. He's trying to revolutionize the whole silverware experience. Aren't you tired of those long, inefficient meals? Don't you hate having to put your spoon down to grab your fork? Well, get ready for Nick's new invention. Luckily, our senior producer Hannah Boyd and producer Jenny Barber were born ready. Meanwhile, our executive producers Paolo Motla and Joe Crosby are trying really hard to ignore that strange humming that has started to bother them. But they know the source of it.

Yours truly, writer and host Weston Davis. What can I say? It's just a really catchy tune. If you're enjoying Camp Monsters, please rate, review, share, and tell your friends. It's your spreading the word that has kept our campfire circle growing for six seasons now. Let's keep it going. And as always, the stories we tell here on Camp Monsters are just stories. Sure, some of them are based on dreams people claim to have had, but it's up to you to decide if you can believe everything you hear,

or if that sound is just tinnitus. Turn the volume down to safe levels, people. Thanks so much for listening. We'll see you again next week, around the campfire.