Silence Insanity In Edgar Allan Poe's 'Di'

Silence Insanity
He wondered if he had gone mad. He covered his ears with both of his hands, but he could still hear the garbled voices that were echoing around the room. He sat for a moment behind his desk and slow his breathing telling himself that he was simply tired.
A sudden knock at the door caused his heart to skip a beat and with trembling hands, he opened it and a little blond girl with a scraped knee walked in. Carefully he helped her up onto his examining table and as he dabbed at her with cotton and antiseptic he once again heard them. This time they sounded as if they were shouting from far away. The words were more jumbled and again, he questioned his sanity.
To verify his good sense he glanced down at the girl and inquired with false indifference,

"Did you hear that?"
"Hear what Dr. Andersen?"
"Well a voice, or a noise, just a sound?" He asked.
"No sir," she replied, nodding her head back and forth emphatically, "I didn't hear anything."
He smiled and helped her down and asked her to send in her mother. While he waited it struck him. He had heard those voices before, long ago but where, he wasn't sure. Then he heard them again, only this time the voices were audible and clearly affirmed, "You can't go back, but he can."
Then, they suddenly appeared softly blurred before him and pleaded, "We need your help!" And like a bolt of lightning it hit him and he realized who they were!
He lingered at his desk for a while and continued to see patients, but soon realized that he was plainly too distraught. And so he finished up and asked the head surgeon's secretary if he could speak to him. She nodded somewhat indifferently in his direction and remarked, "He'll be back in a few minutes Doctor Andersen go ahead and take a seat." He sat down in the pale sterile room on one of the hard backed wooden chairs and waited. Until a squeaky office door twanged open and Dr. Binder a short, stout man with feathery white hair and extremely hard piercing grayish eyes stepped out with a question plainly visible on his face, "How can I help you Jacob?"
"I'm sorry to be so abrupt but I'll be leaving Frank. I have something very urgent that I must take care of and it won't wait. I detest saying goodbye, but regrettably this matter can't be delayed."
"Well that is unfortunate. You've one of the finest doctors that we have on staff here at the hospital. We're going to miss you." He replied and reached out and grabbed a hold of Jacob's hand and shook it firmly, "Good luck."
Jacob stood smiling and gripped his hand, "See you later, Frank. Take care."
And with that he walked out into the warm yellow sunshine and wandered on down the street not really paying attention to anything. Instead simply trying to figure out how he would tell his wife that they would be moving. Luckily he didn't have to say a word as soon as he walked through the front door she could tell simply by the look on his face that he had something important on his mind. She asked him to take a seat and strolled into their tiny kitchen and was back within moments holding two cups filled with hot piquant tea that smelt like mint. They sipped their tea and talked softly and he finally told her the whole story and once he finished they decided that it was time for him to return.

Embarking on a Peculiar Adventure
Days later I sat inside of the stuffy car bored and uncomfortable.
"Why are we moving momma?" I asked and squired a tad.
"We're not moving darling we're off on an adventure." My mother whispered, leaning slightly forward with a casual expression and tousling my reddish-brown hair. Unhappy with her answers and weary I began hitting the seat cushions, making clouds of dust fly up in all directions. My mother sneezed and scowled, "Look out of your window and enjoy the scenery." Reluctantly, I momentary gazed out and up and admired the puffy pink and yellow clouds that floated lazily by.
Soon we reached a tiny roadside diner and my mother eased our car into the lot behind my father's large moving van. We got out and stretched a little and then papa took our arms and moved us towards the restaurant's flickering red welcome sign. Once inside I caught a whiff of freshly brewed coffee and cinnamon toast. We ordered cheeseburgers, fries, and strawberry milkshakes and as we eat I continued to frigate. "Move closer to me and listen while I tell you a story," My mother insisted. I knew that she wasn't a very good storyteller but did as I was told without any real excitement.
In her soft voice that my mother began a dull story about several agreeable children who outwit a witch simply because they were good and always did as they were told.
"Would they have been able to outsmart her if they had been really awful?" I demanded.
"Well, yes of course. But that's not the point of the story Miles." My mother answered in a weak and unconvincing manner."
"That’s the most boring story I’ve ever heard," I said and started humming a tune that I had heard on the car radio.
"Momma I think you need to leave the story telling to me," my father who had been quiet up until now suddenly stated.
"It’s difficult to tell a story that Miles will truly enjoy." My mother argued.
"I don’t agree." My father muttered.

The Story Teller
My father is the most fascinating man I've ever known.

He had closed the seven oceans several times, fought off monsters with his bare hands, and debated the meaning of live with mythical creatures. It all seemed so exotics to boy from the city. And so I'd incessantly plead with him, "Please papa tell me a story." He would often oblige and talk about his shadowy adventures and his green eyes would sparkle as he whispered his strange secrets into my ears. Peculiar revelations about his past that I alone could be entrust with.
He best stories were tales about his childhood. Like the story about how he had moved from a three story brownstone that reeked of freshly baked cookies into his grandfather's home which was high atop a pinkish green mountain and situated next to a gigantic red barn in the middle of a beautiful, sprawling apple orchard. He often told about the neat rows of trees that were covered with dainty light pink blossoms. He remembered catching whiffs of the sweet smelling flowers and he revealed that there rich aroma filled the fresh mountain air.
Then during our drive he let slip that's where he had met the ogre.
“What kind of ogre?” I asked filled with

curiosity.
“A horrible evil deformed ogre with decaying skin and little squinty black eyes who wanted to kill me. He had tried to deceive me in with his silver-tongue but I wasn't fooled.” He answered sincerely.
As we drove my father continued to divulge the rest of his fantastic tale. We finally arrived I was the first one to step out of the station wagon and was astonished to find that I stood in front of an old two story white house with thick columns and black shutter that was centered in the middle of an enormous apple orchard. I stood them for a moment in daze until my mother snapped me out of my trance by requesting some help. And so I turned my attentions away from my surroundings and lend a hand. I grabbed the bulky lamp and huge pile of clothes that my mother was holding and trotted off. I walked into the house through the foyer and turned slightly into a family room. I laid the objects that I was carrying down just as my great grandfather appeared.
"Where's my bedroom grandpa?" I questioned bashfully.
"Well son you have the special, magical blue bedroom upstairs at the end of hall." He responded with a chuckle.
"Wow ..." I replied as I ran up the stairs two at a time, down the hall, and into my bright, sun-drenched light blue bedroom which smelt of fresh paint. It is perfect! I thought smiling to myself as I pictured my race car portraits positioned around on the walls.
By the time I reemerged to help haul things into the house the trailer was almost empty and my mother was insisting that they all go and get washed up for dinner.
Once inside, my mother prepared a delicious meal and for dessert we each had a piece of great grandpa's delectable apple pie topped with vanilla ice cream.
Afterwards we contentedly assembled on the far side of the kitchen in a cozy sitting room and listen as great grandpa strummed away on his old guitar. Then as the purple sky dulled to an inky black my father sent me off to bed.