Pool Hours: Indefinite

dark pop, aquatic, dreamlike, stadium rock, hard rock, electric guitar solo, field recording, ambient, aquatic soundscape, nature sounds, water, underwater, ambient soundscape, water sounds, foley

STUDIO

I found the pool underneath a building that didn't look large enough to contain it.

The lights were already on.
The water was perfectly usable.
At least, that's what the inspection notice said.

POOL HOURS: INDEFINITE.

I laughed at that.

(Indefinite.)

There was one plastic seat near the water,
a lifeguard stand facing the wrong direction,
and a depth marker where the number should have been replaced by a question mark.

Nothing told me the pool was closed.

Nothing told me it was open either.

Up on the second floor, somebody had painted a sentence across the tiles:

ALL OBSERVERS MUST REMAIN OBSERVED.

(Must remain observed.)

I read it again.

Then the surface moved.

Not much.

One small ripple beneath the place where I was standing.

I walked around the pool.

The ripple followed.

When I stopped...

it stopped beneath me.

I raised one hand.

The water made one ring.

I raised two fingers.

Two rings.

It counts when I look.

(It counts when I look.)

I lowered my hand.

Three rings appeared.

I checked the ceiling.

Every fluorescent tube had a reflection.
Every railing had a reflection.
Even the plastic seat appeared upside down beneath the surface.

But when I searched for myself...

there was only water.

(No reflection.)

I leaned closer.

One ring.

I blinked.

Two.

I blinked again.

Three.

It counts when I look.

(It counts when I look.)

One...
two...
three...

(four)

I hadn't counted four.

There was a clock beside the upper walkway.

I checked it because I wanted to know how long I'd been there.

The minute hand wasn't pointing at a minute.

It was angled downward.

Toward me.

I moved several steps to the left.

The hand followed.

(Followed.)

So I stopped checking the clock.

The water continued counting.

One ripple when I breathed in.

Another when I breathed out.

Then two more...

while I held my breath.

It counts when I look.

(It counts when I look.)

It counts when I don't.

(It counts when I don't.)

I went back to the entrance.

That's when I noticed the reverse side of the facility notice.

There were instructions printed there.

Not for swimmers.

Not for employees.

For observers.

I read the final sentence...

and finally understood why nobody had covered the pool.

The facility requires one observer at all times.

(One observer.)

If observation is interrupted...

the facility selects another.

(Selects another.)

I looked toward the water.

There was a person in the reflection now.

Me.

Except I was standing near the entrance...

and she was sitting at the bottom.

She raised one finger.

One ripple.

She raised another.

Two.

Then she looked directly at me.

(It counts when I look.)

I understood what the sign meant.

ALL OBSERVERS MUST REMAIN OBSERVED.

I wasn't observing the pool anymore.

(The pool was observing me.)

One...

(two...)

Three...

(four...)

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I found the pool underneath a building that didn't look large enough to contain it. The lights were already on. The water was perfectly usable. At least, that's what the inspection notice said. POOL HOURS: INDEFINITE. I laughed at that. (Indefinite.) There was one plastic seat near the water, a lifeguard stand facing the wrong direction, and a depth marker where the number should have been replaced by a question mark. Nothing told me the pool was closed. Nothing told me it was open either. Up on the second floor, somebody had painted a sentence across the tiles: ALL OBSERVERS MUST REMAIN OBSERVED. (Must remain observed.) I read it again. Then the surface moved. Not much. One small ripple beneath the place where I was standing. I walked around the pool. The ripple followed. When I stopped... it stopped beneath me. I raised one hand. The water made one ring. I raised two fingers. Two rings. It counts when I look. (It counts when I look.) I lowered my hand. Three rings appeared. I checked the ceiling. Every fluorescent tube had a reflection. Every railing had a reflection. Even the plastic seat appeared upside down beneath the surface. But when I searched for myself... there was only water. (No reflection.) I leaned closer. One ring. I blinked. Two. I blinked again. Three. It counts when I look. (It counts when I look.) One... two... three... (four) I hadn't counted four. There was a clock beside the upper walkway. I checked it because I wanted to know how long I'd been there. The minute hand wasn't pointing at a minute. It was angled downward. Toward me. I moved several steps to the left. The hand followed. (Followed.) So I stopped checking the clock. The water continued counting. One ripple when I breathed in. Another when I breathed out. Then two more... while I held my breath. It counts when I look. (It counts when I look.) It counts when I don't. (It counts when I don't.) I went back to the entrance. That's when I noticed the reverse side of the facility notice. There were instructions printed there. Not for swimmers. Not for employees. For observers. I read the final sentence... and finally understood why nobody had covered the pool. The facility requires one observer at all times. (One observer.) If observation is interrupted... the facility selects another. (Selects another.) I looked toward the water. There was a person in the reflection now. Me. Except I was standing near the entrance... and she was sitting at the bottom. She raised one finger. One ripple. She raised another. Two. Then she looked directly at me. (It counts when I look.) I understood what the sign meant. ALL OBSERVERS MUST REMAIN OBSERVED. I wasn't observing the pool anymore. (The pool was observing me.) One... (two...) Three... (four...)

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