as told by @timx13:
Ruth continued to walk, a bit more briskly now than before, perhaps in an attempt to outrun the noise that seemed to cling to her every step. As she quickened her pace, so did the noise, a wretched and hollow pinging, almost matching her step for step. She wished she hadn’t read all of those Arthur Machen stories lately for she could barely stop her imagination from conjuring up images of black and twisted imps, flitting just at the edge of her perception playing wicked and maddening dirges upon their tin flutes and rude drums with strange and eerie leather stretched across their hollows. Without thinking about it she stopped and whirled about, trying to catch the source of the noise, hoping that the suddenness of her cessation would catch it unawares but there was nothing. Just the slight breeze and a bit of sunlight glinting and reflecting off of the canyon of buildings around her.
She was going mad. She felt as if she were going mad.