Exploding Head Syndrome
The Curious Case for Whom the Doorbell Tolls
"Today is only one day in all the days that will ever be. But what will happen in all the other days that ever come can depend on what you do today."
— Ernest Hemmingway, For Whom the Bell Tolls
Our long-suffering doorbell sounds as if it is on its last legs. Yet, since we moved to Westport, it has always announced arrivals thusly. First, one hears the wheezing call of the “ding” followed by the atonal response of the “dong.” It arrives half a beat later than expected. That delay — the distance between when one expects to hear a thing and when it materializes — is unsettling because it exists out of time.
Still, ever vigilant, this otherworldly doorbell alerts us to visitors at the door. Installed when our house was built in the ‘50s, the ancient greeting machine isn’t about to give up its last breath. Quite to the contrary, it has started announcing visitors who are not there.
The first time it happened, the doorbell sounded so loudly that it startled me awake shortly before dawn. The sound did not come from within me. When I heard that familiar emphysemic doorbell “ding,” I sat upright in bed. In the same way that our dog, Frank, stopped panting whenever we spoke to him, I held my breath to listen for the “dong” that never came.
Compelled to investigate, I leaped out of bed and peered from our second-story window at the side garage door for deliveries. No one and no packages were there. No car was visible in our long driveway. I went to our front door, but no soul was in sight. Still, that signature “ding” could not have been generated by anything other than our decrepit doorbell. I could not have imagined that unique sound so vividly and deafeningly that it shook me awake. After returning to bed, I glanced at my husband who was sleeping soundly, oblivious to the episode. I tried not to glare. Besides, I felt safe from the scary sound: Crispin was there.
Yet I wasn’t safe for long.
The bell tolled twice again in the coming months, rousing me from sleep in the wee hours. That archaic “ding” taunted me awake— reverberating alone —abandoned by the “dong.” I stumbled to the checkpoints at our bedroom window and front door — still no one. I had heard the phantom doorbell loud and clear, and yet, still I had no explanation. Frustrated, I collapsed back into bed.
It wasn’t until Crispin was away overnight that the doorbell tolled for me as if the Grim Reaper were its accomplice. I’d heard the anemic “ding” followed by an inexplicable slammed door inside our home. The noises left my heart racing. At a loss for what to do, I tiptoed to the bedroom window but couldn’t see a thing — it was pitch black outside. Moreover, there was no way I would open the bedroom door to look down a half flight of steps to our transparent front door made of glass. If I could see who it was, then who it was could see me.
So, I locked the bedroom door and barricaded myself inside. Terrified, I called Crispin, whispering into the phone in case an intruder could overhear me. He suggested that I call 911. But pride got the best of me. I couldn’t justify the call. So, I remained upstairs, barricaded, listening for unfamiliar sounds in our home for hours until I grew weary. Frustratingly, I still had no explanation for what I heard.
This week, the doorbell tolled for me with a vengeance. Its “ding” was so loud it catapulted me out of bed before dawn. Panicked, I asked Crispin whether he heard “that.” He didn’t respond. I asked again, raising my voice, “Did you hear the doorbell?” Still nothing. I shook him awake, informing him someone could be at the door, which was bonkers because it was just 4:30 in the morning. Half-asleep but duty-bound, Cris staggered off to check the doors and fell back into bed upon confirming all was well.
Yes, the doorbell from hell has gotten the better of me.
The doorbell has tolled for me a good half dozen times. But why?? Was something trying to warn me? Was the bell tolling for me, forecasting my imminent doom? Was I imagining things? Was my subconscious trying to signal to my conscious mind? Was I losing my goddamn mind? Honestly, I hadn’t a clue.
I have always been a light sleeper. I awaken at the slightest sound. When Katharine was a baby, I’d hear her breathing shift in the next room — the windup before launching into full-throated bawling if I didn’t act immediately. So, I’d levitate from bed and, within seconds, would soothe her back to sleep. Like many women, I was the one who heard her and felt compelled to respond. Like many men, even if Crispin did hear Katharine fussing, he was content to have her learn to self-soothe.
She is now a fully formed adult. A psychiatrist, no less. Naturally, I wondered what she would make of my curious case for whom the bell tolls. Unimpressed, she immediately informed me the doorbell tolling me awake is a common auditory hallucination that occurs during hypnagogia (the state of consciousness leading into sleep) or hypnopompia (the state of consciousness leading out of sleep). She explained, “It’s one of the first things we rule out when we are diagnosing patients suspected of serious mental disorders.”
But I knew I had to write about my phantom doorbell experience when I learned the name of this kind of hallucination. It is called Exploding Head Syndrome. Yep, that’s the actual name, and no, our heads do not explode.
Exploding Head Syndrome
Exploding head syndrome (EHS) is “characterized by the perception of a loud sound while asleep, which leads to abrupt awakening. These events occur during the wake-sleep/sleep-wake transition period and generally last less than a second.”1
Some people hear explosions, which give the syndrome its name. Fortunately, my hallucinations have been limited to imaginary doorbell ringing. Whatever the sound, they don’t last long and are not considered a serious health concern. Doctors don’t know what causes them to occur.
According to clinical psychologist Brian Sharpless in Sleep Medicine Reviews,
“Exploding head syndrome is characterized by the perception of abrupt, loud noises when going to sleep or waking up. They are usually painless, but associated with fear and distress. In spite of the fact that its characteristic symptomatology was first described approximately 150 years ago, exploding head syndrome has received relatively little empirical and clinical attention.”
— Brian Sharpless, Sleep Medicine Reviews
All the more amusing, as odd as it may seem, phantom doorbell sounds are not rare. According to the Sleep Foundation, doorbell hallucinations are quite common.2
“Auditory hallucinations generally involve background sounds. For example, common auditory hallucinations include sounds of a phone, the ringing of a doorbell, people’s voices talking, or animal noises. These sounds are not usually associated with a story like they would be in a dream.”
— Sleep Foundation
So, the next time the doorbell awakens me from a deep sleep, I will not be afraid. I will no longer wonder for whom the bell tolls. Rather, I will delight in the ridiculousness of a syndrome that has mocked me — a syndrome I can mock in return with the exploding head emoji. 🤯
Khan, Isra, and Jennifer M. Slowik. 2024. “Exploding Head Syndrome.” In StatPearls. Treasure Island (FL): StatPearls Publishing. http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/books/NBK560817/.
Sharpless, Brian A. 2014. “Exploding Head Syndrome.” Sleep Medicine Reviews 18 (6): 489–93. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.smrv.2014.03.001.
I've absolutely had the same thing - with doorbell ringing, but more often slamming doors or the sound of a dog jumping on and off a bed....I think maybe adoptees, who are so often light (to non existent) sleeper because of hyper-vigilance maybe more prone to this... how do we get these sleep doctors to do more investigating?
I would still replace that doorbell.